 
# To Walk in the Sun

## Jane Charles
Copyright © 2013 Jane Charles All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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# Dedication

Deb Payton, for listening, proofing and allowing me to bounce ideas off her.

# Chapter 1

_Cornwall England, 1802_

Lightning flashed in the distance and Tess Crawford gripped the ladder as the wind whipped hair across her face and skirts against her legs. She couldn't have asked for a more perfect night and looked up toward the open window. It was past ten and her students should be asleep by now, but a lamp still burned.

With slow deliberation, Tess inched her way to the destination. Upon reaching the top, she ducked to the side and listened. It would do no good for the girls to catch her.

" _At length Walter, heated with wine and love, conducted his bride into the nuptial chamber:_ "

Yes, that was Eliza reading. Why wasn't she surprised?

"... _but, oh! horror! Scarcely had he clasped her in his arms ere she transformed herself into a monstrous serpent, which entwining him in its horrid folds, crushed him to death."_ Eliza's voice rose with further anticipated horror.

Tess peeked around the corner of the window frame. One candle sat on the table and flickered with the breeze. Further into the room, three girls sat huddled together, their robes wrapped around their legs. A lamp burned brightly behind Eliza's shoulder, casting a halo around her red curls.

Tess grinned. Her timing could not have been more perfect.

" _Flames crackled on every side of the apartment;_ " Eliza continued. " _in a few minutes after, the whole castle was enveloped in a blaze that consumed it entirely: while, as the walls fell in with a tremendous crash, a voice exclaimed aloud -- "Wake not the dead!_"

Tess blew out the candle and ducked out of sight. In her most dramatic voice, she moaned, "Not the dead."

Screams erupted from inside the room. One of the girls slammed the window shut, apparently too frightened to notice the ladder or Tess, and yanked the curtains closed. Tess bit her lip to keep her laughter inside as she edged down the ladder. The wind grew stronger and Tess hastened her descent before Mother Nature helped her to the ground in a most unpleasant manner. She tipped the ladder so it lay on the ground and raced to the door. She could not wait to hear the explanation the girls offered for their screams.

Sophia sighed and shot an irritated look at her cohorts. "They thought the monster was at the window."

"Monster?" Tess tried to hold back her laughter as she walked into Rosemary's room. Natalie and Claudia were already present. The two were also teachers at the school and Tess shared a close friendship with them, as they were the three youngest teachers and had also been former students in this very school.

"Yes. The creature that lives in that old manor." Eliza explained. Tess knew exactly which one she meant. Lord Atwood's house must date back at least a century or more, and it did look a bit spooky with its gabled windows and grey stone exterior with dark ivy creeping up the side and the gargoyle overlooking the portico entrance. Of course, she would never admit such a thing to her students.

"It's just like _Wake Not the Dead_ ," Rosemary whispered.

This time Tess couldn't help but laugh. "Are you saying a vampire lives in Atwood Manor and he came here?"

"Yes," Eliza insisted and the other two girls vigorously nodded their heads in agreement. Their curls bounced in rhythm to the movement.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Natalie asked and settled onto the bed. If Tess didn't know better, she would think her friend was giving some credence to the girl's irrational fears.

"Lord Atwood never goes out during the day," Eliza answered, all knowing.

"Is that all the evidence you have?" Claudia crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head, eyebrows raised waiting for the girl to continue.

"No," Eliza retorted. "He died only to return from the grave after his wife willed him to. Just like Walter did."

"Who is Walter?" Natalie asked.

"The man in _Wake Not the Dead_!" Eliza blew out a sigh. "Except Lady Atwood perished upon his return and now Lord Atwood is doomed to be alone on this earth." Eliza placed a hand over her heart and glanced toward the window before she returned her focus to Tess; color high in her cheeks and eyes lit with excitement. "Everyone knows Atwood visits her grave every midnight because there are fresh flowers every morning. He's not been able to bring his beloved back from the dead, _yet_."

Too bad Eliza was the daughter of a viscount. Had she been common-born, no doubt she would make a nice living trodding the boards on Drury Lane.

Claudia leaned down and whispered, "But why would he come here?"

Eliza glanced toward the window. "Because he is hungry."

Rosemary turned alarmingly pale.

