The Secrets of Colchester Hall: A Gothic Regency Romance Page 11

  Christ! The hallway seemed ten times longer than usual, his strides too short to satisfy his need for haste. With a muttered curse he broke into a run, racing toward whatever horror awaited. But nothing prepared him for what he would find when he reached the wide open landing from which the grand marble staircase descended. His heart thrashed about like a trapped bird, and his breaths squeezed tight in his throat, lumping together as he moved toward the railing and peered down into the foyer.

  Instinct told him what he would find but the sight of sprawled limbs, charred clothing, and chestnut hair strewn across hard marble sent shivers racing up over his arms and across his back. The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end and his blood froze in his veins. No. His stomach twisted as if a rough hand had reached through him to wring out his insides.

  Crouched by Angelica’s side, Clarkson, his butler, looked up from below. His eyes… Randolph felt time slowing, slipping away and spinning frantically out of control. And then Clarkson said it. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I’m afraid she’s dead.”

  Everything inside Randolph revolted, tearing through him with violent emotion until a choked roar of protest escaped his parched throat. “No. She can’t be,” he shouted, directing his anger and pain at his butler.

  The man merely stared back at him with a wrinkled brow and grey eyes full of regret. Angelica’s lifeless body lay at his feet, the spot of blood next to her head like a ghastly signature on a macabre painting.

  Randolph started forward. It was like wading through water, yet he knew only one thing and that was he had to reach her. He had to… Dear God, she couldn’t be dead. Not when he couldn’t imagine a world without her in it, not when he longed for her to tell him she hated his home, his food, hell even his company if that were true. But it wasn’t. She’d already told him she wanted to be his wife, and that was what was supposed to happen, not this. Never this. Not when…

  His vision blurred and he grabbed hold of the railing, clinging to it for support while his heart started crumbling. He loved her. He loved her so damn much he—

  “What’s happening? Is everything all right?”

  Heaven help him, he’d forgotten about Angelica’s mother. He turned, intent on reaching her before she saw, but his feet would not move fast enough and his shaking limbs refused to work as they ought.

  “Lady Bloomfield,” he tried, “You must not—

  But it was too late. Her face came into view, and he saw the moment she registered what must have happened. A wail, so painful it drove through him like a knife, splintered the air. The poor woman nearly collapsed, her legs buckling beneath her until she half hung, half leaned against the edge of the staircase.

  “I will bring her to her room.” Randolph had no idea how he managed to get the words out, but seeing Lady Bloomfield’s suffering told him he had to figure out how to handle the situation someway. He was, after all, the master of Colchester Hall. Angelica had been his guest and…

  He swallowed against the knot squeezing his throat.

  She should have been so much more.

  Slowly, he released his grip on the railing and continued down the stairs. His pace was careful and measured, as if reaching her and confirming her state for himself would make it more real. Ignoring the rapid click of approaching footsteps, he finally knelt by her side and brushed his thumb over her cheek.

  “I heard a scream,” Mrs. Essex said from somewhere behind him. “Is…” She gasped. “Oh dear lord. What on earth happened?”

  Unable to speak, Randolph simply shook his head and scooped Angelica into his arms. The hem of her nightgown was burned all the way to her knees, allowing a glimpse of her ankles and shins which had turned a bright shade of red. Conscious of his stricken servants and her heartbroken mother, he carried her back up the stairs while doing his damnedest to keep himself from falling apart.

  “Tell me what I can do to help,” Mrs. Essex said. She’d apparently followed him into Angelica’s bedchamber and was now hovering near the door while Clarkson lit a couple of oil lamps. The old man chose not to linger once he was done with the task, instead asking Randolph to ring for him if he needed anything else.

  Perched on Angelica’s bed, Randolph bowed his head over her prostrate body and addressed Mrs. Essex. “Lady Bloomfield will need a stiff drink.”

  The poor woman had collapsed in a chair and was quietly sobbing away.

  “All right, but what about you, my lord?”

  He winced in response to the pleasant sound of her voice, so at odds with the mood he was in. “Nothing, at the moment.”

  “I could stay and watch over her while you and her mother rest.”

  He closed his eyes, expelled a deep breath. “Perhaps you could—”

  Something clutched at the front of his robe, dragging him down until… “Do not leave me alone with her.”

  The strained words, barely audible as they brushed his face filled his heart with immediate joy and his mind with confusion. “Angelica?”

  “Shh…”

  Randolph stared at her face, at her fixed expression. Nothing about her suggested she’d spoken and yet he’d heard her. Unless, of course, he was so paralyzed by loss and desperate to have her returned to him that he’d imagined her words.

  “Yes?” Mrs. Essex inquired.

  “On second thought, I will see to the brandy.” He glanced back at his housekeeper, a sliver of unease darting through him at seeing the lack of emotion upon her face. She smiled the moment their eyes met, instantly souring his stomach. “You should return to bed for now. With Lady Angelica’s death there will be much for you to do tomorrow.”

  She hesitated briefly, then nodded and left, shutting the door with an audible click.

  Randolph placed his palm against Angelica’s cheek. “She’s gone. You can open your eyes now.”

