Beth paused at the edge of the clearing. The old ruins stood to one side, stately and vine-ridden against the side of the lake. Many people built their own ruins, trying to emulate fallen Greek temples and the like, but Massingale House boasted a real ruin, one of Roman design, and just as intriguing.

“I haven’t been here in months,” Beth said as they neared the ruin.

Charlotte led the way, lifting her skirts from the tall grass. “Hurry!” she called over her shoulder. “It is going to rain. I don’t wish to be caught in it.”

Beth followed, almost running. She wished Charlotte would not go quite so fast, but she supposed that with the weather hanging over their heads in such a threatening manner, it was a good thing. It was long past the time for the truth to be revealed, come what may. She steeled herself and increased her pace.

Charlotte veered to one side as they came closer to the ruin. “It’s in here.” She disappeared around the corner of the building.

Beth followed, coming to a halt a second later. “Charlotte!”

“Down here.” Charlotte’s voice drifted up from the wine cellar that had been dug to one side of the ancient portico.

Beth went down the stone steps to the heavy door, a thick musty odor rising to meet her. The door was much smaller than a normal one, and she had to duck a little as she went.

Charlotte was there, in the back of the room, kneeling before a dusty shelf and feeling about for something.

“I have never been in this place.”

“The gardeners once used it to store their extra things, but since your grandfather built the new hothouse, they never come here.” Charlotte glanced back over her shoulder. “I love Massingale House. I believe I have been in every nook and cranny.”

“I love it, too,” Beth replied, stung a little by the implied criticism. “But I am not addicted to crawling into such small places as this.”

“Ah!” Charlotte pulled forth a small, leather-wrapped bundle. “Here it is!” She held it out to Beth.

Beth took the bundle and fell to her knees. Inside the leather pouch came the unmistakable jangle of metal and jewels. Slowly, she opened the pouch and gasped. A sapphire and silver filigreed necklace lay in her hands. Even in the small light coming from the partially open door, it was obvious that the piece was of master workmanship. The silver chain was intricately formed, generous pearls threaded between some of the most breathtaking sapphires she’d ever seen. But the most beautiful thing about the necklace was the large teardrop sapphire that hung from the center. “Oh Charlotte, it’s beautiful. How on earth did you end up with this—”

A scraping sound shattered her sentence. The room was plunged into black.

Beth leaped to her feet, the necklace forgotten as she frantically tried to make her way to the door. She ran into a broken crate, her shins smarting painfully before her hands found the door frame. “Charlotte!”

From the other side of the door came the unmistakable sound of laughter.

Beth placed her hands to the door and shoved with all her might, but the door did not move.

“Charlotte!”

“Don’t even try! It is closed forever!” Charlotte said, her voice unusually crisp and clear.

Beth stepped back, trying to breathe, think, do. “Charlotte! The door—”

“Is locked. I will only be here a few moments and then I shall return to Massingale House and tell everyone you went for a walk beyond the grounds and that you were plainly distraught. After I leave, no one will find you. You will die here, alone and away from everyone you love. Even Westerville, though he will forget you soon enough.”

Beth pressed a hand over her mouth. “Charlotte, you cannot mean that.”

“Oh, but I do.” Charlotte gave a laugh that was not quite steady. “Beth, you want to turn your grandfather against me, to remind him of my mistakes, mistakes I paid for already, so many years ago—”

“Mistakes?” Beth leaned against the heavy wooden door, pushing with all her might. Christian would come looking for her. She knew he would. If she could just keep Charlotte talking, it would draw him to this place.

Her heart sank. It was thin reasoning. But it was all she had. She thought furiously. “Charlotte…you were the one who turned false evidence against Christian’s mother.”

“I put that witch where she needed to be! I had her locked away forever where men wouldn’t fall for her sick beauty. Yes, that was me. You did not know her, but she was evil, always entrancing men and then leaving them.”

Beth pressed her forehead to the smooth, cool door. “Wait? Father cared for her?”

“He was mad for her! But she would have nothing to do with him. Nothing! Before she came along, he loved me. Or was beginning to; I could tell. When he grew ill, he needed me. I thought he’d finally realized we were meant to be together. Instead, the more ill he became, the more he called for her. It was as if I didn’t even exist.” Charlotte’s voice cracked on the last word.