Tess bit her lip. Perhaps she had taken this too far? _No_ , she argued with herself. They were being ridiculous and the girls should know better. Still, Tess made a mental note to go through the library once again and remove any book that could possibly resemble a horrid novel. She thought she had found and hidden them all a week ago, but apparently _Wake Not the Dead_ had been overlooked.

Tess clapped her hands to get their attention. "Enough of this nonsense. Lord Atwood is not a vampire, nor did he come here tonight."

"But, who was at the window?" Sophia asked, her big blue eyes round with fear.

"The wind," Tess said dismissively, not about to reveal the truth. "That will teach you to read horrid novels when you should be asleep." Tess tapped her finger against her chin. "This gives me an excellent topic for our literature lesson tomorrow."

"Are we going to discuss _Wake Not the Dead_?" Eliza bobbed with excitement.

"No. We are going to discuss the difference between _fiction_ and nonfiction."

Vincent Latimer, Earl of Atwood, pulled the collar up to his ears. Wind whipped the greatcoat out from his body. He grasped the front and buttoned it in haste while he glanced up to the overcast sky. Not even one star could be seen, but he knew they lay just beyond. Lightning flashed and the rumbling of thunder could be heard in the distance. He'd need to be quick because there would be a wicked storm tonight. With a grin, Vincent stepped onto the road and turned toward the cemetery.

The walk was not long but he was glad he did not bring his hat. It would have blown off his head as soon as he stepped out from the protection of the front portico. More thunder rumbled behind him. No doubt he would be soaked with rain by the time he left the cemetery.

Nearing the church, he stopped and looked around. The houses were closer here and each held well-tended gardens. Who should he steal from tonight?

A grin pulled at his lips. Mrs. Harpy had a lovely selection. He hopped the low fence and strode into the back garden. However, since he was taking a bouquet from the woman's gardens, he should at least think of her by her proper name, Mrs. Harper.

He shook his head and withdrew the scissors from his deep pocket. No, Harper was too kind of a name for her. After all, Harpy was the one who first fueled the gossip when his wife died. The flame ignited, and ever since he had been deemed the most feared monster of history and lore. On the other hand, it did benefit him. Everyone knew he took the bouquets from the gardens in the neighborhood, yet no one would ever reproach him. They were too afraid.

By using the gardens owned by his neighbors, he did not have to employ a gardener for his own. The less people who lived on his estate the better. Besides, what would the neighbors think if he did not visit his wife's grave at midnight? What else would they have to talk about?

The hairs stood up on the back of his neck and Vincent glanced toward the house. Harpy stood in the upstairs window watching him. She stepped back into the shadows, but he knew she could still see him. Vincent flashed his teeth at her and growled and her silhouette disappeared. The woman was probably cowering in her bed, or her husband's. He doubted Mr. Harper would thank him.

Vincent turned back to study the garden. There was little to choose from as fall was descending and many of the fragrant summer flowers he preferred were long dead. He selected mums, asters and late blooming roses. From his pocket he withdrew a pink ribbon and tied it to hold the arrangement together.

# Chapter 2

Tess paced in the front parlor, too on edge to sleep. It was easier to control her anxiety over the storm brewing in the distance when she was focused on the students or conversing over tea with the other teachers in the school, as she had done tonight. However, everyone had retired a short time ago and she knew she would find no rest tonight, not on a night like this. She was left alone with her thoughts. As the room closed in on her, Tess grabbed her cloak and stepped out on the porch. Leaves flew, carried by the fierce winds. Energy surrounded her and she glanced up at the house. The lamp still burned in the girls' room. She would need to speak to them about their late hours, but knew she had brought on their fright tonight.

With a shake of her head, she started down the road. Tonight was no different from the night her life had irrevocably changed.

No, she would not think about that now. If she did, she would never sleep. What she needed was a walk. The storm was a little ways off to the southwest, coming in off the Channel, and she had only the wind to contend with at the moment. Once she strolled the area, she would be able to retire.

Tess pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and walked down the lane toward the village. The others did not understand her need for these evening strolls nor did she wish to explain. They each had their own secrets that had brought them back to the school where they met, to become teachers.

In truth, Tess did not go out at night all that often. Only when there was a storm brewing. It helped to chase her demons away. The demons that only visited her on nights such as this.

