Sterling’s booted feet crunched over the gravel as he moved to stand before her, blocking her view.
She swallowed, battling nausea. “Is that what the villagers wanted to discuss with you?”
He nodded once, his expression grim. “You know this woman, I take it.”
“Yes, she was my…er…chaperone.”
The dubious look he sent her spoke volumes. “Your chaperone.”
She licked her lips. The task proved impossible. Her mouth had gone dry as dirt.
He sighed. “A moment, please.” He strode to the cart, making fast work of covering Lucy’s body. “I came here with the intention of storing the victim’s body in the kiln.”
“Victim, you say? Sh-she wasshot?”
“Not shot, no.”
When she opened her mouth to ask what preciselyhadhappened to Lucy,he held up a hand to silence her. “You’ve suffered an ordeal, Annabelle. I’ll see you safely back to the castle and give you time to collect yourself. Afterward, we’ll talk.”
***
Some two hours later, Annabelle awaited Sterling in his office. Seated in an armchair near the hearth where a hardy fire crackled, sipping a warm cup of rich cocoa, she flipped through the pages of a book on astronomy she’d plucked from his bookshelf. She felt almost restored, thanks in no small part to Babette.
The lady’s maid had tended Annabelle with the determination of a nurse treating the wounded on the battlefield and the gentleness of a mother hen combined, helping Annabelle out of the filthy, borrowed gown, ridding her of the soot and dirt caking her skin, and brushing her hair ’til it gleamed, all the while murmuring soothing words.
Nevertheless, Annabelle could not banish the lifeless face of her previous maid from her thoughts, nor stop asking herself how she’d wound up dead.
One thing had become clear, however. She should never have come here. Lucy had died thanks to her, and for what? She’d been so consumed with proving her worth to her parents, proving that she was more than a pretty face to attracta beneficial suitor, that she had neglected to consider the possibility that might not be true.
The idea she could solve Gaston’s murder now seemed ludicrous. What’s more, what would it change if she did? Gaston, her mother’s beautiful, blue-eyed boy, would still be gone, and nothing would alter that. Having a daughter was, apparently, no consolation.
On the cusp of that depressing thought, Sterling waltzed into the chamber. He strode to the mantel to face her.
He looked so strong. So thoroughly capable and vital—and handsome. He’d washed, shaved, and changed into clean clothing. She wondered if he’d remark on her latest ensemble. Poor Caroline would have nary a dress in her wardrobe, at this rate.
She set her half-drunk cup of cocoa in its saucer, then placed the saucer on the tray beside her. “I’m very glad to see you, sir. Did you discover anything of import in the kiln?”
“Oh, by all means, ask your questions, my lady.”
For no reason she could think of, his acerbic tone stung. It was not as if they were friends—just because he’d kissed her twice.
Technically once. The first time, she’d kissed him. Still. Their shared kisses, then, apparently amounted to nothing more in Lord Randall’s book than a passing pleasurable experience. She must adopt the same philosophy.
She stared him down and said nothing more.
One corner of his fine mouth crooked upward. “Chip and I noted several telltale signs that someone—or several someones—have been inside. Recently, or not so recently, we could not determine.
“Nor could we discern a clear purpose for someone having ventured inside. It’s possible someone took refuge during the recent storm.”
“But you do not think so,” Annabelle prodded.
“There are no signs of anyone having set up camp there. And even if that was the case, I can comprehend no reason why anyone would wish to do you harm. Which brings me to my first question: Annabelle, why did you go into the castle kilns?”
Annabelle. He’d certainly grown accustomed to calling her by her Christian name. If only she would become inured to the sound, uttered in his rich baritone. Every time she heard it, a rush of heat swarmed through her.
“As to that,Sterling,” she said, enjoying the flash of humor in his obsidian eyes, “after breakfast, I decided to take a walk. I thought you’d prefer if I avoided the townsfolk who would, undoubtedly, leave via the main road, and so I made it a point to stay on property.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “Very thoughtful.”