  Dark lashed fluttered ever so lightly against creamy skin. Rosy lips parted and air was sucked in. Angelica squinted against the light from the oil lamps Clarkson had lit. “She...did this.” Her voice quivered faintly, but it was enough to draw her mother’s attention.

  “Is she..?” Lady Bloomfield rushed to the opposite side of Angelica’s bed. “How is this possible? Heaven above, I thought you were lost to me, darling.” Her hand clutched her daughter’s while fresh sobs wracked her hunched form.

  “I’m sorry, Mama. I must have…” Angelica blinked in rapid succession, then pulled her hand free from Randolph’s and touched the back of her head. The small movement resulted in a painful groan, and when she shifted her weight, her face twisted in agony.

  “You took a terrible fall,” Lady Bloomfield said. “We have to fetch a physician to look you over right away.”

  “Not now. Later. I just…” Angelica’s words trailed off.

  “There’s blood at the back of your head.” Her mother’s voice shook. “You need immediate medical attention.”

  “I need to speak with Randolph first.” Angelica sighed as if speaking was taxing her energy. She took a few breaths before adding, “Alone.”

  Randolph decided to step in and offer some reassurance before they wasted more time. “I know a good physician, Lady Bloomfield. I’ll send for him as soon as I’ve spoken with Angelica. You have my word.”

  Lady Bloomfield’s lower lip quivered. She sniffed. “All right.”

  “And please…” Angelica’s eyes closed for a brief moment. She winced as she moved her leg. “Stay in your room, Mama. Don’t tell anyone I’m alive, just…just drink what Randolph gives you and…try to go back to sleep.”

  Incredulity widened Lady Bloomfield’s eyes, informing Randolph of how impossible sleep would be in her current state. But rather than argue, she turned her attention to him.

  “I’ll just be a moment,” he told Angelica. As reluctant as he was to leave her side, he knew her mother required fortification. As did he, for that matter. Hell, he’d thought he’d lost her, had been so beside himself when Clarkson had said she was dead, he’d not even thought to
check for himself.

  Returning to his bedchamber, he took a minute to dress, deciding to forego the time consuming effort of putting on a cravat which only threatened to delay his return. He grabbed a bottle of Glenturret and a couple of glasses, then headed back to Angelica’s bedchamber.

  Relief whipped through him when he found her still there, resting against her pillow with open eyes. His heart eased into a steadier rhythm than it had experienced so far since he’d woken, allowing him to keep a steady hand while filling the glasses. He handed one to Lady Bloomfield.

  “Thank you.” She took a small sip, licked her lips, and drank again before rising. “If you need anything, please let me know.”

  “I will see you in the morning, Mama.”

  Lady Bloomfield nodded and forced a smile. “Very well.”

  Randolph waited for the connecting door to close before pulling the chair around so it stood right next to the bed. He sat and took Angelica’s hand in his. “Would you like some?” He held his glass toward her.

  “No. I need to be able to...ugh…think.”

  “Turn your head a little.” Carefully, he helped her move. “Easy. Just like that. Well done.”

  He parted her matted hair and examined the cut. It wasn’t too deep, but it was still bleeding. Grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket he dipped it in his brandy and carefully dabbed at the wound. Angelica hissed in response. Her body tensed, but she let him finish what he was doing without complaint.

  When she was resting on her back once more, Randolph gently squeezed her hand. “Tell me what happened.”

  And as she did, Randolph learned what it truly meant to hate someone, for the anger growing inside him with each word she uttered was worse than what he’d ever felt toward Katrina. This feeling was different. It was dark and gnarly, a deformed creature with twisted limbs, hell-bent on seeking satisfaction. And by God, he’d find it one way or the other. What Mrs. Essex had done to Katrina and to Angelica could not go unpunished.

  It took more than a week for Angelica to fully recover from her ordeal. After she finished her account of what had transpired, Randolph had woken three footmen: one to guard the door to Mrs. Essex’s bedchamber, the second to fetch the local magistrate, and the third to make sure a physician was brought to check on Angelica. The examination had declared her extremely lucky to still be alive considering the nature of her fall and the blow to her head. Her ankles and shins were blistered from the burns she’d sustained, one of her ribs was possibly cracked, and her left hip severely bruised.

  According to what her mother had told her, Mrs. Essex had been removed from the premises by the authorities and was now awaiting trial. To this end, the magistrate had interviewed Angelica who’d corroborated the story. Proving Mrs. Essex’s involvement in Katrina’s death would also be possible with Marcus’s help. Finding the former groom had been a challenge, but after questioning those who’d known him, Randolph had managed to seek him out on a farm a day’s ride north of Colchester Hall. And while the young man had initially tried to flee, he eventually agreed to help, provided he could do so anonymously.

  Randolph agreed and in the weeks that followed, amidst the increasingly tedious wedding preparations, Angelica did her best to help him recover from the guilt gnawing at his soul.

  “Marrying you would make me happier than anything else in the world,” he’d told her the evening after her fall. “But I understand if recent events have made you reluctant to choose me as your husband and Colchester Hall as your home.”

  “That’s not a proposal,” she’d told him bluntly.

