The Obsessions of Lord Godfrey - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,90
into the gloom of the old wing and, as she’d expected, was devoid of life. She strained her ears for any hint of movement or voices, but heard nothing. The light outside was fading, but enough remained to be certain there was no one in the corridor.
She humphed, unsure whether she was disappointed or reassured. Already wondering where next to look, she started to turn away, and her gaze swept over the bare floor—and the boot prints left in the dust.
She let go of the door and walked forward, studying the impressions. Two sets of men’s boot prints led down the corridor.
Increasingly quickly, she followed the trail. The earlier tickle of presentiment swelled to an icy sensation that intensified and urged her on.
The trail led to the door to the attic stairs. She pushed it open. She had to squint in the dimness, but as her eyes adjusted, she spotted the boot prints—both sets—continuing up the stairs.
She hurried up. On the first landing, she spotted a sight that made her blood run cold. Two pairs of boots had gone up the stairs, but only one had come down.
Yet she hadn’t seen the returning boot prints in the corridor… “He went down to the ground floor.” She stared blankly as realization bloomed. “He’s using a door downstairs to come and go.”
And she knew which “he” that would be.
She drew in a quick breath and rushed up the remaining flights. The door at the top giving access to the attic stood ajar. Her heart in her mouth, she pushed it open.
With no idea of what she might find, she walked in and, through the gloom, barely daring to breathe, looked searchingly around.
She spotted Godfrey slumped against the side wall to her right. With a gasp, she ran toward him, dodging the clumps of old boxes and discarded furniture that littered the floor between them.
As she neared, she saw that his hands, bound together, lay motionless in his lap. Worse, he remained unmoving, his head turned to the side, as if he was staring at something.
Horrified, she spotted a trickle of what could only be blood running from his hairline down the side of his cheek.
Most terrible of all, he hadn’t yet glanced her way.
She was nearly upon him when, finally, he lifted his head as if it weighed a ton and looked at her, then smiled—a weak travesty of his usual charming, dimpled smile.
“Oh—hello.” His eyes closed, and his lips pinched as he struggled to sit straighter.
Hello? She swooped down to crouch by his side and immediately fell to tugging at the knot in the cloth wound about his wrists. “What happened? Who did this to you?”
And yes, that was blood on his cheek, presumably seeping from a wound hidden beneath his dark-auburn hair.
Somewhat frantic, she glanced around. “And where’s Masterton?”
She looked at Godfrey, who was now frowning.
“Actually,” he said, speaking rather carefully, “it was he who knocked me out and tied me up. I wasn’t completely conscious at the time, but I could hear well enough, and he was the only one about.” As she tugged to loosen the knot, his eyes cleared, and his features hardened. “He led me up here, showed me those paintings”—he tipped his head toward where he’d been staring and winced—“and while I was distracted, he struck me down.”
“Good Lord!” She glanced to the side and noted the four frames stacked against the wall beneath the nearest window. Returning to her desperate task, she finally got the knot undone and fell to unwinding the strip of cloth. “What on earth does he think he’s about?”
“He wants to marry you, for a start.”
She humphed. “I’ve known that for years, but I won’t have him.”
“He doesn’t know about us, and he thinks you’ll eventually weaken, especially if he gets rid of me. And then once he’s your husband, he plans to somehow take control of the Hall and sell it.”
Startled, she looked into Godfrey’s face, and he nodded grimly. “He’s in debt and needs the money.”
She blinked, then pulled the cloth free of his wrists and flung it aside. “He’s the one who took the Albertinelli.”
Godfrey nodded again. “So he couldn’t have me visiting Hendall and asking who commissioned the forgery.”
“The…the bastard!” Still crouched, she glanced around again. “Where did he go? Do you know?”
“Not specifically.”
She turned back to find Godfrey pushing against the wall in an attempt to stand, and she quickly rose to help him.
He struggled to get his feet under him. “He muttered something about