the darkness, but no one was there. And yet she knew she’d seen something…heard a distinct voice crying for help.
It made no sense.
Unless she’d imagined it all.
Maybe she’d failed to close her bedchamber door properly. She blinked, still staring through the rain, unable to understand. In the distance, she glimpsed the outline of the pavilion she could see from her bedchamber window.
Her heart lurched as she recalled Mrs. Essex’s words from earlier.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
Angelica spun around with a jolt. Lord Sterling’s glare was harder than granite as he yanked her away from the door and shut it.
He crossed his arms and leaned forward just enough to meet her gaze at eye level. “Why are you here?”
“I, um…” It was difficult to gather her wits when he looked at her with such menace.
“Yes?” He took a step forward, forcing her back, until she met the uneven stone wall behind her.
“I thought I saw someone come this way.”
“Nobody comes this way,” he told her harshly. “Not anymore.”
“I—” He grabbed her unceremoniously by the arm and proceeded to escort her back the way she’d come. “My lord. Please. You’re hurting me.”
“Did Mrs. Essex not tell you specifically not to venture into this part of the house?” He practically dragged her up the stairs, heedless of her plea for him to loosen his grip.
“I—”
“You are forbidden from opening that door. Is that clear?”
Her toes caught the top step, causing her to stumble. “Yes. Yes, I promise.” She didn’t understand his reasoning much less the rest of this night’s events, but she would adhere to his wishes. It was the least she could do as his guest.
“And for God’s sake,” he added as he deposited her outside her bedchamber door a while later, “put on a robe and some slippers if you really must leave your room at night. Otherwise, you risk catching a chill.”
“Of course. I didn’t think.”
“Clearly not.” The rugged planes of his face were emphasized in the darkness. His mouth was just a harsh line. “Good night, my lady.”
“Good night.” Angelica wasn’t sure if he heard her since he was already walking away.
Unable to make sense of what had transpired, Angelica climbed back into her bed. Her mind was a muddle. It all seemed so real but how could that possibly be? She snuggled deeper under the blankets and yawned. Tomorrow she’d look for some answers, because one thing was certain: there simply had to be a logical explanation.
Randolph burst into his bedchamber with such violence he almost managed to unhinge the door. Struggling for breath, he crossed the floor and poured a large measure of brandy, downed it, and poured himself another. God help him, it had been two years! Two bloody years and all it took for rage and guilt to grip him once more was seeing Lady Angelica standing in that cursed doorway.
He’d thought he was past this. He’d thought he’d managed to put Katrina to rest. Yet here she was, haunting him from beyond the grave by reminding him of the fool he’d once been and of how he’d failed to save her.
Christ!
His fingers tightened around the glass. Blood rushed through his veins. A sharp stabbing pain ripped through his skull. The glass shattered with a dissatisfying crunch that brought a sting to the palm of his hand.
Damn.
Randolph reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. The white piece of linen was soon covered in blotches of red. He sighed and lowered himself to the armchair that stood before the fire. He’d removed himself to this part of the building after Katrina’s death, because he couldn’t stand being anywhere near the spot where she’d perished, her cries for help blocked out by the howling wind.
His chest rose with uneasy movements. And now there was Lady Angelica. As his heartbeats settled into a steadier rhythm and the anger roiling inside him abated, he recalled how she’d looked when he’d found her. His body tensed in response to what his brain was only now letting him realize. She’d been delectable, clad in only her nightgown, the fabric so fine it revealed her shapely curves and the hem so short he’d caught a glimpse of her ankles.
Perhaps if she’d not been in a state of confusion and he’d not gotten so angry, he could have used the situation to his advantage. He could have kissed her, if she’d let him.
Would she have?
He wasn’t entirely sure.
Her criticism of Colchester Hall made him wonder if she’d