The Love Affair of an English Lord by Jillian Hunter Page A

so.”
    Her aunt nodded. “There was a witness to the deed.”
    â€œA married woman in her forties is hardly a young innocent,” Uncle Humphrey mumbled into his newspaper. “Besides, Rebecca looks like a scarecrow. I should think even a ghost would show better taste.”
    Pamela grinned at Chloe over the rim of her teacup. “I wonder what her husband makes of this.”
    â€œHe is understandably mortified,” Aunt Gwendolyn said. “In fact, he was the one to witness the act.”
    Humphrey lowered his newspaper in exasperation. “Are you telling us that Oswald actually
saw
the ghost having relations with his wife?”
    â€œWell.” Gwendolyn paused again. “The ghost was apparently invisible as spirits so often are. But Oswald distinctly heard Rebecca cry out, ‘Oh, Stratfield, Stratfield! Do stop that, you daring devil! It tickles so!’ And, for your information, the bedcovers flew into the air.”
    A deep silence swept across the room. Through the crack in the door Chloe saw the maid come to a skidding halt in the hall; her duster was frozen in midair above the bust of Sir Francis Drake, her uncle’s personal hero.
    Humphrey shook his head in chagrin. “Stop repeating this hysterical nonsense, Gwennie, do you hear me? Stratfield was an honorable man in his prime when he was viciously murdered. I imagine the poor fellow is turning over in his grave at the very mention of—of tickling Rebecca Plumley.”
    Chloe looked down at the table, suffering a sharp pang of guilty concern. The viscount’s wounds had indeed been vicious. He might yet not survive them, and his death would indirectly be on her conscience. He really must have medicine. And sustenance. He had put her in the most precarious position. To think she had longed for some excitement to enliven her exile. Not to turn it upside down. She stared at the steam rising from her tea cup as if the wispy vapors could provide an answer. Could he really hold the key to Brandon’s death? She wondered what her brothers would do in her place.
    Of course, being young men with a penchant for reckless behavior, they would probably join Stratfield’s crusade for revenge. A young woman hardly had that option. What would her older sister, Emma, do? Instruct the viscount in the gentle art of retaliation? Insist he knock before breaking into a lady’s bedchamber?
    She unfolded her napkin on her lap to catch the sausages and slice of toast she was nonchalantly sliding off her plate. “Does anyone have an idea as to who might have killed him? I should think catching him would be a priority.”
    Her uncle set aside his paper. “That is the first intelligent thing anyone has said today.”
    â€œAnd inappropriate.” Aunt Gwendolyn huffed. “Murder at this hour of the morning.”
    No one said anything. No one was brave enough to point out that her ladyship had brought up the unnerving subject. Only after Uncle Humphrey raised the paper back to his face did he glance at Chloe to mouth, “It’s all most peculiar.”
    Chloe wanted very much to know what he thought, but even her liberal-minded uncle would be horrified if he discovered what she was doing.
    That she had virtually spent the night with a man who was so controversial that someone had intended to stab him to death. A man so strong willed he had risen from his grave to seek revenge.
    What was she to make of him? The village of Chistlebury seemed to be divided into those who revered and those who despised him. Neither camp would be surprised to discover that his “ghost” had visited Lady Chloe Boscastle in the middle of the night.
    Like attracts like, they would say.
    Perhaps they would even be right.
    Â 
    After breakfast, in order to avoid giving her secret away, Chloe excused herself to hide her stolen breakfast in the Chinese vase in the hall and to take a walk in the rambling garden. Without