it, but I recall now that it burned before he could take possession. Then he died as well, and God knows who owns it now. Clearly we’ve wasted our time.”
“I don’t know that.” She was staring at it meditatively. “It would be a prime location for a secret society bent on evil deeds.”
“Most of the members of the Heavenly Host have their own estates and all the privacy they might command. Why choose a ruined, abandoned estate where anyone might see them?” he countered.
“I don’t imagine this place has many casual visitors. I would think the Heavenly Host could expect a great deal of privacy which they might not get at their own homes. There’s not much to see here. It also has a convenient proximity to London, which would recommend itself to the members.”
He didn’t want to consider it but she made sense. “I suppose it’s possible. According to my father they used to meet at house parties out in the countryside, though those sounded much more comfortable. If I had my choice between slogging out here on a day trip, reveling in massive debauchery, and then riding home, compared with a leisurely trip to someone’s country estate and a comfortable room to recover from my excesses, I would most definitely choose the latter.”
“How convenient that you come from a family of degenerates,” his companion murmured. “But I still hold that the Heavenly Host has changed from a silly group of playacting gentry to an organization of dangerous deviants, and what was true in the past is no longer the case. In the past their crimes were simply against the laws of decency. Now they are breaking the law of the land. They would need to be far more circumspect.”
“I bow to your superior knowledge of degeneracy,” he said, stifling a yawn. They had started closer, and he could smell the scent of burned timbers on the air. The ruins had a sad, eerie air to them—at night it would appear almost haunted. The sun had come out at one point during the morning ride, but even with it bright overhead the place still depressed him. He pulled his horse to a stop, reaching out to catch the bridle of his companion’s horse.
She was most definitely an excellent horsewoman. Her temper at having her mount controlled by another was understandable, and he’d done it to annoy her, but she didn’t jerk her horse’s head or do anything to break his hold and upset her mount. “If you want to stop you need only say something,” she said, managing to be polite at what he suspected was great cost.
“I want to stop.” He released her horse, then slid off his own, tossing the reins over a low-slung branch of an overhanging oak tree. “Why don’t we have lunch before we explore the place? I find I’m in need of sustenance.”
He moved to help her down, but she’d already managed to dismount on her own, no mean trick given that her mare was a good fifteen hands or more. He looked forward to helping her remount, and then he wanted to kick himself. He was like a schoolboy looking for excuses to touch the object of his adolescent desire. If he wanted to touch Melisande Carstairs he’d damned well do so.
He slung the picnic hamper off his saddle, plus the woven coverlet Cook had provided as ground cover, and shoved them into her hand. “Here,” he said unnecessarily. “I’m going for a short stroll.”
She glared up at him. “And you expect me to arrange things?”
“Your fault for not bringing a servant as chaperone,” he replied.
“If you felt your chaste reputation was in danger you should have said so at the outset of our journey.”
“Would you have brought someone?”
“Of course not. But I would have enjoyed your discomfiture more.”
He had to hide a smile. She was so deliciously argumentative. He had no choice but to accept the truth of her earlier observation. A docile wife was going to be a dead bore. Fortunately he planned to spend as little time with his as-yet-unknown bride as possible.
“I’ll be back shortly,” he said, strolling toward the ruins.
“Don’t you dare start exploring without me!” she called after him.
He simply waved a dismissive hand and moved on.
It wasn’t that he wished to annoy her. At least, that wasn’t his main ambition. The wreckage of Kersley Hall might very well be dangerous, and he didn’t fancy having to rescue her from some potential cave-in. A brief reconnoiter