“Please, Cluyne. I tell you that will only cause more trouble—” Spying a flutter of silk in the connecting corridor, Kate bit off her words. “Who’s there?” she demanded.
“Oh, forgive me! I did not mean to intrude.” Lady Duxbury stepped out from the shadows, the swish of her skirts amplified by the uneasy silence. “I felt in need of a breath of air and thought I would not be disturbing anyone if I took a walk through this part of the house.”
“We were just doing the same,” said the duke tersely. “I should not want any of my guests to feel that they are a prisoner in their rooms.”
“How horribly upsetting this must be for you.” Her tone was sympathetic, but Kate thought she detected a glint of malice in her gaze. “Let us hope that the magistrate finds the culprit quickly.”
“Indeed,” murmured Cluyne.
“Well, I am sure you wish to be alone.” Excusing herself with a dimpled smile, Lady Duxbury turned and headed back the way she had come.
As the sound of her steps faded, Charlotte pursed her lips. “What mischief is afoot here?” she muttered.
“What do you mean?” asked Cluyne.
“The countess seems to enjoy playing nasty little games that stir up trouble.”
The corridor seemed to grow colder. Kate rubbed at her arms, trying to dispel a sense of unease. “I can’t imagine what harm she can do. As far as I can tell, wielding her feminine wiles and flirting with attractive men are her paramount concerns.”
“Her brother was quick to offer up unsavory stories about your past,” pointed out Charlotte. “I wonder how he knew such details.”
So do I, thought Kate. But aloud she merely dismissed the comment with a small shrug. “In the scheme of things, Lady Duxbury is the least of my worries.”
The duke shifted his stance uneasily, as if he were standing on dangerous ground. “Cluyne Close has become home to a nest of vipers.”
A fresh chill slithered over her skin.
“Let us continue on to the library,” he added when neither she nor Charlotte replied. “I think I am in need of brandy, to go along with the books.”
“A glass of sherry would be most welcome,” murmured Charlotte.
“You go on,” said Kate abruptly, suddenly feeling the overwhelming need to find Marco and tell him about the missing plant. “I feel a headache coming on and think I shall retire for the evening.”
“I’ll come—” began her friend.
“No, please. I would rather be alone, if you don’t mind.”
Charlotte’s expression betrayed a pinch of doubt, but after a moment she nodded. “Very well. If you are sure…”
“Quite. I shall see you both in the morning.” She squeezed her grandfather’s arm and set off down the side corridor, intending to sneak back to the conservatory through another part of the house.
Common sense said that Marco should be told this new information as soon as possible, she reasoned. Yet at heart Kate knew that it was not logic’s whisper that was stirring the odd little fluttering in her chest. She found herself craving his company, if only for a brief moment. A touch, a smile, even a sardonic word of teasing would help steady her spirit for the long, dark night ahead.
Lud, was she really turning into a helpless horrid novel heroine? A starry-eyed schoolgirl with dreams about fairy-tale heroes?
The arched window reflected her self-mocking grimace as she turned into the alcoved entryway. Pausing, she squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her brow to the glass, hoping the chill would help dispel such childish fantasies. In a moment, she would lift her lashes and see the real Kate Woodbridge.
But it was not her own hazy image that she saw through the breath-fogged panes. A quick swipe of her sleeve showed that someone was hurrying along the path leading down to the lake.
Without hesitation, Kate unlatched the side door and stepped out into the night.
Chapter Twenty
Keeping close to the mullioned panes, Marco followed the perimeter path of the conservatory, alert for any sign of movement. Satisfied that all was still inside, he ventured a glance out through the thick glass. Turning the corner of the octagon had brought him parallel with the trellised rose garden and the lawns leading down to the lake. The dark, thorny vines of the climbing bushes twined in and out of the slats, nearly obscuring the painted wood. A breeze tugged at the leaves, scattering a shower of pale petals over the grass.
He was just about to continue on when a movement behind the