All of the houses were dark, for which she was grateful. Her cloak was black so if someone peered out a window, they might not even see her. If they did, the hood covered her head and hid her face. It would not serve the school well if someone reported that she was seen out and about alone so close to midnight. If someone did catch her, would she be labeled a monster as well? A smile pulled at her lips at the ridiculous thought.

She started to pass the cemetery, but did not glance in that direction. Tess did not want to know if Lord Atwood actually visited there each night and she refused to give credence to the rumors. Besides, if the man had any intelligence, he wouldn't be walking around on a night like this anyway.

Thunder rumbled and the wind picked up and whipped around her, blowing the hood off her head. Perhaps she should return home. It appeared the storm was much closer than she had realized.

An ominous crack, sharper than thunder, sounded overhead. Tess looked up but before she could determine the source, a large body flattened her.

The trapped air left her body in one great whoosh. Though from fear or being crushed to the ground, she couldn't tell. She looked into the almost black eyes of Lord Atwood. His cloaked arm came up and covered her face in blackness as his head descended to her neck.

Her piercing scream shot through his brain. Vincent reared back to ward off the assault and was struck on his shoulder by the large tree limb he attempted to protect her from. "Good God, woman, do you aim to make me deaf?"

She quieted and peered up at him, eyes wide, face pale. He had frightened her. Of course he had.

The gale-like winds bent the trees almost in half. Limbs splintered and shot through the air. Shutters loosened, banging against the frame of a house across the way. Vincent wouldn't be surprised if they were ripped from their hinges. They had to get out of the elements.

He stood and offered his hand to the young woman he knew to be Miss Crawford, a teacher at Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies.

She shrank away from him.

"Are you daft?" he yelled. His shoulder throbbed from the earlier blow. But there was no time to worry about his injury now. "Take my hand. We need to find shelter now."

Miss Crawford whisked her head around to take in her surroundings. If possible, her grey eyes grew wider. "Where?"

Alarmingly near them another tree crashed on the lane and she scampered to her feet.

Vincent grabbed her hand. "This way," he shouted and pulled her into the cemetery.

"The church?" she cried over the wind.

"Locked." He strode past tombstones and toward the wood line where the crypts stood.

Miss Crawford stopped in her tracks and shook her head violently.

"Trust me, the inhabitants won't mind."

With more force than was probably necessary, he pulled her to one at the farthest end. She stumbled to her knees and he paused only long enough for her to right herself. They had to be quick or they could be killed and he didn't have time to comfort her fears right now. The wind blew the cloak away from her body. Pins had become dislodged and black, glossy hair flew around her head and covered her face.

Lightning flashed and illuminated the stone, grey crypts. "They are locked too," she yelled over the wind.

Vincent fished out a ring of keys. "This is my family vault." He stopped before the last one and fit an old, rusted key into a lock. It didn't move.

The wind pushed Miss Crawford away from him. Vincent stopped in his task and picked her up to set her on the side of the crypt sheltered from blowing debris. She weighed next to nothing and a stronger gust could carry her away.

He turned back to the lock and worked it until it gave and the bolt clicked. Vincent pushed against the door. It didn't give. He rammed it with his uninjured shoulder but it remained stubborn. Vincent tried another stance and put both hands against the weathered wood, feet planted to add purchase to his stance and weight, and put all of his strength into the door. Still, it did not budge.

The wind howled. Wood crashed in the distance and Vincent feared a house had been destroyed.

They were running out of time.

"Help me," he yelled.

With slow, measured steps, Miss Crawford fought against the wind, her cloak billowed out behind her, skirts flattened against her legs until she took a place by his side and together they shoved. If the door moved at all, it was only a fraction of an inch. If they did not get inside now, they would both die.

A gust of wind hit them from behind and threw them against the door with enough force to break the seal. Thrown to the floor inside the dark crypt, they crashed into a stone pedestal.

Vincent jumped to his feet to bar the door but the wind surged through the opening, preventing him from making any progress. He turned back to Miss Crawford who sat stunned, looking out the door, a hand pressed to her forehead. Lightning flashed, illuminating her for but a second, but enough to see that blood dripped through her fingers. Without thought, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the back corner. The structure was made of stone and should hold, but it was also over a century old.

