Confused by the remark, Isabella lifted her gaze from the floor and stared at the earl. Through the eerie glow of the lantern, she could see the puzzlement in Damien’s eyes that gradually changed to understanding, then rapidly to horror.
“It’s Emmeline.”
Damien’s voice was a raspy whisper, but Isabella was standing close enough to distinguish the words. Her eyes shot down to the stone floor. It couldn’t be! With a growing sense of dreadful premonition, Isabella studied the dark outline.
She could see now that the fabric had a distinct shape. It was a woman’s gown, wider on the bottom, narrower near the center, then wide again on the top. There was a fan of five white sticks spreading out from the top of one narrow band of fabric that Isabella belated realized was the skeletal remains of a human hand. A thick gold ring encircled one of the finger bones.
Isabella’s blood ran cold. She gasped in shock, her mouth forming a circle. Only through the conscious exercise of tremendous will was she able to remain on her feet.
One of the two great mysteries of Whately Grange was finally solved. Emmeline’s body had been found.
Chapter Twenty-four
Damien had known fear. He had led men across the field of battle with sword drawn and fear pumping through his veins. He had faced down charging regiments of French cavalry, their eyes glazed with hate and vengeance. He had heard the thunder of cannon, seen the grass suddenly explode beneath the feet of unsuspecting soldiers, helplessly listened to their agonizing screams of death. He had smelled the thick smoke and blood of war.
Yet as Damien stood staring down at the skeletal remains of his wife, a wrenching cold invaded the deep recesses of his chest beyond any prior feeling. His mind and body were rendered motionless.
“Why have we stopped, Saunders? Have you found your bloody treasure?”
Poole.The tightness in Damien’s chest leaped to his throat. He swallowed hard, struggling to dislodge it. A whispering touch on his forearm startled him. He jerked away reflexively, then turned and found himself looking into Isabella’s wide violet eyes.
He saw her concern and her unspoken support. The tightness in his chest eased a fraction. Her comforting presences was a flickering light inside his tormented darkness.
“Get Poole out of here,” Damien muttered through clenched teeth, exhaling in relief when Isabella nodded in understanding.
“I want to turn back,” Isabella said in a voice that sounded high and strained to Damien’s ears. “Thomas, will you please escort me?”
For a split second, Damien thought Poole was leaving without protest, but fate refused to be so merciful.
“What is it? What have you found?” Lord Poole’s voice was riddled with suspicion as he charged forward, seeking to wheedle his way into the confined space.
Damien moved to block Poole’s advance, but Poole ignored the earl and pulled Isabella ruthlessly aside and successfully wedged himself into the small space she had previously occupied. Damien watched with sickening dread as Lord Poole lifted his lantern shoulder high, further illuminating the gruesome scene.
“Damn. It’s a body,” Poole said with surprise. He squatted down for a closer look. “I think it’s a woman. These clothes look as though they might have once been a riding habit. Could it be Lady Anne?”
Damien forced himself to gaze down dispassionately while Poole continued his exploration. He knew that eventually Poole would recognize, as Damien had, the heavy gold signet ring still starkly in place on the bony hand. After all, Poole had given Emmeline the ring on her wedding day.
“The flesh has long since rotted from the bones, but ’tis strange to see her riding bonnet so perfectly placed on her head,” Lord Poole remarked casually. Damien winced when Poole impersonally fingered the hem of the velvet skirt. “I suspect that if we remove the hat, we will find her hair still neatly coiffed.”
“Don’t touch it!” Isabella screeched. “Please, Thomas, come away from there.”
“There is nothing to be afraid of, Isabella,” Lord Poole said soothingly, flashing her a superior smile. “This poor creature cannot possible harm you.”
“Please come away,” Isabella pleaded. She tugged insistently on his shoulder.
Lord Poole furrowed his brow and looked again at the corpse. When Damien saw the mild curiosity flee from Poole’s eyes and a wild hysteria burst forth, he knew the other man had realized it was not Lady Anne’s, but Emmeline’s, pitiful remains that were so grotesquely displayed.
“Mother of God, what have you done, Saunders? What have you done to my angel? I’ll kill you for this, you bastard!”
Poole threw his lantern to the floor, leaped to his feet, and lunged for Damien with both hands extended.
“Thomas, no!” Isabella stepped between the two men and Poole crashed into her. Damien felt the woosh of Isabella’s breath as she was crushed against his chest.
Crazed with fury and grief, Poole struck out with clenched fists. He swung fiercely, aiming for Damien’s head, but Damien, braced for the attack, ducked, pulling Isabella down with him so she wouldn’t be hurt.
“I am as shocked as you are, Poole. I never believed Emmeline drowned in the lake. These past years I have firmly believed she was alive,” Damien insisted, having difficulty dodging Poole’s blows in the confined space.
“Lies, all lies!” Poole shouted with a raging snarl.