Beth winced. That was just like her father, she thought. He’d always been so wrapped up in himself, in his own world. “You discovered how he felt about Christian’s mother and you forged the false evidence.”

“Oh, it was not that simple. I had to find a way into her life, be seen as her best friend. Everyone thought we were inseparable. She called me Sinclair, which is my family name, and I called her Titania, after the fairy queen. She thought that a compliment, but it was not.”

“Why did you bother with all of that?”

“To learn her handwriting. I had to change the letters to make them look like hers. Also, if I was her best friend, who would think I was lying when I was sadly forced to turn over evidence I’d ‘found’ in her desk?”

Beth turned her back to the door and squinted into the cellar. She had to think. She didn’t recall a window, but…was there a vent of some sort? A small one, even? She began to walk around the room blindly, running her hands up and down the walls. “You were very clever, Charlotte,” she called loudly. “Cleverer than I thought you could be.”

“No one ever pays me the least heed. Usually I like it that way, though I do not like it when your grandfather thinks me stupid. That makes me mad.”

“It would make me mad, too. How did he find out about everything?” Beth tripped over something in the dark, her leg banging painfully against a sharp edge. She reached down, blindly feeling for the object. It was a cask. Hope lifted and she turned it on its side, grunting a bit as she did so. Perhaps she could stand on it and—

A thud sounded as something hit the door.

Beth paused. “What’s that?”

“I thought perhaps I should cover this door. Just in case someone comes looking for you.”

“They will hear me scream.”

“Not unless they stand right where I am, leaning against the wood.” Another thud hit the door.

Beth gritted her teeth and stood on the cask, groping along the high part of the wall for an opening of some sort, swiping aside cobwebs and centuries of dust. Where was the opening? Where was—Ah! Her fingers brushed a small indentation in the wall.

It was a small opening, barely large enough for her fingers to fit through. It was small, but perhaps it would be enough. “Charlotte? How does grandfather know your secrets?”

There was a pause in noise outside. “What?” Another thud hit the door.

“I asked how Grandfather discovered your secrets?”

“Lord Bennington. He found out what happened and told everything to your grandfather. Between them, they decided the best thing to do in order to stifle any possible scandal was to lock me away.”

Bennington knew? Beth couldn’t see the staid lord keeping company with a woman he thought guilt of such duplicity. She ran her hands along the thin slit in the wall that was way over her head, her fingers barely brushing it. It was filled with decades of muck, mold and debris. Some of it rained down on her as she tried to dig it open, but she ducked her head and kept her hands busy. If she could get it open enough, perhaps she could tear some of her skirt and hang it from the window to draw attention. It was a pale plan, but all she had.

Meanwhile, she had to keep Charlotte busy. “Charlotte, how did Bennington discover what had happened?”

“He found some of the practice letters I’d forged. It was horrible, that night. Especially after he forced me to tell your grandfather everything.”

Outside the door, noise continued. “What are you doing out there?”

“You’ll see,” Charlotte answered in far too calm a tone.

Beth bit her lip. Even standing on tiptoe, she was too short to really clean out the slit. She needed a tool of some sort. She climbed off the cask and sank to her knees, then began blindly stretching out, looking for something she could use. Her fingers sifted through straw and dirt. Finally her fingers closed over a wooden peg that probably had once been hammered into the wall to hang herbs. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

“What are you doing in there?” Charlotte asked suspiciously.

“Wondering why my father did not value you as he ought. That is criminal.”

“It is more than that,” Charlotte said, clearly miffed. “I was the perfect wife for him. I was young and able to have a child and I loved him so much.”

“That was his loss.”

Another thud against the door rang through the room. “He didn’t love me.”

“He was very sick.”

Beth pressed her hands together, trying to make them stop shaking. I have to do this. I cannot let Charlotte win again. For myself. For Christian. For Father. With superhuman effort, Beth dashed the tears from her eyes, picked up the stick, and began digging at the opening with renewed effort.

“Charlotte? What are you doing?”

