suspect.”
She seemed affronted. “With that sort of reasoning, then even I could be responsible!”
Christian shrugged again, enjoying her outrage. She was so easily riled. “But I know you weren’t directly responsible because you were there.”
“Yes, I was there,” she echoed, and t hey both fell into silence, the sparring mood between them chased away by the memory of what else had befallen them the night before— when they were alone together.
Miss Parkinson cleared her throat as they neared the great hall. “As for the reactions of the others, the colonel was most surprised. He doesn’t seem to believe in spirits.”
“Though he doesn’t quite disbelieve, either,” Christian said.
Miss Parkinson nodded. “Cousin Mercia was most excited, being rather a proponent of Sir Boundefort’s.”
“And Emery?” Christian prodded.
She slanted him a glance. “Emery is a scholar, and as such he keeps an open mind.”
“Ah,” Christian noted. He couldn’t very well say anything more, as they had reached their destination, where he found all three cousins eyeing him expectantly, Mercia with obvious glee, the colonel more warily, and Emery with his usual ill will. Christian decided he just couldn’t wait to tell the earl how much he had enjoyed this little jaunt the old man had sent him on.
And then they all began talking at once.
Christian silenced them with an upheld hand. “Does anyone know where a copy of the plans for the house might be?” he asked. When they all shook their heads, he turned to Emery. “What about you? Surely, in all your research, you have come across some mention of the original building or additions?”
Emery glared at him. “No, my lord. I’m afraid such things hold no interest for me,” he answered with a sniff.
Christian narrowed his eyes for a moment, then decided against argument. “Well, I guess we will just have to open the doors and discover what we may.”
“B-but you can’t!” Emery protested.
“And why is that?” Christian asked, finding the young man’s reaction most interesting.
“Well, I thought the doors were locked!” the colonel blustered.
“It’s dangerous down there. Any fool can see that—else why close off the cellars?” Emery said with a snide superiority that was beginning to grate on Christian’s nerves.
“I didn’t think anyone knew exactly what lay behind the doors,” Christian commented with narrowed eyes.
“Perhaps Sir Boundefort wants us to go down below,” Mercia suggested.
“More likely he is warning us against it,” Emery said.
“I say, all this discussion is moot unless you plan to break down the doors,” the colonel said. He paused. “You don’t plan to, do you?”
“No, I don’t plan to break them down,” Christian said. “But I’m hoping to pick the locks.”
That little announcement silenced the entire hall, the arguing and the chatter dying away in a heartbeat as everyone stopped to stare at him, presumably dumbfounded that a viscount of the realm would even suggest such a thing. Christian grinned. His pirate heritage came in handy at times, though it was a friend of rather dubious talents who had taught him this trick years ago. Unfortunately, he was not in the habit of using the skill and so wasn’t too certain of his success.
But he was rarely plagued by doubt, and so he turned to his hostess. “One of your hairpins, please?” he asked, holding out his hand. He would like to remove all of them, but he didn’t see how he could justify that request.
For her part, Miss Parkinson simply stared at him in horror. Was she that attached to her hideous coiffure? She looked positively flummoxed for a long moment, and Christian wondered if she needed some sort of assistance. Of course, he would happily provide some, of a physical nature…
“Am I to understand you can enter through locked doors?” she finally asked.
Christian shrugged. “I’m going to do my best.”
Miss Parkinson opened her
She seemed affronted. “With that sort of reasoning, then even I could be responsible!”
Christian shrugged again, enjoying her outrage. She was so easily riled. “But I know you weren’t directly responsible because you were there.”
“Yes, I was there,” she echoed, and t hey both fell into silence, the sparring mood between them chased away by the memory of what else had befallen them the night before— when they were alone together.
Miss Parkinson cleared her throat as they neared the great hall. “As for the reactions of the others, the colonel was most surprised. He doesn’t seem to believe in spirits.”
“Though he doesn’t quite disbelieve, either,” Christian said.
Miss Parkinson nodded. “Cousin Mercia was most excited, being rather a proponent of Sir Boundefort’s.”
“And Emery?” Christian prodded.
She slanted him a glance. “Emery is a scholar, and as such he keeps an open mind.”
“Ah,” Christian noted. He couldn’t very well say anything more, as they had reached their destination, where he found all three cousins eyeing him expectantly, Mercia with obvious glee, the colonel more warily, and Emery with his usual ill will. Christian decided he just couldn’t wait to tell the earl how much he had enjoyed this little jaunt the old man had sent him on.
And then they all began talking at once.
Christian silenced them with an upheld hand. “Does anyone know where a copy of the plans for the house might be?” he asked. When they all shook their heads, he turned to Emery. “What about you? Surely, in all your research, you have come across some mention of the original building or additions?”
Emery glared at him. “No, my lord. I’m afraid such things hold no interest for me,” he answered with a sniff.
Christian narrowed his eyes for a moment, then decided against argument. “Well, I guess we will just have to open the doors and discover what we may.”
“B-but you can’t!” Emery protested.
“And why is that?” Christian asked, finding the young man’s reaction most interesting.
“Well, I thought the doors were locked!” the colonel blustered.
“It’s dangerous down there. Any fool can see that—else why close off the cellars?” Emery said with a snide superiority that was beginning to grate on Christian’s nerves.
“I didn’t think anyone knew exactly what lay behind the doors,” Christian commented with narrowed eyes.
“Perhaps Sir Boundefort wants us to go down below,” Mercia suggested.
“More likely he is warning us against it,” Emery said.
“I say, all this discussion is moot unless you plan to break down the doors,” the colonel said. He paused. “You don’t plan to, do you?”
“No, I don’t plan to break them down,” Christian said. “But I’m hoping to pick the locks.”
That little announcement silenced the entire hall, the arguing and the chatter dying away in a heartbeat as everyone stopped to stare at him, presumably dumbfounded that a viscount of the realm would even suggest such a thing. Christian grinned. His pirate heritage came in handy at times, though it was a friend of rather dubious talents who had taught him this trick years ago. Unfortunately, he was not in the habit of using the skill and so wasn’t too certain of his success.
But he was rarely plagued by doubt, and so he turned to his hostess. “One of your hairpins, please?” he asked, holding out his hand. He would like to remove all of them, but he didn’t see how he could justify that request.
For her part, Miss Parkinson simply stared at him in horror. Was she that attached to her hideous coiffure? She looked positively flummoxed for a long moment, and Christian wondered if she needed some sort of assistance. Of course, he would happily provide some, of a physical nature…
“Am I to understand you can enter through locked doors?” she finally asked.
Christian shrugged. “I’m going to do my best.”
Miss Parkinson opened her
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