He settled Miss Crawford to his side and pulled her hand away to study her head. Vincent changed his position so as not to block the little available light coming from the open door. A large gash ran across her forehead.

Vincent fished out his handkerchief and pressed it against her head. She looked up and met his eyes. "You're bleeding, Miss Crawford. Keep that against the wound."

She nodded and never broke eye contact. "Blood?"

_Is she frightened of me? Of the rumors_? "Yes, rich, red, healthy blood." He grinned down at her but resisted the temptation to lick his lips. She was frightened enough.

Miss Crawford blanched further. "Will I need stitches?"

Vincent threw back his head and laughed. "Is that what has you frightened?"

"I can't stand the needle. When one comes at me, I faint dead away."

Something solid crashed against the side of the crypt and Vincent looked out. A tombstone had fallen over. The storm was getting worse. He put her back against the wall and curled his body around her as best as he could.

"I've never seen a storm such as this," she mumbled.

Another large, heavy object crashed against the crypt. A shrill, eerie whistle pierced the whirling winds, sending a shiver of dread down his spine and Vincent pulled her close as the worst of the storm hit the old cemetery.

# Chapter 3

Tess clung to Lord Atwood as the noise grew louder, and the air pressure grew so heavy she wasn't sure she could take a breath.

She was going to die.

Tonight.

In a crypt, with a rumored vampire.

If the situation weren't so dire, she would laugh. Instead, all she could do was cling to his solid torso and try to breathe.

Could this be a tempest? She had only heard of them before and never experienced one. Tess hadn't believed Atwood at first, but there was no other explanation of what else it could be.

Slowly, the pressure began to diminish and she no longer had to fight for breath. Crashes became distant as the storm moved on.

Lord Atwood sat up. "You can let go of me now. It has passed."

Heat spread across her face. Tess let her arms drop and pulled away from his chest. Her arms were sore. How hard had she held on to him? This was most embarrassing.

"You're still bleeding." He took the handkerchief from her hand and pressed it against her head once again.

"Is it over?" She searched his gaze for the truth.

Lord Atwood glanced at the door. "I believe so. However, we should wait a few more minutes, just to be sure."

She looked out the opening. Rain came down with such force she could not see beyond the entrance. Thank goodness Lord Atwood had been out tonight, for surely she would have died had he not rescued her.

The sheets of water continued and a puddle pooled just inside the door. She relaxed against the cold, damp stone wall, hoping the water would not reach them, for she had no desire to climb onto a sarcophagus in order to remain dry.

Lord Atwood settled beside her. "How is your head?"

"Sore."

"Do you have a headache?"

She hadn't thought about it. Too much had happened for her to notice any discomfort, other than the stiffness of her arms earlier. The more she calmed, the more she became aware of the various aches in her body. It seemed like everything hurt, especially her head. She nodded in acknowledgement.

Lord Atwood cursed under his breath and searched the room. He returned with an old lamp, which still contained oil and set it on the floor beside them. Tess wondered how much use the lamp would be as there was no means to light it. He then reached into the pocket of his greatcoat and withdrew a battered tin. "I carried this with me on the continent and it hasn't failed me yet." He withdrew the steel and flint and soon had the lamp lit.

Tess wondered what else he had in those deep pockets, but didn't ask.

Though he kept the light far away from himself, he put it close to her eyes and studied them. After a moment he set the lamp aside. "You should be fine."

Tess was not sure what to make of his odd behavior and decided not to question him. After a good night's sleep, of course, she would be fine.

"What possessed you to come out on a night like this?" he demanded after a short time.

"I might ask you the same question," Tess retorted. How dare he take that tone with her, as if he were her older brother, father or a husband?

"Everyone knows why I am out here," he snorted. "The question is, why were you?"

Tess shrugged, unwilling to explain, especially to a complete stranger, even if he had saved her life. "I was restless."

"Brandy would have been safer," Lord Atwood muttered and turned his attention to the door. "The rain appears to have ended." He stood and offered her his hand.

Tess was grateful for his assistance as she was not sure she could have risen on her own. On shaking legs, Tess followed Lord Atwood toward the entrance and out into the cemetery. The clouds had moved on and the full moon shone down. Destruction lay everywhere. Some of the headstones were turned over, trees and branches littered the ground.