Beth paused. It was Lord Bennington! She ran to the door and pounded her fist, but all it did was bruise her flesh on the hard wood. “Bennington! Help me! Charlotte has trapped me in here and I cannot—”

“Charlotte! What have you—”

“She knew about what I did to Westerville’s mother.”

There was a long silence.

“Bennington!” Beth shouted again. “Please help me!”

A muted sigh was heard. “Charlotte, I cannot allow you to do this.”

“If I don’t, she will tell the world of her suspicions and I will end up in gaol. Is that what you want? Me in gaol?”

“No, no. Of course not. But to do this—Charlotte, I cannot allow—”

There was a dull thwack and then a tremendous weight thudded against the door. Bennington’s voice was not heard again.

Beth turned away, a hand on her stomach where it roiled. God give her strength, but she didn’t know what to do. She dropped back to her knees. A signal. That’s what she needed. Her fingers closed over the stick she’d found. If she could light this and stick it out the window, there was a chance someone from the house might see the smoke.

Beth’s heart leaped. But just as quickly as she felt the spring of hope, a new fear entered. Smoke was seeping into the room already, but from under the door.

Charlotte had caught the door on fire. The small vent was pulling the smoke now, filling the room with the fetid thickness.

“Beth, I am going to leave now! At least you won’t die alone. Bennington is here to keep you company.”

Beth could barely make out Charlotte’s voice. It came as if from a long way away. Beth covered her mouth with the edge of her damp skirt, her eyes burning. She was not going to die of hunger after all.

Eyes filling with tears, Beth looked around her. What was she going to do now? Christian, hurry!

 

Christian ran down the terrace steps and tore through the garden. His gaze was drawn to the bench where he’d once kissed Beth. Do not look. Do not slow down. He reached the small gate in the back and threw it open.

Charlotte stood in the opening. Her gown was soaked, bits of leaves and bark clung to her. A slightly dazed look was on her face, a streak of black down one cheek.

He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Where is she?”

“Someone took her! We were walking down the road and—”

He shook her roughly. “Damn you to hell! You will tell me where she is or I’ll—”

From over her shoulder, he saw it. A thin trickle of smoke. It climbed up the sky and disappeared into the gray clouded air.

Christian pulled Charlotte close and spoke through clenched teeth. “If she is harmed, you will be next and by God, no force on earth will save you then.”

He threw her from him and raced on, covering the ground in great strides, branches whipping at him, cutting his cheeks and neck, though he felt nothing. All he knew was that Beth was within reach.

He stopped when he reached the ruin. The thin line of smoke had thickened now, great puffs billowing up to fill the sky.

“Bloody hell!” He ran to the back of the ruin and came to a halt. Before him was a steep incline rimmed by a set of stone stairs—a cellar of some sort. Down the stairs was a pile of brush higher than his head. The brush smoldered and crackled, fire licking higher and higher.

“Beth!” he called.

No answer came. He tried to fight his way closer, but the now-thick smoke began to curl at him. Coughing, he took off his coat and turned, running to the lake. He soaked it, then ran back to the cellar. Wrapping his arm in the coat, he began knocking the large pieces of burning wood from the door.

“My lord?”

He turned to find Jameson and the footman, Charles, their faces flushed from running.

“More water! Now!”

Jameson nodded, turning to run toward the lake, peeling off his coat as he went; Charles followed behind him. Christian’s coat was drying now, the heat from the burning wood searing his hands.

“Beth!” he called desperately, his arms aching with the effort.

As if from far away, he thought he heard an answer. He paused, then yelled again, but no other answer was forthcoming. Christian clenched his teeth and looped his coat over a burning log and tugged it, yanking it from the pile and out of the way. As he did so, he noticed a boot at the bottom of the stack of wood. His heart sank. It was a man’s boot. Bennington.

Christian grabbed the foot and tugged. Two smaller branches rolled out of the fire, showering the grass with ashes and sparks. Bennington lay pale and unmoving, a deep gash on his forehead, blood covering his coat.

Damn it all! Christian hurriedly unwound his cravat and tied it about the man’s head, then rushed back to the burning pile. The door itself was now burning; he could see it through the remaining brush. The smoke soaked his lungs and burned his eyes, but he kept going. He had to reach her. He loved her more than anything. More than life. More than vengeance. “Beth!”

