AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Meaning that Vanessa’s impostor is not what she seems?”
“Indeed.” Theresa turned to look out the window, a clear indication that the subject had been exhausted. “Think about it, love,” she advised. “Think hard; think well.”
“Do you know who the woman is?”
“I only know that she is a threat to your husband’s sanity, and that she represents danger,” Theresa replied. “The rest is still in shadows … shadows you must unveil.”
Broddington was silent.
Staring moodily out the window, Trenton wondered why he had sought out the sitting room in which to think. Aside from his visit here the other day, he never ventured into his father’s domain.
The answer was simple: He felt closer to the truth here.
Hands clasped behind his back, Trenton gazed into the late-afternoon sky, wishing the hours would speed by and bring Ariana safely home. Rational or not, he felt terribly uneasy about her meeting with Baxter. True, she had lived with the man for eighteen years, during which time no real harm had befallen her. But that was before she’d become Trenton’s wife, before she’d come to care for the man who was her brother’s enemy.
Before Trenton had fallen in love with her in return.
Warily, Trenton pondered Baxter’s intent. Was he engineering some sinister plot to drive Trenton to his knees? Did he plan to use Ariana as an unsuspecting accomplice? If so, would Ariana be able to recognize his ploy? She was so damned trusting and innocent.
So unlike Vanessa.
Trenton began to prowl the room fitfully, the concept of Vanessa crowding his mind, consuming his thoughts. The one thing he couldn’t accuse Baxter of was conjuring up Vanessa’s image the other night at the river. Had Baxter paid someone to play the part? Was that possible? Could anyone so closely resemble the vivid bitch who had destroyed Trenton’s life?
And the most frightening question of all: Had anyone actually been present that night, or was Trenton truly losing his mind?
Sweat breaking out on his brow, Trenton stalked out of the sitting room, the ghosts of the past too powerful to withstand. He stood in the hallway, his breathing shallow, grateful that no one was about to witness his uncharacteristic loss of control. Grimly, he battled the emotional weakness, reminding himself that his reserves were depleted, for he’d had little more than two hours’ sleep the past few nights.
Sleep. The very solution.
Trenton made his way to his chambers, determined to rest, if not doze, until Ariana’s return. Perhaps then his mind would be fresh and he’d be able to view the entire situation more objectively.
The room was warm with late-afternoon sunlight. Trenton leaned back against the closed door and inhaled deeply.
Roses.
Instantly, the scent accosted him, icy fear encasing his soul, bile churning through his gut. In a rigid, trancelike state, Trenton crossed the room, each step bringing him closer to some inescapable, unknown atrocity. He sensed it with every fiber of his being, steeling himself for its discovery.
No amount of fortification prepared him for what awaited.
With a low groan, Trenton clutched his nightstand, staring at the scene before him. His bed was carefully turned down, a tattered lime silk gown crumpled on the floor at its foot. The stark linen was barren, but for a single rose that lay upon the pillow amid a bright crimson stain.
Blood.
With shaking hands, Trenton bent to lift the gown from the floor, already knowing what he would find. More blood was streaked across the delicate fabric, the bodice ragged, but still discernible.
It was the gown Vanessa had worn on the night she died.
Flinging the garment to the bed, Trenton backed away, shaking his head in denial. It couldn’t be. Dear Lord, it couldn’t be.
And yet it was.
He took the stairs two at a time, unsure exactly where it was he was running—and from whom. A lone maid glanced curiously in his direction, but she was far too timid to approach the duke in his obviously agitated state.
The conservatory door was open, the flowers bright and beckoning. Mindlessly, Trenton stumbled inside, unconsciously seeking whatever haven Ariana seemed always to find here, desperately craving peace.
It was unattainable.
“Trenton …”