Tess picked her way behind Lord Atwood as he maneuvered a path through the debris in the cemetery toward the road. Some of the houses across the street had lost parts of their roofs, but they were all standing, thank goodness. Many of the residents were out in their yards, looking at their homes and the area. They were probably stunned, not unlike her. She had never seen anything like this before.

They ambled into the lane and looked in both directions. There was a clear path of debris. One led from where she had come. "The girls," she cried and set out in a dead run. Tess only stumbled once before regaining her balance. She had to make it back to the boarding school and her heart raced with fear of what she would find.

Vincent was amazed at the speed with which Miss Crawford took off down the road. She lifted her skirts to her knees and her boots carried her rapidly through the debris littering the ground. More than a few times she jumped over branches without breaking stride. After a moment of watching, Vincent ran after her. With her head still bleeding, Miss Crawford was liable to pass out before she made it home.

He practically ran her over as he rounded the corner. She came to an abrupt stop, gazing ahead in horror. Vincent followed her line of vision. The four-story building that had been the school, which also housed the students and teachers, stood, barely. A large oak tree had fallen into the south side, demolishing the corner of the house. He hoped no one had been in those rooms.

Several students stood in the yard, most of them crying. Older women, and a few young teachers, comforted the girls. One called out names, probably to make sure everyone was accounted for. Given the devastation revealed by the full moon, he wouldn't be surprised if a few of the inhabitants had been seriously injured, or killed.

She stumbled toward the group and Vincent remained at a careful distance. Soon he could hear their comments.

"What of Miss Crawford? Someone needs to rescue _her_ ," a young woman cried.

Mrs. Wiggons, the owner of the school, put an arm around the girl's shoulder and drew her close. "We can't get to her room, Eliza. We can only pray she is safe." Vincent had known Mrs. Wiggons his entire life. She'd grown up in that house, then after she became a widow, she established the school when she was only five and twenty.

Eliza buried her face in the woman's bosom. Her shoulders shook with her tears.

"Miss Crawford, you _are_ alive!" another girl cried out and ran toward her. Eliza lifted her head and also ran toward their teacher.

Vincent took a step back, uncomfortable in the presence of so many young, emotional women.

"We thought you were dead, perished in your room," Eliza exclaimed once she pulled away from the embrace.

"As you can see, I am very much whole and well." Tess opened her arms wide as if to affirm her uninjured state.

The two girls looked at each other, eyes narrowed with concern before they looked back at their teacher. "You are covered in blood," one of them explained with slow deliberation.

_Covered in blood_. He should have never let her run so far. Vincent strode forward and turned Miss Crawford toward him. Blood streamed from the cut on her head, between her eyes and down the side of her face. It trailed to her neck and the modest dress absorbed the dark spreading stain.

"Lord Atwood!" Eliza gasped and stepped back.

He ignored her fear and searched his pockets. He had already given his handkerchief to Miss Crawford earlier and didn't have another. He turned toward Eliza. "Go find bandages or cloth for your teacher."

The girl simply stood, staring at him. Her eyes wide with shock, face ashen.

"Did you hear me?" he snapped. The girl came out of her stupor and darted toward an older woman.

"You don't look very well, Miss Crawford," the remaining student muttered, her eyes fixed on Miss Crawford's face.

"I am fine, Sophia," Miss Crawford answered, though she swayed on her feet.

Vincent stepped forward and placed his arm around her waist at the same moment she crumpled. Thankfully, he was close enough to keep her from falling to the ground.

The elder woman came forward, bandages in her hand. Vincent scooped Miss Crawford up in his arms. "Is there somewhere I might place her?"

"The front parlor is undamaged."

He followed the woman toward the house. The students and teachers parted like the Red Sea. A girl behind him stopped Sophia and whispered loudly, "Be sure to check her for marks."

# Chapter 4

Tess opened her eyes to find Sophia very close to her face. "What are you doing?"

Sophia glanced over her shoulder before she whispered, "I am checking for bite marks."

_Bite marks?_ Oh dear, Lord Atwood must have followed her home. But, how had she gotten on the settee?

"I was going to tell her that I restrained myself but I didn't think she would have believed me."