This time, an answer echoed, choked and desperate. No sweeter sound had ever been heard. “Christian!”

Jameson returned. “Here!” He thrust his deliciously cold and wet coat into Christian’s burned hands. Christian wrapped the coat over his face and picked up a large piece of wood that was not burning. “See to Bennington. He is badly injured.”

The butler nodded and left.

Christian turned to the burning pile of wood. He hefted the log to his shoulder and, using it, rammed the door.

The footman, Charles, was beside him in an instant, covered by his own dripping coat.

“Together!” Christian ordered.

They positioned themselves with the limb as a battering ram. The fire licked about them, the smoke obscuring everything.

They coughed and choked, but did not let go of the log.

“Now!” Christian yelled.

The log smashed into the door. With a resounding splintering, it broke neatly in two, a billow of smoke emerging to completely engulf Charles.

Christian pulled the wet coat closer as Charles staggered off, searching for fresh air. Into the black hole, Christian went. For an instant, he could see nothing in the smoke-filled room. Then, on the floor, he caught a glimmer of white. Beth lay, arms outstretched, as if she’d tried to reach the door, but couldn’t.

His heart thudded. He stooped and picked her up, pausing only to wrap the wet coat over her head, then, shoulder first, he raced out of the building.

The duke’s carriage pulled up. The groom dismounted, and with him, the duke.

Jameson was at Christian’s side. “Place her on the ground, my lord!”

Christian did so, barely able to remain upright himself. He coughed and choked, bending over as smoke-tears rolled down his face.

“Come, my boy!” the duke said, pulling him to one side. “Jameson can—”

“No!” Christian said, finally catching his breath. He pulled himself to where Beth lay and collapsed beside her. Lifting on one elbow, he looked down into her face.

Her breathing was labored. Jameson was wiping her face with a wet cloth. Christian took the cloth from the butler and gently rubbed it over her chin and forehead.

Dirt streaked one cheek. Her gown was ripped and filthy beyond measure. But never had Christian seen anything so beautiful. “Beth—” The word sent him into a fit of coughing.

Finally, when he could breathe again, he lifted back on his arm and looked down at Beth. She lay so still. So quiet. He traced a finger over her cheek where a welt was rising. “Beth. Please—” He could not continue, though not because of his coughing. This time, a wealth of tears clogged his throat. He would not let her die. He would not.

He reached for her, lifting her into his arms, into his lap. He placed his cheek to hers. “Beth,” he whispered. For the first time since he’d been a boy of ten, left to fend for himself after his mother’s death, Christian Llevanth prayed. “Please, God!”

Beth coughed, her entire body curling up. Christian tightened his hold, smoothing back her hair as blessed fresh air revived Beth.

Her eyes opened, red-rimmed and watery and completely beautiful. She coughed even more and he lifted her a bit to help her fight the spasms. “Just relax,” he murmured. “It’s the smoke. You are just getting it out of your lungs.”

She nodded, coughing even more and gasping now and then, her eyes clenched closed.

He held her to him, speaking foolish words, little endearments, and silly chastisements. He loved her so much…more than life itself.

Finally, she managed to draw an even breath. Her eyes opened again, traveling across his face. And she smiled. “I knew you would come.”

He hugged her, burying his face in her hair.

“Are you done?” The duke’s cranky voice rose over the crackle of the fire.

Christian lifted his head to meet the duke’s gaze. Though the old man’s words had been harsh, there were very real tears in his eyes. “No, my lord. I am afraid I am never going to be done holding your granddaughter. Not now. Not next year. Nor the year after that.” He looked down at her and lifted a hand to her cheek. “She is everything to me.”

“Christian!” Beth caught at his wrists. “Your hands!”

He looked at the blisters and burns. “A little scratch, my love.”

“A little—” She struggled to sit up, but he refused to allow it. “Christian! The necklace! It is in the shed and—”

“Forget about it.”

“But—”

“Beth, I don’t care.”

She blinked at him, uncertainty in her gaze.

He lifted the wet cloth to her cheek to brush away another streak of soot.

She caught his wrist again. “Christian, you must get some salve for your hands! They must hurt dreadfully.”

