Page 80 of Scandal’s Daughter

It appeared to be a sprawling Tudor mansion and looked very ancient and rather terrifying as the moon slid behind a cloud and plunged them into darkness. She hoped it was less frightening inside, but when she set foot over the threshold, she found it cold and stark and extremely unwelcoming.

There was an uncomfortable air about the place, and she could well believe Beau’s claims that dark deeds had been enacted under this roof. There had been no staff to greet them, save the scandalised looking housekeeper who had peered around the door, taken one look at her and Beau and slammed the door again, something which had made Beau laugh.

Though fanciful, she imagined there to be malevolence forged into the very fabric of the walls. It made her shiver as rows of dark-eyed ancestors glared down at her.

She pulled her white silk cloak closer around her and shivered. The costume she wore suddenly felt stupid and frivolous and certainly not warm enough to withstand the chill that seemed to be creeping into her bones.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Beau chuckled, his voice echoing across the cavernous space as he made an expansive gesture around him. “Home sweet home,” he said, his tone clearly mocking. “And all my kith and kin here to welcome us, lovely Eve.” He stared up at the gilt-framed paintings, his blue eyes almost feverish with loathing. “Half of them were mad, the other half murdering bastards. We come from a long line of wicked lunatics. So, you see, I didn’t turn out so very badly. I’ve not actually killed anyone yet.” He paused, his eyes taking on a darker look that made her skin prickle. “Not intentionally anyway,” he murmured.

He led her up the stairs to a large bedroom where she hesitated outside the open door.

“Don’t fret, love,” he said, and she was relieved to see the glitter had fallen away from his eyes and he was in control of himself again. “I’ll not lay a hand on you before we’re married. Go on, you’ll find a change of clothes in there. I think I guessed right,” he added with a smirk.

She walked in and then gasped, struck by a painting of a beautiful blond woman. She was a more fragile, feminine version of the blue-eyed man beside her, but the likeness was marked and unmistakable.

“Your mother?” she asked, unsurprised when he nodded. “She was very lovely.”

He shrugged, frowning, but she noticed he didn’t look up at the painting but turned away from it.

“If the painting is anything to go on, certainly. I wouldn’t know.” She looked back at him, waiting for an explanation. “She died having me,” he said, and then walked to the door. “Don’t dawdle, Eve, we need to make haste.” Pausing, he grasped the handle before he fully closed the door. “And don’t think to take too long, for I’m not beyond carrying you out in your chemise if I have to.”

The door closed and she was left alone.

She ran to the windows, but the countryside was dark and expansive and there was no obvious escape route. Besides, the grand house had appeared to be miles from the village, and she had lost any sense of which direction it was in.

Changing out of this ridiculous outfit had to be her priority and with relief she saw that the items Beau had provided were perfectly respectable.

A pretty, white carriage dress with a small green motif, and admittedly more décolletage showing than she was comfortable with in the circumstances, was hastily pulled on. It was awkward without an abigail to help her with the fastenings, but she would have rather cut her tongue out than ask him for help.

She felt a little less furious over the low-cut gown when she found the matching green silk spencer, trimmed with dark green satin and a cashmere shawl.

The spencer was hastily buttoned to her neck and she pulled the shawl about her shoulders with relief. It had been a warm evening for May, but now she felt chilled to the very marrow of her bones.

Her mind spun as her trembling fingers fumbled with the laces on the satin half boots, he’d provided. Sebastian must know by now that something had happened to her. She’d told him she was in trouble and he knew she desperately wanted to speak to him alone. One blessing was that he didn’t yet know about the baron’s threats so there was only one likely reason for her disappearance.

Two, she thought with a sinking heart.

What if he thought she’d gone willingly? The idea made her nauseated. No. Surely, he knew how she felt about him. After everything that had been said ...

She took a deep breath.

No, he trusted her now, and she trusted him. They’d endured too many false starts and revelations, she wouldn’t lose faith now. He’d come after her, she was sure of it. Which meant she had to try to delay Beau for as long as possible.

She looked up at the painting of his mother. There was a terrible sadness in the woman’s eyes, and as she looked again, she realised she was little more than a girl in the painting. She gave a little scream of surprise as the door opened and Beau strode in.

“You could knock,” she said, glaring at him.

He grinned at her, unabashed.

“Oh, come now, Eve. I knew you’d heed my threat. If I’d wanted to see you in your chemise that desperately I’d have insisted on staying here whilst you changed.”

“Oh, you odious creature!” she exclaimed.

Taking a breath, she tried to set aside her anger. She doubted losing her temper would get her anywhere. She had to think how to deal with him.

Beau wasn’t a cruel man. She knew he hated seeing the weak taken advantage of. He’d shown that clearly enough when he’d cared for Miss Sparrow. Lowering her voice, the words were beseeching.

“Beau, how can you treat me so? You said yourself we were friends. How can you make me so unhappy?”