Tess turned her head toward the voice. Lord Atwood stood at the end of the settee and a smiled pulled at her lips. For some reason, she was grateful to see him there and was certain it was because he had saved her life. For that, she would always be grateful.

_Why hadn't I noticed how handsome he was in the crypt?_ Well, there were other concerns at the time and it was rather dark. Such was not the case now. The gentleman before her had dark eyes, midnight hair, chiseled, if pale, features; high cheek bones, strong nose, perfect lips... _Goodness! Where had that thought come from?_

Mrs. Wiggons bustled into the room. "I just spoke with the doctor. He returned to the village to treat fractures and such. He said he'd be around to check on you as soon as possible."

"Miss Crawford's injury should be stitched immediately," Lord Atwood insisted.

Tess' stomach clenched at the idea and put her hand against her forehead. "I am sure it will be fine. I no longer feel any blood."

His lips quirked. "It is bandaged."

"Oh." Tess let her hand drop.

"Was anyone injured?" Tess struggled to sit up but a wave of dizziness rushed over her and she let her head fall back onto the pillow.

"No, thank the heavens. Our more urgent concern at the moment is what do we do now? The back of the house is destroyed." Mrs. Wiggons turned and studied the room. "I suppose we could move the girls down to these floors and keep them at the front of the house."

"All three dozen?" Tess raised her eyebrows at the absurd thought, but she quickly relaxed them due to the discomfort.

"No, just a few." Mrs. Wiggons waved a hand in dismissal. She tapped her foot and looked around the room as if trying to determine how she could make the temporary sleeping arrangements work.

"If you don't mind," Lord Atwood interrupted, causing both women to turn toward him. "Until the damage can be thoroughly assessed, in the light of day, I don't believe it is safe for anyone to stay anywhere in the house. I am not at all comfortable even being in this parlor."

Mrs. Wiggons sighed and sank into a chair. "I suppose you're right. The neighbors have offered to take some of the girls and teachers in for the night."

"Then your problem is solved." Tess was thankful for the solution. She did not relish the idea of trying to sleep in a room with three dozen young girls. Nobody would get any sleep.

Mrs. Wiggons turned her eyes on Tess. "Not entirely. I still need to find a place for you and the last three students. I've made certain that there is a teacher with each group of girls. They are in our care, after all, and I would hate to have to answer to a parent as to why their daughter was not properly chaperoned overnight."

"Surely it would be safe for the four of us to sleep in the parlor. Don't worry yourself Mrs. Wiggons."

"You can stay in my home," Lord Atwood offered from where he stood.

Tess glanced back over to him and in the process witnessed Rosemary's face drain of all color before she looked at Lord Atwood. "You don't even know if your own home stands, my lord. But I thank you for the offer."

"Oh goodness, I completely forgot." Mrs. Wiggons hit the top of her head with the palm of her hand, a habit of hers when she was reminded of her forgetfulness. "Lord Atwood, your valet is outside. I assured him you were here and unharmed but he insisted on waiting, though refused to come inside"

"Thank you." He bowed toward the ladies and then exited the room.

"Miss Crawford, we can't stay there," Sophia begged.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Wiggons argued. "It is not safe here and there is no place else."

"The barn still stands," the young lady suggested with hope.

"I am _not_ sleeping in a barn," Tess hissed, no longer in possession of patience where the girls and their irrational fears were concerned.

Lord Atwood returned to the parlor a moment later. "It appears my home suffered little damage, if any. Therefore, I have enough room for as many of your charges as you wish to send."

Mrs. Wiggons stood. "Oh, thank you, Lord Atwood. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your generosity."

Before she offered an objection however, he scooped her up off the settee.

"I can walk," Tess protested.

"Only to faint and suffer another injury. I don't think so, Miss Crawford."

Vincent strode out of the house with Miss Crawford in his arms. What had possessed him to invite her, and the girls, into his home? He was a man of quiet solitude. That would cease to exist with these females under his roof.

He walked down the stairs and stopped. Wesley, his valet approached.

"Where is the carriage?"

"I was unable to bring the carriage, Lord Atwood."

"Why not?" He shifted Miss Crawford in his arms, though she weighed very little.

"There was a tree in the lane." Wesley took off his cap and twisted it in his hands. "I only came out to search for you. Someone said you were chasing a young lady toward the school."

