“It was a madman,” his father finally said, then took the note from Damon and held it out to Whitworth.
“Witches! Good God, this is no longer the fifteenth century,” Whitworth proclaimed after reading the missive. “That explains why I found this lying on Lady Bentford’s chest.” He retrieved a cross from his pocket.
“I don’t understand,” Jax said.
“Iron has been used for centuries to repel witches. By placing this iron cross over her heart, I’m certain they assumed something ridiculous as that it would keep her soul inside.” Whitworth shook his head and rolled his eyes. “We are clearly in search of madmen if they truly believed Lady Bentford was a witch. They are also likely searching for a place to stay for the night. If they believe in witches, they’ll be too afraid to be out after dark on All Hallow’s Eve.” Whitworth tipped back the glass and finished his brandy. “I’ll investigate and ask if anyone has seen a stranger in the area recently.”
Damon had no doubt that whoever had done this was long gone. He was just as certain that they’d not been in the village for fear of being noticed or identified. As much as Damon hoped that they’d be caught, he was just as certain they never would be.
“I’ll be by tomorrow to question your servants as I’m certain they are too upset to answer my questions today.”
“When can we take my brother and sister-in-law to be buried?” Jax asked.
“You may have them now. I have no need to examine them further.”
Thank goodness his mother and sisters had taken Evander’s young daughters to Nightshade Manor in Cornwall, or they may have been in danger, or witnessed the deaths of their parents. He was just as glad that his brother, Ares, was with them for protection and that their youngest brother, Thanatos was away at Eton and sheltered from what had happened here.
Only one question remained, and one to which they may never have the answer: how did the murderer know that Rhea was a witch?
“I’ll keep you apprised of my investigation,” Whitworth said as he left.
“We need to travel to Nightshade Manor immediately,” Damon announced.
His father looked at him as fear flooded the depths of his eyes.
“If they learned of Rhea, can we be certain they know nothing about mother or my sisters?” He took a drink then set his glass aside. “I will leave now. I can travel quicker on horseback than in a carriage. You and Jax arrange to have Evander and Rhea taken to Cornwall.”
“Yes.” His father stood. “We’ll take my son and daughter-in-law to be buried at Nightshade Manor. If my wife is unharmed, we will assume her secret is not known, though we will be even more diligent in making certain that it is never learned.”
Damon paused at the entry. “Someone should send for Thanatos.”
“We will get him from Eton on our way to Cornwall,” Jax promised. “I will keep everyone safe and send word to our cousins.”
Damon’s stomach tightened. Not only was he worried for his mother and sisters, but any female on his mother’s side, or any female with Drakos blood.
Chapter 1
Courtland Hall,Whitfield, Kent, England ~ Summer, 1813
“Uncle Damon,please let me attend. I promise not to be a bother,” Ianthe begged.
She’d recently turned twelve and wanted so badly to grow up. Damon Norcott, Viscount Bentford, wasn’t nearly as eager for her to do so, and if it were in his power, he’d slow time. If he actually had magical powers, which he did not, he’d return them all to three years earlier, to 1810, and before that fateful day his brother and sister-in-law had been murdered. Maybe he’d be able to alter the events and his nieces wouldn’t have become orphans.
But they had been killed and the murderers had never been caught.
“Grandmother is having afête champêtrefor her friends…adultfriends.”
With a huff, Ianthe crossed her arms over her chest and flopped onto a chair. “I do not see why I cannot attend the garden party too.”
“You will when you are seventeen. Then I will present you to the world.” It would be his duty since Damon had been named guardian of his oldest brother’s three daughters. Not that he was opposed to the Season. His objection came when it required that he be in attendance at the same entertainments as his mother and her incessant matchmaking.
“That is five years away,” Ianthe complained. “I want to have fun now.” Her whining demands and pouting had become more frequent of late, and one of the many reasons Damon wanted to turn back time to when she was all of ten—sweet and loving and not a hint of the petulance.
Was this how it began? The traits Ianthe was exhibiting were the very ones he’d witnessed, and detested, during the Season. Had nobody taken those females in hand and broken them of the habit? Was it possible to do so?
This was something Damon would need to put his mind to, or his nieces might grow up to be the very type of miss that most gentlemen avoided, and he’d not have that.
“I can assure you that grandmother’s party will be no fun,” Damon insisted.