“I have all the salve I need, right here.” He wrapped himself about her once more and held her close. “Beth, when I saw you lying on the ground, I thought—”

She pushed him away. “Christian, I have to tell you. Charlotte is the one who—”

“I know.”

“We must stop her!”

“Don’t worry about Charlotte,” Grandfather said. “She was attempting to take Bennington’s horse. I had an undergroom lock her in the tack room on orders of a flogging if he dared allow her to escape.”

“Lord Bennington!” Christian exclaimed. He looked at Jameson.

The butler wiped his hands on a piece of ripped cloth, blood staining the material. “I believe the bleeding is stopped. I sent Charles for the doctor.” Jameson glanced at the duke. “My lord, I fear the constable will also have to be notified. There will be an inquiry.”

Grandfather winced. “Surely we can just—”

“Massingale,” Christian said quietly. “There will be an inquiry.”

The duke scowled, the old man’s gaze slipping to find his granddaughter, lying so quietly in Christian’s arms. Something in the old duke’s gaze softened and, after a long moment, he nodded slowly. “It is time for everything to be brought into the open. I will welcome an inquiry.”

“What will happen to Charlotte?” Beth asked, turning to look at her grandfather.

“If we are permitted, I will ask that she be sent away where she cannot hurt anyone again.” The duke’s expression crumbled. “Beth, I’m so sorry—it’s my damnable pride. I wanted to protect our name. In the end, I didn’t protect anyone.”

“We all fight pride,” Christian said. “I fear very little else has been driving me.” He brushed a tear from Beth’s cheek. “I am sorry about Lord Bennington.”

“He is fortunate to be alive. He was a fool to think Charlotte would ever be well enough to return his regard.”

Beth sighed. “He really did love her, didn’t he?”

“Too well,” Grandfather said.

Christian brushed the hair back from her forehead. “Beth, I am sorry.”

Her brown eyes fixed on him. “For what?”

“I have been a fool. I thought the most important thing in my life was finding who was responsible for my mother’s death. Now, I realize what is really important is you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Beth blinked up into the face of the man she loved more than life itself. “You love me.”

“Desperately. Madly. To distraction and back. And when we are wed, I will love you even more.”

“But…your mother—”

He sighed. “I know what happened to my mother. Sadly, it does not change her fate. But what I do know changes mine. I am through with the past. You are my future. You and the love we share and the children we will have. That is all I want now. All I’ll ever want.”

Beth couldn’t say a word. She simply reached up and drew him to her, gulping a sob into the crook of his neck as she held him tightly.

Behind them, Grandfather sniffed loudly.

“They make a lovely couple, my lord,” Jameson said, fishing in his pocket for a clean handkerchief. He found one and handed it to the duke.

“Indeed they do,” the duke said, blowing his nose rather loudly. “They will be even lovelier once they’re properly married!”

Beth caught her breath and peeped up at Christian, wiping her eyes with a ragged sleeve. “I need a bath.”

He chuckled. “You smell of smoke, as do I.”

The duke turned, leaning heavily on his cane. “Jameson, open the carriage door. We shall return to the house.”

Beth smiled up at Christian. “Shall we adjourn to the house to get some ointment for your hands and a bath, my love?”

His eyes lit. “A bath?”

Grandfather snorted. “Someone send to London for a special license! Now.” He allowed the butler to assist him into the coach and sent everyone scurrying to find a blanket for Lady Elizabeth.

“Indeed,” Christian said. “I would like to marry tomorrow morning, if possible.”

Beth blinked. “Tomorrow morning?”

“Is that too soon? How about tomorrow afternoon, then? I shall send to London and have Reeves bring the necessary clothing.” He twinkled down at her. “I really must introduce you to Reeves.”

She paused. “Your butler?”

“The one and only.” Christian stood, then reached down and lifted his lady love in his arms, silencing her protests with a hard kiss. “My father sent him out to civilize the lost sons he’d neglected, but damn me if all I’ve seen him do is marry us off.”

“Oh dear, how dreadful!”

Christian smiled down into Beth’s eyes as he carried her to the waiting carriage. “If this is dreadful, then I want more of it.” He gently set her on the seat of the carriage. “Much, much more!”