Page 60 of His Wicked Charm

“Where’s the harm? You told me yourself your aunt believes what she wants to. And it will be easier to talk about it without her here.”

Lilah had to admit that. “I hope you don’t believe what Mr. Dearborn said.”

“You mean, that we’re all going to disappear on Midsummer Day? Barrow House will be destroyed? It seems unlikely.”

Thank heavens Con was being sensible. “Do you think his keys really were stolen?”

“His anger certainly seemed sincere. Still, I’m more inclined to believe he made up the story.”

“But why would he pretend they were stolen?”

“To trick you into letting him have your key. He hoped you’d show it to him or give away where it’s hidden. Or that he might coerce you into handing your key over to him by accusing you of theft. When he realized we knew next to nothing, he made up a tale about impending doom to frighten you into giving it to him—only he could save us all from destruction, et cetera.”

“But what if he was telling the truth about the keys being stolen? What if Mr. Dearborn didn’t order that kidnapping and there’s somebody else involved here?”

“And that someone is responsible for both the kidnapping attempt and the theft of Dearborn’s keys?” Con looked thoughtful. “That’s certainly a possibility.”

“But who would have wanted those keys?” Lilah asked. “What good would they do anyone else? How would anyone even know about them?”

“I suppose his son could have robbed him.”

“Peter?” Lilah asked skeptically. “I can’t imagine him going against his father. He’s always been cowed by him. Anyway, what would be the point?”

“Perhaps he finally decided to rebel. Or he thinks he could get you and Sabrina to join him. After all, that trio would have someone from each of the three families. Maybe that’s important, or at least they believe it’s important.”

“But his father won’t consider it because we are appallingly female,” Lilah finished. “So Peter is defying him.” She paused, thinking. “Truthfully, I do seem the likeliest suspect. Or you. But neither one of us stole them.” She looked over at him warily. “You didn’t, did you?”

“Alas, no. It would certainly make all this easier if I had. Do you suppose each person had a key to the same lock? Or that it took three keys together to get in?”

“It seems more likely one would need all of them. Why else would he have been holding Sabrina’s key, as well?”

“True. If there was a club of only three people and they had a secret meeting room—I presume that must be what this sanctuary he mentioned was—then it makes sense that they might set it up in a way that took three keys to open. I’ve seen locks that required two keys to open. I suppose you could make one that needs three. Or have three separate locks.”

“Wonderful. Now we have three keys to find.” Lilah sighed.

“It certainly makes our quest more challenging. Especially now that we have a time limit.”

“I thought you said you didn’t believe that we had to find the key by Midsummer Day or we’d all be destroyed.”

“I don’t,” Con replied. “But personally, I’d rather not put it to the test.”

* * *

CON PACED HIS ROOM. It was one o’clock, and he had yet to get into bed. It was pointless; he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He had downed a whiskey; he’d tried to read; he’d listed all the Roman emperors in his head—in order; he’d had another drink. Even when he set his mind to the puzzle of the keys, that brought him right back to Lilah and the danger she was under. Nothing could distract him from his thoughts of Lilah.

Just looking at his bed brought up memories of making love with Lilah yesterday, and passion surged in him all over again. Passion, which, of course, he was not going to give in to. He would not think about those long shapely legs and the way they had felt locked around him. Nor the rose-tipped breasts that fitted so perfectly in his palm. The way she moved beneath him, shy but eager.

Blast it. This was getting him nowhere. He gave up, lit a candle and, not bothering to pull on his boots again, went down to the library. The library was stocked primarily with books on philosophy, religion and history, but he was intrigued by one entitled The Ancient Mysteries of Somerset. He suspected it belonged to Aunt Vesta.

He settled down in one of the chairs and spent the next hour reading about symbols, legends, barrows and ancient tracks—the Fae Path, sadly, was not mentioned. Most of it was about Glastonbury Tor, but in one chapter, Barrow Tor was mentioned as a “holy” site, though no reason was given for it.

Picking up the candle, he headed for the oldest part of the house, which he and Lilah had not yet explored. It was this section, the one that sagged drunkenly under its own weight, that intrigued him the most. And since they were going to spend the next day more pragmatically searching her father’s room, this seemed a likely time to get a look at the old wing.

At the end of the hall, he turned left and opened the door, stepping into what could only be the Great Hall of the original home. Dark and massive, the room rose to the full height of the house. His candle cast only a small circle of light in the vast black void.

A dark figure waited in the shadows, giving him a start before he realized it was only a suit of armor. One wall held a stone fireplace, deep and wide enough to roast an ox.

He crossed the hall and opened a door, revealing another corridor. The rooms were dark and empty, giving the place a funereal air. Con climbed a set of winding stone steps to the next floor and found a similar corridor of rooms with uneven floors and a drunkenly tilted fireplace.