Vincent groaned. "What else did they say?" He could probably guess.

"They feared for her life. I tried to reassure them..."

Vincent shook his head. "Never mind. I am sure you did your best."

"Lord Atwood?" Miss Crawford interrupted.

He glanced down at the bandaged woman in his arms. "Yes?"

"You may put me down. I'm certain I can walk on my own." Her authoritative tone made him want to straighten his spine, much like the voice of his governess from years ago.

The bleeding had stopped, or at least slowed because the bandage remained white. But, she had fainted earlier and head injuries were unpredictable.

"This is ridiculous, Lord Atwood. If I tire or feel faint, I will tell you."

The firm line of her lips and raised right eyebrow were evidence of her stubbornness.

He looked around for a place to set her first and located a sitting area on the porch. "Very well." He marched over and set her gingerly in a chair. "We will leave when your charges are ready."

She sighed and leaned back. "I don't suppose I could take anything from my room with me?"

Ah, something he could do to feel useful. He hated to stand idle, waiting. "Which room is yours and I will gladly retrieve what you wish."

A blush crept across her cheeks. "What I would require is a change of clothing, which I would prefer to gather myself."

Vincent cleared his throat. Of course, it would be too personal for him to go to her private rooms, but he needed something to do. "I'll be happy to escort and assist. I'll wait in the hall if you wish."

A smile creased her lips. "That is very kind of you, but I fear it is impossible."

His spine stiffened. "Are you too weak, dizzy? Are you are going to faint?" He certainly hoped not. She had fainted once and that about ceased his heart, given the amount of blood. How many soldiers had he seen in the same condition, never to awaken?

"I am afraid it is not that simple. Did you see where the tree landed, destroying the corner of the house?"

"Yes." His stomach dropped.

"That was my room. I'll be lucky if anything survived intact." She bit her bottom lip.

Vincent recalled the devastation to the corner of the house. He doubted there was anything recoverable from that destruction. Had she not been out walking in the storm, it is very likely she would now be dead.

Mrs. Wiggons settled beside Miss Crawford. "It is all right, dear. We will replace your belongings." She sighed. "Well, those we can. I just hope your personal and treasured items were not ruined."

"What is most important I keep with me," Miss Crawford assured Mrs. Wiggons with a serious look.

"Of course you do, dear." Mrs. Wiggons patted Miss Crawford's hand.

Vincent decided not to try and understand this cryptic discussion. With women, one never knew what was important and what was not. He cleared his throat. "Will the others be ready soon?"

Mrs. Wiggons looked up. "Oh, yes. I had forgotten."

She bustled off to what Vincent assumed was to retrieve the young ladies who would accompany him and Miss Crawford to his home.

Miss Crawford leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Vincent was at a loss for what to do. He paced the length of the porch, hands clasped behind his back, and took in the surrounding area. The girls and teachers, who had not yet left, watched him from a distance, and with suspicion. Did they anticipate this would be the last night they would see Miss Crawford and her students?

For the most part, the rumors did not bother him. Then there were rare times, such as this, and other times when he came into contact with his neighbors that it irritated him to no end. Had one of his neighbors come to call on him since his return home? Did they send condolences upon his wife's death?

He shook his head. Yes, they expressed their sympathy, but as soon as he behaved oddly, at least in their opinion, those same concerned neighbors stopped visiting him. A few of the very same neighbors now stood in the yard, scattered among the students, and watched him with care. Would they leap in front of the young maidens to protect them from him?

"Here we are," Mrs. Wiggons' voice intruded on his thoughts.

He turned to find the headmistress with three girls standing behind her. They were the very ones who had spied on his house just yesterday. By their wide eyes and pale complexion, he assumed they were scared to death. They must think Mrs. Wiggons was serving them up as his next meal.

Mrs. Wiggons stepped aside and turned to the first young lady. "My lord, may I present Miss Rosemary Fairview."

The young woman with chestnut hair dipped into a curtsey and kept her eyes downcast.

"Next is Miss Eliza Weston." The redheaded girl looked him in the eye. Her head tilted to the side as if to study him while she curtseyed.

"Lastly is Lady Sophia Trent."

The young, blonde-headed woman with blue eyes glanced up. Her lips trembled but her chin jutted out in determination and she looked him directly in the eyes. Only when Mrs. Wiggons nudged her did she drop, incline her head, and rise again.

