Mistress of Sins (Dredthorne Hall #3) - Hazel Hunter Page 0,53

conceal her.

That wretched, pig-headed, insidiously noble dolt of a man.

Something with an odd shape shifted in her bodice as she sat up, and she reached in to extract what felt like a thin, narrow, tightly-bound book.

I must give you something for safe-keeping. It is the reason they killed Pickering.

Terror rose inside her in a cold, icy rush. Liam would not have asked her to keep it safe unless he knew that he could not. Even with his skills, she thought it unlikely he could defeat three agents by himself. He intended to sacrifice himself to protect her and the book, and had knocked her out to assure she could not interfere.

He means to leave me again—permanently.

Jennet groped until she found a coat with a loose lining, and tore it partly away from the collar seam. She then worked the book into the tear, and shook the garment until she felt it drop down to the hem. She pushed her arms into the sleeves as she donned the coat, and plucked out her hair pins. Once she had spread her thick tresses over her shoulders and back to conceal the tear, she stood and put her ear against the door.

She could hear the muffled sound of two voices, one of which she knew to be Liam’s. They were speaking in French.

A strange sense came over Jennet as she took hold of the door knob. She felt her skin cool, and her muddled thoughts clear. She also no longer felt alone, as if others had slipped into the closet unseen and now stood around her in the darkness.

Emerson Thorne had warned her of this: Tonight, every soul lost within these rooms has been awakened. Most intend only to wander, but among them walk malevolent and vengeful spirits that one should not cross.

The legend of Dredthorne Hall had it that many of its mistresses had died within its walls. If she and Liam were doomed to share their fate, so be it, Jennet thought. She would not surrender to the curse, however, without fighting for her love and their lives.

Yet if she won that battle, perhaps it would break the curse once and for all.

“Please help me save him,” she whispered, and thought she felt the coolness around her increase. Her eyes widened as the door to the closet slowly creaked open, showing her the empty hall outside. Never again would she claim not to believe in spirits. “Go to him, yes, I will. But what am I to do?”

On that matter the spirits remained silent.

Jennet peeked around the corners before she stepped out, and followed the sound of the Frenchwoman’s shrill laughter. That took her back into the dining room, where the door to the kitchens stood open. Through it she saw Greystone in a terrible state. He had been tied to a chair placed in the center of the room, and sweat gleamed on his pale face. Dozens of bleeding cuts crisscrossed his bare chest; some so deep they gaped like stretched, ghastly mouths.

He could not defend himself tied to a chair, that much was evident to her. But what monster had been torturing him?

Forcing herself to remain out of sight, Jennet watched until a smaller figure came into her view. This young woman held a bloodied boning knife in her delicate fingers. Although she had dressed as a man, she had left her brown curls loose, so they spilled artfully around her rosy-cheeked face. She didn’t look aghast over Greystone’s state; her expression could only be called cruel, gloating fervor.

Jennet blinked, but what she saw was not an illusion. The merry butterfly of London society, her dearest friend, the confidante she had trusted above all others, was not reeling drunk, or attempting to set Greystone free.

No, Catherine Tindall seemed very amused by her own, hideous work.

“This was only a little flirtation, William,” Catherine said in French as she plied the blade along his collarbone, sending fresh blood streaking down his flesh. “We are running out of time. Now tell me what I wish to know, or I will begin to truly enjoy myself. I like to work my way from the ballocks to the brow, so you’ll see everything I do until I cut out your eyes.”

“Go to the devil,” Greystone said in the same language, his tone taunting.

Jennet clamped down on her outrage, and braced herself against the dining room wall as she quickly thought of a dozen ways she might rescue her lover. Her gaze kept straying to