  He’d smiled. “Angelica, would you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  She’d answered him with a kiss and a whispered, “Yes,” against his lips.

  “You’re sure?” he’d asked while resting his forehead against hers and holding her close.

  “Without a doubt,” she’d assured him. And then, because she knew how important it was, she’d pulled back enough to meet his gaze with all the love she felt in her heart. “And Colchester Hall isn’t nearly as bad as I once suggested.”

  It was hard to explain, but the misery weighing the old stones down had withdrawn the moment Mrs. Essex was gone. In its place was a light and buoyantly romantic atmosphere, leaving no doubt in Angelica’s mind about Katrina finally being at peace.

  In the end, they’d decided to take things one day at a time and remain wherever their mood chose. And with all the ensuing wedding preparations, Angelica’s slow recuperation, a week-long trip to London, and the legalities surrounding Mrs. Essex’s arrest, they’d hardly had time to discuss their future again before their wedding day was upon them.

  “I don’t think I ever thanked you,” Randolph murmured once he and Angelica had retreated upstairs to their private apartment after wishing their wedding guests a good night. Standing near the fireplace with a glass of recently poured champagne in his hand, he watched her intently as she approached. “Had it not been for you…” He shook his head roughly.

  With her heart racing against her breast, Angelica set her own glass of champagne on the mantelpiece and stepped closer to her husband. “As I’ve already told you, you aren’t to blame.” He opened his mouth as if to protest, but she placed a quick finger against his lips. “However, there is still one thing you should know, and that is how deeply I love you.”

  His eyes flared with renewed brightness, and champagne sloshed from his glass in his haste to set it aside. Before she knew it she was in his arms, surrendering to the most passionate kiss he’d ever bestowed. Hands slid over her every curve, working buttons and untying ribbons with half-frenzied movements until, quite abruptly, he paused with his face pressed into the curve of her neck. Everything slowed – his progress, her heartbeats, and time. A shuddering breath escaped him, and she felt his hands tremble as he clutched her tight.

  “I love you too,” he whispered hoarsely against her throat. “More than I could ever hope to describe. And when I believed I’d lost you I… I just knew what I felt for you surpassed all else.”

  Tears crept along the edges of her eyes until they spilled onto her cheeks. He kissed them away while taking his time to undress her, then kissed his way down the length of her spine, over her hip, and across her stomach until the heartfelt emotions he’d stirred were replaced by intense longing.

  “Randolph.”

  His eyes burned hot as he rose to his feet and stepped back to better assess his handiwork. “God, you’re stunning.”

  A curse followed as he struggled to untie his tricky cravat and again when his fingers slipped on his waistcoat buttons. By the time he swept her into his arms, his body as naked as hers, the tension straining his muscles could not be ignored any more than the nerves clutching her stomach or the heat creeping under her skin.

  “So are you,” she whispered, because even in this intimate moment, or rather because of it, honesty mattered.

  Another kiss increased her yearning for more as he settled her on the bed. His mouth left hers, kissing a sensual path that left no part of her body untouched. Her breaths grew ragged. An insatiable hunger assailed her until she could stand it no more.

  “Please,” she gasped while he slid one hand up the side of her leg. “Show me what I want, what I need.”

  A growl shook the air as he settled above her. His dark eyes gleamed. “Have I ever told you—” his mouth burned her skin with another exquisite caress “—how much I adore your boldness?”

  “Indeed you have.” And just to highlight the point, and also because she was both impatient and curious, she touched him as he’d touched her.

  “Bloody hell…” His curse was followed by words of praise, another deep kiss and then finally, blessedly, by the feel of him joining his body with hers. “I love you,” he told her once they’d found their shared rhythm. “God, how I love you.”

  Gripping him hard, she held on tight and followed his lead. “I love you too. Randolph I…”

  “Yes.�
� The word hissed between his teeth. “Surrender and let yourself soar.”

  And so she did, delighting in the sensations he stirred in her heart, body, and soul while relishing the fact that she affected him likewise.

  “I’ve never known anything like this before,” she told him later when she was wrapped in his arms.

  “I should bloody well hope not,” he muttered.

  She slapped his shoulder. “You know what I’m trying to say.”

  “That this was the most exquisite experience ever?”

  Turning her head, she touched her lips to his. “Precisely.” She reached for his hand and twined their fingers together. “I’m very sorry Katrina died, but I’m glad she led me to you.”

  When he answered, his voice was hoarse with emotion. “Me too.”

  Angelica knew he’d loved his wife, and that with everything he’d uncovered, the anger and hatred he’d felt toward her had been replaced by aching regret. But Angelica also knew he loved her, so fiercely she had no room for envy or any kind of resentment. For her heart was already full, packed by a love so rich that the only way forward was with a never-ending series of smiles, moments to be cherished, and an endless happily ever after.

  Thank you so much for reading The Secrets of Colchester Hall. If you enjoyed this story you’re sure to enjoy my Crawford series as well. Grab your copy of No Ordinary Duke, More Than a Rogue, and Her Seafaring Scoundrel.

  Or if you’re looking for a longer read with a rags to riches trope, you might consider trying my Diamonds In The Rough series, starting with A Most Unlikely Duke.

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