Chapter Three

A s Rafe regarded his image in the mirror, he saw that the footman, Rhodes, had the makings of a good valet. Perhaps Rafe should hire him for the position. Not only was his clothing immaculate and unwrinkled, but his freshly shaved face made the saber scar stand out very nicely. He hoped that would drive off some of the husband hunters.

Turning from the mirror, he asked Rhodes, "Do you know what guests have been invited, other than the giggling fortune hunters?"

Rhodes couldn't quite suppress a smile. "A number of young men and women from the area have been invited, along with their parents. It's meant to be a casual gathering where people can mingle easily. The refreshments will be excellent. Since it's All Hallows Eve, there might be games."

"What kind of games?" Rafe asked warily. "Do we have to carve turnips into demon faces like they do in Scotland?"

Rhodes shook his head. "In this part of the Cotswolds, the traditional games are usually intended to reveal future spouses. A popular local game is to carve initials on nuts and toss them into a fire to see if they burn brightly together."

Rafe shuddered. "I do not play games, and certainly not mating games!"

"There should also be informal dancing, if that's more to your taste, my lord," Rhodes said reassuringly. "And a card room."

Rafe repressed a sigh, hoping that there would be enough guests that he could slip away quietly. Then he headed down the stairs, his face grim.

The large salon had been set up with tables and chairs around the edges and space left in the middle for mingling and dancing. As he entered, he saw a ripple of gowns as young ladies turned toward him. He also felt a wave of avid interest that reminded him of charging French soldiers, if not as lethal. Not quite.

He hesitated in the door and seriously considered bolting, but his attention was caught by a blond gentleman with a familiar face. "Rafe!" the fellow said. "I half expected you not to show up!"

"Geoffrey!" Rafe caught the other man's hand. He'd played with Geoffrey Milton when they were boys. He was the son of a neighboring landowner and a thoroughly good fellow. "How many years has it been?"

"Far too many." Releasing the handshake, Geoff said, "You might remember my wife, Molly?"

Rafe smiled as he made his bow. "Of course I remember her! Miss Molly Gaines was the prettiest girl in the county, and now you're surely the most beautiful."

"It's so good to see you again, Rafe," Molly said with a laugh. "I see you've learned the art of flattery! The countess asked Geoffrey and me to take you in hand and make introductions."

"And keep you from escaping," Geoffrey added under his breath.

"I promised I'd stay for a while." Rafe studied the young ladies who were approaching from all directions. "But not for long!"

Geoffrey and Molly escorted him to where the countess and several of her cronies were holding court. She nodded with approval and introduced Rafe to her friends, then he was turned over to the fortune hunters with Geoffrey and Molly's guidance and protection.

Lady Cynthia Howard swept up to him with a warm smile as if they were dear friends rather than barely acquainted. She was blonde and very beautiful, and she had perfected a way of looking past him so she didn't have to see his scarred face. She must have been told that she giggled charmingly, because she now giggled incessantly.

Geoffrey and Molly rescued him and introduced him to some of the other guests. There were a surprising number from the neighborhood that he'd known as a boy. He enjoyed renewing old acquaintances and it gave him an excuse not to spend long speaking with any particular young lady.

Still, by the time an hour had passed, Rafe's ability to be polite was almost entirely gone. Rescue arrived as servants entered with refreshments, followed by several musicians who began to play music suitable for dining. Later they would turn to dancing tunes, but Rafe took advantage of the bustling around him to slip out of a side door. His gaze met Geoffrey's just before he left. His friend gave an understanding nod before he collected Molly and claimed a table for the supper.

The air in the corridor was sharply cold and relatively quiet. Hearing the door to the salon behind him start to open, Rafe bolted around a corner and headed up the stairs before any other guests could claim his attention. He was going to make a damned poor earl when it came to his social obligations.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, he heard voices below him. One was Lady Cynthia, her voice annoyed as she said, "He went this way!'"

Another female voice said worriedly, "Should we be going after him?"

"We're house guests here, so we are certainly entitled to return to our rooms if we wish to." Lady Cynthia's voice turned arch. "There's no chance of being caught alone with him and being compromised!"

As the other girl giggled nervously, Rafe swore under his breath. He had to give Lady Cynthia credit for persistence, though if she thought she could trap him into offering her marriage, she was hen-witted.

A narrow table at the head of the stairs held several small lamps that guests could use to light their way to their rooms when they retired. He'd designed the lamps himself his last summer at the castle when a more traditional lamp had been dropped by a drunk and started a fire. Rafe had worked with the castle blacksmith to create a wire frame that fit around the glass chimney so if a lamp fell over, it was unlikely to start a fire. He'd always liked solving problems. His safety lamp had been much simpler than this marriage business.

He lifted a lamp and resumed climbing. The next floor had smaller bedrooms and some storage rooms, and the floor above held rooms for female servants.

He hadn't seen anyone since leaving the salon, but for safety's sake he continued up the last, narrow flight of stairs to the landing that held the door to the attics. As in most big old houses, the attics were a treasure trove of objects old and strange. When the weather was bad, he and other children had enjoyed exploring the trunks and boxes and old furniture. Even old musical instruments. He smiled nostalgically when he remembered long-vanished music.

Out of curiosity, he opened the attic door. His lamp illuminated a similar jumble of objects as in the past. He and the other children had moved furniture around to create mock forts so they could conduct mock battles. No wonder he'd become a soldier.

He started to close the door, thinking it wasn't necessary to hide here to escape Lady Cynthia. In the next instant he heard a silent scream in his mind and saw a blast of light. He pivoted, swearing, "What the devil!"

Sharing the small landing was a long black cat with white paws that waved wildly as it rolled onto its back. In the process the cat transformed into an enormous ghostly feline the size of Rafe. With another silent scream, the creature leaped at him with slashing claws and danger in its burning green eyes.

Shocked, Rafe staggered backward into the attic. He tripped on something and fell hard on his back, his breath knocked out of him. A huge—transparent feline paw?—swept above his head and the door slammed shut with a solid THUNK! His lamp had fallen on the landing when he retreated, leaving him trapped in suffocating darkness.

What the devil had that thing been? He didn't believe in ghosts, much less black ghost cats with white whiskers and feet, but he'd never been prone to hallucinations.

He scrambled to his feet, determined to return to the landing and see what was out there. He felt for the door and found the knob.

It wouldn't open.

The door latch was simple and it shouldn't have jammed like this, but no matter how he manipulated the knob, the door stayed closed. He was trapped in the bitter, cold darkness with wind and rain tearing at the roof directly over his head and an unknown phantom waiting just outside.

He drew a shaky breath. Perhaps he should have stayed downstairs with the husband hunters. At least he understood what they were.