Chapter 36

Thirty-Six

THE PICTURE

The next morning, I was in the bathroom and all was right in the world, because Ian had woken me by going down on me.

I loved what he could do with his cock, but he was a master with his tongue.

I’d blow-dried my hair and was sitting on the little bench covered in chocolate silk, putting makeup on at the wide and handy built-in makeup vanity, when I heard it.

A crash in the other room.

For a second, I froze.

Then I got up and raced into the other room.

Ian was standing in the sitting room, phone to his ear, head bent, hand at the back of his neck, and I saw one of the glasses from his personal drinks cabinet in shards on the floor.

“Yes, yes. I’m all right. Just find out who the fuck did this shit,” he snarled into the phone.

He then beeped it off, tossed it on the couch and scowled at the shards of glass.

“What’s happened?” I asked.

He turned to me. “I’ve paid for expedited tests. And my suspicions have been confirmed. The whisky had traces of Valium. The Amaretto, psilocybin.”

“Psilocybin?”

“It’s a psychedelic. Did you dream last night?”

I hadn’t.

I shook my head.

“Then it’s also highly likely that’s been assisting you in having such vivid, imaginative dreams.”

Dear God.

Someone had been drugging me.

Us.

“Holy crap,” I breathed.

He stared at me.

“What?” I asked.

“I hesitate to share this, but none of the other liquor was tainted. Just what I drink and what you and Portia drink.”

“What’s that mean?” I breathed.

“It means whoever this is seems to be targeting me and you two.”

I didn’t ask why. He wouldn’t know.

“Kathleen told me it wasn’t much,” he shared. “Less than a microdose when drunk one glass at a time. But prolonged exposure might have a layering on of effects. Specifically for the psilocybin.”

I didn’t know how to feel, or at least not how to process all I was feeling, when I noted, “That seems to be a definite possibility with me.”

“Yes.” Then he exploded, “Fuck!”

I started to get closer to him. “Ian.”

He lifted a hand to me. “I need a second, Daphne.”

I stopped.

“I ran into Jack yesterday,” he began. “I’ve known him since he was a lad in the village. And I couldn’t stop my mind from exploring every possible slight me or one of my family might have delivered to make him do something like this.”

That had to seriously suck.

“Oh, honey,” I whispered.

“Rebecca brought my lunch to the Brandy Room yesterday, and I watched her like a hawk to see if she’d give anything away. She didn’t miss it, and now she probably thinks I’m some kind of lech.”

“This is a lot for you,” I noted.

“It’s a lot for all of us.”

“Like you said, you’re on it and we’ll have answers soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

“Yes, but soon,” I stated firmly. “Can I come to you now?”

He did the chin lift again, it was a little less warm, a lot jerkier, but it was still affectionate.

I went to him and put my arms around him. He returned the gesture.

“I’m sorry someone drugged you in my home, sweetheart,” he murmured.

I gave him a shake. “It isn’t your fault, Ian. I’m angry the orgasm I gave you has worn off so soon.”

He blinked, then finally he gave me a smile.

“Shall I remind you?” I offered.

“I’m not about to say no.”

He seemed to be shifting us to the bed.

But I stopped him when I dropped to my knees.

“Daphne,” he whispered.

I looked up at him. “Hold on, baby. I’m about to rock your world.”

That got me a big grin and him threading his fingers in my hair.

Then I set about rocking his world.

* * *

“Why are we doing this again?” Portia asked.

“Just humor me,” I muttered, staring intently at painting number seven we’d found in my dogged attempts to track down all that showed Alice and Wolf.

Don’t ask me why, but I was faintly obsessed.

On the other hand, with Ian holed up with Richard and Daniel, it was something to do.

This one was in the hallway of the southwest wing. I’d walked by it multiple times when I was in the Carnation and Rose Rooms. And, yes, I had noted it when I did.

It was much like all the rest, but with two big differences.

In the others, Wolf was always in armor, most of the time wearing a helmet. But if he wasn’t in armor, his hair was dark.

In this one, he was like my dream. Fair-haired with the stamp on his features of arrogance and pride.

In fact, this picture must have been what struck my subconscious because he looked a lot like the man in my dreams.

As did she (it was the flowing blonde tresses that hit her waist, in many of the other portraits, she was veiled).

The other thing was that, in all the others, he’d been in Proud Warrior (not yoga) Pose or Lord of the Manor Pose. Straight. Tall. Mighty. His face carrying the expression of superiority.

But this looked like a romance novel cover.

They were standing on a moor. Alice was at his side, her hand on his chest, head tipped back, gazing up at him adoringly. He had his arm wrapped possessively around her waist, his other hand covering hers on his chest, head tilted down toward her, matching her look.

“This is kinda…gorgeous,” Portia said, and I turned to her to see her examining the picture. “It makes me feel…happy.”

Yes.

And not just happy because we were girls and prone to respond to romantic images like that.

There was something more.

Before I could put my finger on it, we heard, “There you are.”

We turned to see Lady Jane leaving the landing and coming to us.

“I thought a walk would be the thing,” she suggested.

I could see she definitely did, currently wearing outdoors gear that would keep any countess warm in style as she strolled her country estate.

“I thought you two might want to join me, but I love you found Alice and Wolf,” she finished.

She stopped at us and gazed contentedly at the picture.

And then she shared, “Adelaide had this commissioned. It’s one of my favorites in the house.”

It felt like a bolt hit me at learning this news.

Which was why I sounded strangled when I asked, “Adelaide?”

She made no note of the tone of my voice when she turned my way and nodded. “Yes. Adelaide. There are those who say this is less Alice and Wolf and more her and Augustus. She was indeed blonde, but he dark. But it’s more than just his hair color. It doesn’t look a thing like them.”

It didn’t, though there was a bit of Augustus in Wolf, which would not be right in reality, since Augustus would be the descendent of Cuthbert, not Wolf.

“Do you know much about Alice and Wolf?” I asked.

The penetrating look she turned on me had my heart skipping a beat.

“Every countess knows of Alice and Wolf.”

“What do you know?” I pushed.

She tipped her head to the side in that way of hers. “Has Ian spoken of them?”

“He said they didn’t get along.”

She turned back to the picture. “Yes, that is the story.”

Though she said it like it wasn’t the story.

“They look pretty happy here,” I noted leadingly.

“Yes,” she agreed.

But she said no more.

“I—” I began to coax further out of her.

However, I got nothing more out because we all went still when we heard a scuttling in the wall.

“Where are the men?” I whispered.

“With Richard in the Whisky Room,” Lady Jane whispered back.

“You’re sure?”

“I just popped in to tell them I was going to find you and go out.”

I turned to her. “Where’s the entry into this wall?”

She’d never looked motherly at all.

She did when she started, “Daphne—”

I grabbed her arm urgently. “Where’s the entry into this wall?”

“Narcissus.”

“Get Ian,” I said.

“I don’t think—” she tried.

I didn’t listen.

I took off.