The words should have comforted me. They didn’t. Something dark stirred at his promise as if subtly hinting that I was, in fact, in danger.
He leaned down and I thought he would press one of his kisses to my forehead, but he didn’t. Instead he gently hooked his finger under my chin and pressed his lips to mine. Heat glazed my skin, the sensational warmth of his mouth threatening to buckle my knees right then and there… right in front of Mrs. Ashby.
“Until this evening, then.”
And with that, he was gone, footsteps fading down the corridor, the sound swallowed by the vast, echoing quiet of Blackthorn Manor.
Mrs. Ashby folded her hands neatly at her waist. “If you’ll follow me, Your Grace,” she said. “We’ll begin with the south wing.”
I hesitated, glancing once more toward the direction Sylum had gone. Then, drawing a steadying breath, I turned to follow her deeper into the house.
Chapter 8
The manor seemed to darken the farther we walked.
Gone were the bright panes of stained glass and the gentle reassurance of Sylum’s presence. The corridors here were narrow, their walls paneled in black walnut that drank the light from the few sputtering sconces.
Mrs. Ashby moved ahead of me with impeccable, almost predatory grace. Her footsteps were unhurried and soundless upon the carpet runner. I followed a few paces behind, my skirts dragging in quiet protest along the floor.
“This,” she said, gesturing toward a narrow archway that opened to a small sitting room, “is the south wing. These rooms are seldom used now, but they belonged to the late Duchess—His Grace’s mother. They have been kept precisely as she left them.”
I peered through the doorway as we passed. Dust motes drifted through a shaft of afternoon light, and in thatgolden haze, I saw the outline of a pianoforte, its lid closed, a single wilted rose resting on the keys.
“She must have been very fond of music,” I mused quietly.
Mrs. Ashby did not look at me. She didn’t even bother to slow or turn. “She was… a delicate woman.”
The tone with which she spoke the worddelicatesuggested a far heavier meaning, one I sensed she would not share. I let the subject drop.
We continued on, turning down a hall lined with portraits—pale, solemn figures with the same aristocratic cheekbones and haunted eyes. The Deveroux line, I assumed. The men wore expressions carved of ice, the women, sorrow.
“Blackthorn has been in the family for centuries,” Mrs. Ashby said, her gaze never straying from the path ahead. “The original structure was smaller, but it grew with each generation. As you will see, it has… many additions.”
I smiled faintly. “Yes, I’ve already discovered that. As you recall, I nearly lost myself last night.”
Her head turned slightly, though her stride did not falter. “Yes, I certainly recall.”
She stopped before a tall window at the end of the corridor, her reflection ghostly in the glass. “The manor is not safe at night,” she said firmly. “The floors have shifted with age, the staircases are treacherous. You should stay in your rooms.”
Something in her voice, an undercurrent of warning, made me shiver.
“Of course,” I murmured. “I’ll be more careful.”
She gave me a curt nod then resumed walking, leading me through a series of double doors that opened into the library.
My breath caught.
It was vast and two stories high, with shelves that climbed toward a vaulted ceiling painted in dusky tones of blue and gold. Thousands of books lined the walls, their spines glimmering in the muted light. It was an introverted lady’s dream.
I nearly salivated as I ran my fingers over the aged spines.
“This was His Grace’s father’s domain,” Mrs. Ashby said. “He was a man of… peculiar taste. Philosophy, history, science, and the occult.”
“The occult?” I asked, half-smiling from curiosity prickling through my unease.
Her lips twitched, neither smile nor frown. “Lord Blackthorn had a fascination with things best left unexplored. His Grace, of current, does not approve of such interests and has forbidden entry to the study beyond those doors.”
She gestured toward an arched door at the far end of the gallery. It was locked with an ornate brass latch.
