Wicked Widow by Amanda Quick Page A

started toward the steps.
    “Artemas, wait—”
    “Stay here.” He picked up the lantern and opened the front door. “This won’t take but a moment. I’ll soon have the lads on their way.”
    “I do not like this, Artemas.” She hugged herself and gazed uneasily at the door. “Please come away.
    Send one of your employees to deal with the matter.”
    Her anxiety was beyond reason, he thought. On the other hand, this was a lady who feared the ghost of a murdered husband. He thought about the stout shutters and warning bells she had installed in her home.
    What diabolical fate had put him in the hands of this female? But he could not turn away from her, and it was not just her father’s journal that chained him now.
    “Calm yourself,” he said in what he hoped were soothing tones. “I shall return in a moment.”
    He entered the Haunted Mansion. The light from his lamp flared on the imitation stone hall, creating pockets of deep shadows beneath the twisting staircase.

    “Damnation, how can you be so bloody stubborn?” Madeline picked up her skirts and rushed up the steps to follow him into the attraction. “I really did see someone in the window.”
    “I told you that I do not doubt you.”
    “Do not pretend to humor me, sir. You are now in my employ. If you insist on confronting the intruder, then it is my responsibility to accompany you.”
    He briefly considered and rejected the notion of forcing her to go back outside. She was obviously overwrought by whatever it was she had glimpsed in the darkened window. She would only grow more anxious if he made her wait alone out on the path. It was unlikely that the intruder, if he actually existed, would present a serious threat.
    “As you wish.” He started up the narrow staircase that led to the next floor of the castle. The light of the lantern danced eerily on the walls.
    “No offense,” Madeline muttered behind him, “but I, for one, have no intention of ever paying good money to view this ghastly attraction.”
    “It is rather effective, isn’t it?” He glanced at the bleached bones dangling in a stone recess. “What do you think of the skeleton?”
    “Perfectly dreadful.”
    “It was Short John’s contribution to the decor. When the attraction is completed, there will be several ghosts hanging from the ceiling and a rather nice display of a headless corpse. One of the other lads suggested some cowled figures for the top of the stairs.”
    “Artemas, for God’s sake, this is no time to conduct a guided tour. There is an intruder up there somewhere. He may be waiting to pounce on us.”
    “Highly unlikely. Zachary and his friends are well aware that I would take a dim view of that sort of thing.” A very dim view. When he got his hands on the urchin who had interrupted his passionate interlude with Madeline, he would let him know just how much he objected to such interference. “By and large, the Eyes and Ears are a good lot, but once in a while—”
    He broke off abruptly, distracted by the shadowy movement at the top of the stairs. The lamplight caught the edge of a cloak, but the figure was already moving away. The intruder vanished down a long hall on near-silent feet.
    “Artemas,” Madeline breathed.
    He ignored her, vaulted the last of the steps, and raced after the fleeing figure. He heard Madeline behind him. For the first time he questioned his decision to allow her to accompany him. He had caught only a glimpse of the intruder, but that was enough to tell-him that the person he was chasing was a man, not an urchin.
    At the end of the hall, a door slammed shut. Artemas came to a halt in front of it, set down the lantern, and twisted the handle. It turned but the door did not open.
    “Bastard has wedged something heavy up against it,” he told Madeline.

    He leaned his shoulder against the panels and shoved hard.
    “Let me help.” Madeline moved into place behind him and planted both hands on the wood.
    Artemas felt the door