Chapter Eleven

L ouisa couldn't say what it was that had awakened her. The room was dark. Douglas was still in the bed beside her, his breathing deep and even. Looking at him, she was so tempted to just lie there. But there was a sense of urgency that was undeniable.

Easing from the bed, she reached for her chemise and slipped it on. She'd been shameless enough already without parading around in the nude. Inexplicably drawn to the window, she looked out into the darkness of the garden beyond. Instantly, she knew where the sense of urgency had come from.

The white shrouded figure moved through the garden. The moon was bright, but not bright enough to see any details at such a distance. Just as before, it wandered along the garden paths to the lane, and then disappeared from sight. Turning away from the window, she gathered her dress but didn't bother with shoes. She was shrugging into the gown even as she slipped from the room. Padding down the corridor barefoot, she would have to be quick if she had any hope of catching up to whomever was impersonating the fabled ghost.

Rounding the corner to the stairs, Louisa drew up short. Terrence stood before her, a cruel smile playing about his lips.

"You know what they say about curiosity and cats, don't you, dear cousin?"

Louisa tried to hide the shiver that raced through her at the obvious threat in his words. "I certainly know what they say about every dog having his day."

That cold, bone-chilling grin on his face turned into a snarl. "You'll regret insulting me, Cousin Louisa. And it may well be the last thing you do."

She had no other warning. His hand snaked out, grabbing her upper arm and hauling her with him. But not down the stairs. Instead he pulled her to the opposite end of the corridor. The panic she'd felt at first began to fade and she struggled against him, even as she drew in a deep breath to scream for help.

He'd clearly guessed her intent, as he slammed her into the wall, pressing his hand over her mouth and nose. "Do not make a sound. I have a pistol in my pocket and I will shoot you without qualm. Then I will shoot Douglas. And there is no one in this house who would gainsay me... except for poor, dear Aunt Mary who's ready for Bedlam with all her talk of cards and crystals." Roughly, he released his hand.

"What do you mean to do with Douglas?"

"Nothing," he said. "So long as he doesn't manage to get himself another wife before the year is out. You see, that's the tricky wording of Uncle James's will. It doesn't matter who he's married to, or how many times he has married, so long as on the one-year anniversary of the reading of the will, Douglas has himself a wife. If he fails, then it becomes my turn. I'll have my chance at the family fortunes then."

"It was Fanny I saw in the garden. Wandering around in the dark wearing white like some sort of phantom, to scare away any poor superstitious village girl who might be tempted to ignore the family's dark history," Louisa surmised. It was a stalling tactic. He'd pushed her back against the wall, but there was a table beside her—a table bedecked with a small but heavy and very ornate candelabra. Fumbling for it, she finally managed to close her hand over it just as he abruptly let her go.

She could see him reaching for the gun in his pocket. It was her only chance. Swinging the candelabra upward, she caught his arm with it, the ornate scrollwork slicing his hand. Then she brought it crashing down again, this time against his forehead. Blood welled from the laceration instantly, running into his eyes.

Louisa scrambled away, screaming as she then ran down the corridor back to the room where she'd left Douglas sleeping. Even over her own ragged breathing and pounding heart, she could hear Terrence's heavy footfalls. She'd only managed to best him before because of luck and the element of surprise. That would no longer be on her side. With no other choice, Louisa screamed for all she was worth.

*

Douglas sat up with a jolt. He wasn't immediately certain what had awakened him, but he was instantly aware of one thing. He was alone. Louisa was no longer in the bed beside him.

Something else penetrated the haze of sleep. The air around him was freezing cold. So cold that he could see his breath. Instantly, memories of Louisa's description of her encounters with Caroline came to mind.

"Are you here?" he whispered.

There was no sound, only the opening of the outer door to their chamber. It was a clear indication that he should follow. Feeling both foolish and afraid, he rose from the bed. Moving quickly, he grabbed his trousers and struggled into them. Shirtless and in his bare feet, he ran into the corridor. He could see Louisa running toward him, and chasing after her was a bloodied Terrence.

Caroline had warned him. She had warned him to spare Louisa the same fate she had suffered.

Rushing forward, Douglas grabbed her, pushing her behind him. He could see Terrence brandishing the pistol, but when he saw Douglas, Terrence abruptly stopped. When Terrence raised his hand, leveling the pistol, Douglas knew he meant to fire. He would kill him, and then he would kill Louisa. Unwilling to let that happen, Douglas did the only thing he could. When he saw the minute flinch in Terrence's hand, just before the other man squeezed the trigger, he threw himself back against the wall, dragging Louisa with him.

The shot went wide. Without giving Terrence the chance to reload or fish the matching pistol from his pocket, Douglas launched himself at the other man, tackling him to the carpeted floor.

It seemed that Terrence lacked the skills to do battle with another man, someone who could match him in strength. His cousin apparently only ever engaged in violence against those who were weaker than himself.

Drawing his fist back, he hit Terrence again and again. Only when Terrence stopped moving entirely did he manage to pull himself back from that brink, back from allowing the damnable Blackwell temper to drive him to murder.

Turning to Louisa, he said, "Rouse a servant and send for the magistrate."

She nodded mutely and then stumbled toward the stairs on unsteady legs. He wanted to call her back. She was in no condition for such things, but he could hardly leave her alone with Terrence, even though he was unconscious at present. There was no way to know how long he would remain that way.

A pained groan from his cousin only confirmed it was the right choice. When Terrence's eyes opened, Douglas hauled him up by his coat and the used Terrence's own bloody cravat to bind his hands. "You'll hang for what you've done."

"What did I do other than have a midnight tryst with your bird that got slightly out of hand?" Terrence demanded, pausing to spit blood from his mouth. "Do you really want all of England to know what a trollop you've married?"

"It has nothing to do with Louisa," Douglas said. "And everything to do with Caroline. You killed her because I meant to marry her. Because Uncle James would have written you out of his will entirely then."

Terrence laughed. "You'll never be able to prove it."

"I don't need to." With grim satisfaction, Douglas explained, "You'll be in the local gaol until the next assizes. And by then, Uncle James's will, with all of its contingencies, will have been met. You'll be both penniless and disgraced. And I will have just cause to deny you entrance to Rosehaven ever again. No doubt Fanny will be less than enamored with you once your every avenue to the Blackwell family fortune has been closed. She might even be persuaded to testify against you."

There was a flicker of fear in Terrence's gaze then, the realization that all his scheming had been for naught. He was on the cusp of losing everything. "I'll go. I'll leave here, and you can have the bloody fortune!"

"That isn't good enough. Caroline deserves justice. I failed to protect her in life, but I will not betray her again in her death."