Lord Deverill's Heir by Catherine Coulter Page A

labor, the child was finally born. To the horror of the midwife, the man rushed forward and grabbed the babe and hurled it wailing into a roaring fire. The lady screamed and fell in a faint back on her pillow.
    “The servant grabbed the midwife, tied the blindfold back on, and hurried her back to her cottage.” Arabella was nearly panting. She gasped, “Oh goodness, I have gooseflesh on my arms and I have heard the story a good dozen times. But it always terrifies me, always.”

    “Good God,” the earl said, just staring at her.
    “There is a just ending, though,” Lady Ann said. “It seems that the midwife remembered certain sounds, and even counted the number of stair steps. She was able to lead the magistrate to Evesham Abbey. Though the magistrate could find no conclusive proof of violence, and thus Lord Faber escaped lawful punishment, it did not end. It was reported that late one night, Lord Faber came bounding out of his bedchamber, his face contorted with sheer terror. He raced to the stables and threw himself upon one of his half-wild stallions. No one is certain what happened then, but the next morning Lord Faber was found under his horse, crushed to death, just beyond a small knoll behind the old abbey ruins. To this day, the drop is called Faber’s Jump. I have only screwed up my courage once to visit that spot. I know it’s haunted. There is so much madness there, I swear you can feel it seeping into you.” Elsbeth said, after she’d managed a delicate shudder, “Josette told me about Lord Faber, but I did not believe her. It seems my mother heard the mother and child one time. It is true, Lady Ann?”
    “Yes, it is. At least it all happened a very long time ago,” Lady Ann said. “Now, enough fodder for nightmares. Would anyone care for more tea?”
    “A lady with nerves of iron,” Dr. Branyon said. “I fear all of you will be hearing strange noises tonight, but not I. I will be sleeping soundly, no other thoughts in my brain than the delicious mutton Cook prepared for dinner this evening. Now, I must be on my way.” Lady Ann rose. “Well, I for one intend to do nothing save sleep.” She turned to Elsbeth. “Come, love, you and I will both see Dr. Branyon out, then I will accompany you to your room. You are looking quite fagged.” Arabella watched them bid their good nights and leave. She was suddenly alone with the new earl. She thought to go to bed herself, but knew he would believe her running from him. Well, she wanted to run, but she couldn’t bear to have him believe that she was running, that she was a coward. She eyed him as he rose and strolled to the sideboard. He stretched. He was a big man, well made, lean, really quite nice for a man. He turned, saw her staring at him, grinned briefly, then said in the most serious of voices, “A glass of sherry, ma’am?”
    “Yes, thank you, sir.” She tucked her knees up under her and balanced her chin on her hand. She had a very good hold on herself now. “You are certainly calm about all this. Were I you, I would sleep in the stable.” He handed her the glass, grinning down at her. “Believe me, I would gladly ask Dr. Branyon for a sleeping potion if I thought it would not lower me in your estimation. But it would lower me at least a bit, wouldn’t it?”

    “My father never asked for a sleeping potion. Perhaps he should have. It quite raises the hair on my neck every time I hear or recount that story.
    Now, as for you, that, sir, is quite the stupidest thing I’ve heard you say. Of course I have only known you for two days. Doubtless in the future there will be many more stupid things to come out of your mouth.” So she’d accept it. He felt a spurt of relief, but he said easily enough,
    “You call me stupid just because I try to butter you up? Don’t deny it.
    Also, I find it invigorating that you speak of the future. Drink your sherry, ma’am, and stop frowning at me. That’s a new frown, one manufactured just because