Lord Deverill's Heir, Catherine Coulter [the best motivational books .TXT] 📗

her jaw would drop to the floor in surprise. He continued, all good humor, “What man would? I ask only that you take good care of her. She is all that is precious to me.” What was going on here? Why was he smiling at her, calling her precious to him, giving her permission to go with the comte, the man he was certain she had betrayed him with? It made no sense, unless . . . She drew a deep breath. He must believe her innocent now. Had he guessed that it must have been Elsbeth? She wanted him just to believe her, and perhaps it was true.

She didn’t want to go to the front doors with the damned comte. She wanted to shoot him. She wanted to kick him to the floor. It was denied to her, dammit. She forced herself to smile, saying, “I shall be delighted to explore with you. Where do you wish to go?” He paused before replying, as if uncertain. “A difficult decision, Arabella, but I think I should like to visit your old abbey ruins once again. The few minutes I have spent there were not enough. Such a romantic place, full of ghosts of your English ancestors. I wish to be drawn back into the past, to forget the cares of the present.” Arabella thought this overdone, but she merely nodded. They agreed to meet in thirty minutes.

When she came down to the entrance hall not long thereafter, dressed in an old blue muslin gown and stout walking shoes, she asked Crupper, “Have you seen his lordship?”

He gave her a tolerant smile. “Your husband had an errand to do. He said I was to tell you that he would miss you”—old Crupper’s eyes softened and Arabella stared—“and that he hoped you would spare him some time this evening.”

“Oh yes,” she said, nearly dancing, “I will spare him any amount of time he wishes. Thank you, dear Crupper.”

“A pity you must spend time with that Frenchman,” Crupper said.

“I agree with you. It is a great pity.”

“He will be gone soon.”

“Yes, isn’t that wonderful?”

She grinned at him and went out to stand on the front steps. Gervaise appeared not many minutes later, dressed beautifully, as was his habit, a smile of anticipation on his handsome face.

He didn’t hesitate to flatter this girl whom he would never see again in two days. It cost him nothing, and hopefully, it would make her more cooperative. “How very lovely you are, Arabella. An afternoon in your company will fill my memories for many a lonely day to come.” His flowery compliments nauseated her, but she forced a smile. Soon he would be gone. She couldn’t wait. She fell into step beside the comte, thinking about her husband, wondering what he was thinking now. Surely he wouldn’t insult her again, would he?

“A lovely day, Arabella. Finely suited for our explorations.”

“Hmm,” she said. “How very true.” She walked faster. Time moved very slowly on occasion.

The old abbey ruins were bathed in the rich golden light of the afternoon sun, the rays striking the three stone arches that still stood, casting circular shadows over the large area of fallen rubble. Arabella tried her best to capture a mood of adventure. “Well, Gervaise, here we are. As you can see, the original abbey was a huge structure, covering most of this hill. See how high those two remaining arches are? On this level, only they remain. Now, of course, the rest of the walls are very nearly tumbled about themselves.

“The time we visited here before, I neglected to tell you of the abbey’s history, which was not a very happy one. My father told me that it was a sanctuary of learning for nearly four hundred years before it was pillaged and burned in the sixteenth century on the orders of King Henry.” Gervaise appeared fascinated with the recital, and she warmed to her subject. It helped pass the time. “When I was a child, I explored some of the old chambers that still exist under this level. See”—she pointed to the far perimeter of the ruins—“where the fallen rocks have been cleared away? Just below are the chambers—monks’ cells. I have been told that if you are very quiet you will hear the monks intoning their prayers.”

“Ah, very romantic, that. Elsbeth was telling me of a subterranean passageway. There are chambers still intact down there?”

“At least four or five chambers stand as they did seven hundred years ago. They are in a row off the only passage that remains uncollapsed.” His interest seemed to kindle, his eyes shining. “We must make haste, my dear Arabella. I must see these chambers. I will never have another chance.”

Arabella hesitated. “It isn’t safe, Gervaise. I have seen some of the stone crumble just in the past ten years. Indeed, some nearly fell on me.” He drew himself up. “I would not dare to ask you to submit your person to any hazard, dear Arabella. I insist that you remain here in safety. I shall explore the old rooms.” Masculine authority rang in his voice.

Well, damn, she thought. She couldn’t very well let him go down there alone, despite his peacock’s preening. “Oh, all right, one last time then. Let’s go.”

He looked pleased. She didn’t understand it. “I of course will do as you ask.” He gave her a flourishing bow and stepped back.

“Follow me and stay close,” she said over her shoulder, and hunched down.

Arabella skirted the massive stones to the far side of the ruins. Here all larger stones had been rolled away to preserve the passage below for as long as possible. In some places the ceiling was so thin that tiny shafts of light could be seen filtering down into the darkness below. She turned to where crooked slabs of stone still framed the stairway leading downward to the lower chambers. She peered inside.

“I forgot to bring candles. It is too dark for us to see well enough if