Page 31 of His Sinful Touch

Her laughter increased. “Is there a real Chumley?”

“I’ve no idea. I just imitated a chap I knew at Oxford.”

“How did you know to do that? I was sure we were caught. I had visions of the duke having to come bail us out of jail.”

“Now, there would have been a sight.” He smiled. “I suspected the fellow would back down if I was haughty enough. He couldn’t know, you see, if the house had just been let or sold. What footman’s going to want to get into an argument with a viscount? The trick was not to answer his questions, as if I was in the wrong, but to turn it back on him. Arrogance and disdain will usually carry the day.”

“That’s wicked.”

“Well, yes,” he agreed. “But it does come in handy. Now we won’t have to worry about someone next door seeing our light through the drapes—they know we’re exploring our new abode.”

“My new abode, you mean,” Sabrina amended with a grin. “You, obviously, will remain living with your wife, like the cad you are, all the while keeping your mistress in style.”

“My dear girl, you wrong poor Chumley. Doubtless Chum had to marry a cold, haughty heiress to save the family estate from ruin, dooming him to a loveless life.”

“Chum?”

“That’s what his mates call him.” He grinned, enjoying the sound of her laughter.

“You’re incorrigible.” Sabrina turned away, casting her gaze all around. “Well, nothing seems familiar here.”

“I wouldn’t think the kitchen would. Let’s explore further.” He raised the shield on the lantern a little and poked his head into the small rooms attached to the kitchen. “Storeroom. Scullery. Ah, here’s the butler’s pantry leading through to the dining room. Rufus, sit. Guard.”

The dog whined but sat down, ears pricked alertly. They made their way through the lower floor of the house. The furniture was mostly concealed under dustcovers, giving it the vaguely eerie atmosphere of a house long unoccupied. There were few decorative items to be seen, aside from the paintings on the walls, to give it a feeling of people living there. One wouldn’t leave any personal items, he supposed, in a house that was rented out to strangers, but it was discouraging to his hopes of gaining information from the place.

To Alex’s senses, it had the bland, muddled feel common to public places. Alex tried to lay his hands unobtrusively on as many items of furniture as he could, but he picked up no sense of the people who had lived here or the events that had happened. It was his experience that only the most recent or sharpest, most impactful of emotions were absorbed into objects. Something dear and personal, such as the man’s pocket watch, was most likely to retain some feeling of him; he had probably carried it near to his heart for years on end. But with unimportant items, especially those used by many people, there was little to work with. Still, Alex walked through all the rooms, doing his best to open his mind to any stray sensation that might come through.

Sabrina trailed after him. “Who owns this house? Why is it empty?”

“I’ve no idea. All I know is what the neighbors told Tom—its owner is gone and it has been leased the last few years to different families.”

“Gone? He died?”

“Or moved away. Or sold it. Tom is going to look into the records tomorrow.”

She glanced all around. “It seems rather sad, doesn’t it?”

“A bit,” he agreed, walking down the hall to the next room. It was large, a formal drawing room, he supposed. Sabrina, coming in behind him, let out a gasp. Alex whirled to face her. “What? Did you see something? Remember something?”

“No, not exactly.” She was gazing at the large painting that hung over the mantel. In it, a lovely woman with dark hair was seated on a bench in a garden. “I just... I don’t know. It startled me. I’m not sure exactly why. But I—I can’t put a name to her. I can’t even say that I feel I know her. It’s just... I felt something.” She frowned, then made a dismissive gesture. “I can’t really explain.” She sighed. “I’m afraid I’m not much use.”

“No, that’s fine. We’ll figure it out.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly. It seemed only natural to keep her hand in his as they made their way down the hall.

The next room contained empty bookshelves and a desk that proved to be equally empty. A comfortable leather chair sat behind the desk. Alex rested his hands on the back of the chair, and here he felt something faint and indefinable. But it was the same presence that he had felt holding the pocket watch. Here, at least, the man still lingered, confirming Alex’s belief that he had been the master of this household. But who was he? It was maddening to find the place cleared of papers or possessions that might identify him.

Sabrina, letting go of his hand, walked around the perimeter of the room, peering at the artwork. He joined her, holding up the lantern to illuminate the paintings more clearly. On one wall was a map, reminding him of his uncle, but there were no useful pins or markings on this one. Next was a pen-and-ink drawing of an impressive church.

He bent closer to peer at it. “I don’t recognize this church. Do you think—”

“Oh, that’s Wells Cathedral.” Sabrina moved on, then stopped and swung back to him, her eyes wide. “How did I know that?”

“The same way you know any number of things. It’s general knowledge you acquired sometime in your life.”

“Do you think I’m right? That is Wells Cathedral?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen the place. We can look it up when we get home. But why would you say that if you didn’t recognize it? The thing is, if you recognize this, it’s familiar to you for some reason.”

“Did I live in Wells?” she asked, her voice rising in excitement. “Did whoever owned this house? Is that why he had the drawing?”