Mistress of Sins (Dredthorne Hall #3) - Hazel Hunter Page 0,35

the set of his mouth. He looked almost as if he were gratified, as if he had won some final skirmish before dying.

“I am so sorry this happened,” Jennet murmured.

At that moment the fortune-teller’s words came back to her: Before this dance is done, you will see your own death.

“The dance is over,” she told herself, although looking at the knife in Pickering’s back made goosebumps rise on her skin. Whoever had murdered him might still be hiding somewhere in the house—but who would wish him dead, and why?

Jennet noticed traces of soot blackened his sleeves, and now she could smell the faintest odor of smoke coming from him. Glancing at the hearth, she saw a fragment of singed paper on the bricks, and paper ash among the glowing coals. He had burned something, but why?

“Be at peace, sir.” She moved her hand to his cheek for a moment before she turned and called out as loudly as she could, “Hello, is someone there? Please, I need help in the study. Please come quickly.”

Jennet heard footsteps, and hurried to the door. There she nearly collided with three men dressed in heavy coats and hats, and wearing black masks over their faces. For a moment she thought they might be guests who had lingered, until she saw their eyes, and the pistols in their hands. She spun and ran for the window behind the desk, but before she reached it hard hands grabbed her and dragged her back. She fought, screaming as she tried to wrench free.

One of the men jerked her around and slapped her so hard she would have fallen if not for the other two seizing her arms.

“Enfermez-la,” the brute said to the others, who dragged her out of the study.

Jennet understood French well enough to know they had been ordered to lock her away. This seemed the perfect moment for a swoon, which she feigned at once. They lifted her off her feet and carried her between them through the house, unaware that she kept her eyes open to slits and watched everything they passed until they entered the dining room.

They brought her to the back wall, where one of them inserted a key into a slot in the painted panel. The wall swung out like a door, and they carried her inside and dropped her before leaving. She didn’t move until she heard them turning the lock, and then cautiously lifted her head.

Moonlight from a window provided some thin light on the small room, which appeared to be a library of sorts. A series of mirrored panels occupied one side of the room, but shelves covered the other walls. From the dusty state of the books Jennet doubted that anyone had used the concealed library in years.

She couldn’t see any candles or lamps about, and only ashes filled the old hearth to one side. As she pushed herself upright, Jennet’s hand touched what felt like a sleeve. She squinted until she made out the silhouette of a man sprawled on his back.

“Sir?” Surely he had to be one of the servants who had been similarly assaulted by the brutes. Yet when she moved to lean over him she saw that a scar divided one of his brows, and the silver hair at his temples. “Oh, my God, no. Liam.”

Greystone did not stir.

Terrified now, she touched his neck with a shaking hand, and uttered a small cry of relief when she felt his pulse throbbing beneath his warm skin. He was not dead. They had not murdered him. His chest barely moved, however, and when she slid her hand to his cheek she felt the sticky warmth of blood. A new rage bloomed in her breast, but she clamped down on it. She had to think rationally, and make use of her resources.

She needed him more than anything.

“You must awaken now, my lord.” Jennet patted his cheek, but he remained unmoving. “Baron Greystone, we have been taken captive, and Mr. Pickering murdered. You must help me.”

Still he did not stir, and she began to fear the worst. Had he been stabbed as well? Would she find a dagger in his back, and blood pouring out of him? How could she go on if he died in her arms?

An unreasonable anger rose up inside her, and she shook him.

“You cannot die, Liam. No matter how often in the past I’ve wished you dead, this night I absolutely forbid it.” She took hold of his shoulders, pushing him over