"It is a pleasure to make each of your acquaintances." He nodded to each of them.

They took a step back and practically cowered behind Mrs. Wiggons. Their visit was going to be very long even if it lasted but a night.

"Well girls," Miss Crawford announced and stood. "It is time you departed. Does everyone have what they need?"

The girls nodded, but Eliza shrugged.

"Oh dear, your room is as destroyed as mine, I suppose." Miss Crawford came forward to hug the girl. "We will get on, I promise."

Vincent feared the girl would dissolve into tears and stepped forward. "I dare say we should move on. It will be dawn soon and I prefer to be indoors when the sun rises."

The girls' eyes popped open, and they took another step back. Yes, a very long visit indeed.

Vincent shook his head and stepped around them to Miss Crawford. He held out his hand to assist her and then linked her arm with his. He made a point of keeping a slow pace as he escorted her off the porch and onto the walkway. Miss Crawford paused and glanced back.

"Come along, girls. We don't have all day. Lord Atwood said he must be inside before the sun rises."

He glimpsed at the girls over his shoulder. Their eyes widened further. A tear slipped down Miss Fairview's cheek before he turned back to Miss Crawford. If he did not know any better, he would have thought the teacher was intentionally trying to frighten the girls. A small smile pulled at her lips and confirmed his suspicions. He should be insulted that she would terrorize the girls at his expense, but he wasn't. He was amused that the lady had the nerve to do so in front of him and it assured Vincent that at least one person in this hamlet didn't believe he was a vampire trying to raise his wife from the dead.

# Chapter 5

The girls followed but fell further and further behind – their heads together as they whispered to one another, but she couldn't catch any words. Tess would never want to hurt Lord Atwood, not that she knew anything about him, but rumors were just that – rumors, with little, if any, substance of truth. However, the girls needed to be taught a lesson. And, it would be such a delight to scare the girls for a day or so. It wasn't like they would come to any harm. However, she could not risk hurting Lord Atwood.

She had come full circle. What to do?

"Eliza," she turned back to her students. "Were you in your room tonight or somewhere else?" She still believed the girl too afraid to return to her own room after finishing _Wake Not the Dead_ but was curious to her answer.

Eliza glanced at Sophia before she answered. "We were in Rosemary's room."

Tess halted and turned to face them. "Why on earth were you still up so late? We sent you to your separate rooms hours ago." She shouldn't persist, but as their teacher, she demanded an answer.

"We were reading," Sophia answered.

"Not _Wake not_. . ." Tess began.

"Shhhh." Eliza risked a glance to Lord Atwood. "We were reading _The Veiled Picture_ by Anne Radcliffe."

Tess sighed and turned back around and began walking once again. "While I should chastise each of you for staying up late reading, and not tucked in your own beds asleep, I dare say tonight could have come to a tragic end had you behaved for a change."

Lord Atwood leaned down. " _The Veiled Picture_?"

"A horrid novel," Tess snorted.

"Then they should adore my home." He chuckled.

Stunned, Tess looked at him.

He smiled down at her. "You shall see."

They walked in silence, careful in their steps along the debris strewn lane. "I am still amazed at the damage," Tess said after a few moments.

"I've only witnessed one other storm that strong."

"Was there much damage? Were you injured?" she questioned, wanting to keep an open dialogue. She knew the girls whispered behind her. Knowing their imaginations and fear of Lord Atwood, she did not want him to overhear anything they may say against his character, no matter how far-fetched.

"We only lost a few boards off the stable. Some trees lost limbs, but nothing like this."

"Watch your step, my lord," Wesley called out. "This is where the tree came down."

Tess glanced up to where the valet stood. He walked ahead of them with a lantern held high, illuminating the area. The tree was huge. In the darkness, she couldn't see either end so it appeared impossible to go around.

"It looks like we are going to have to climb over," Atwood announced and came to a stop beside his servant. "I will go first. You assist the ladies from this side and I will help them on the other."

Tess turned toward the girls, who held back. "Come on girls. I, for one, am tired and would like to arrive at our destination."

The young ladies exchanged frightened looks before they glanced at Lord Atwood and then back to each other. Tess sighed and turned toward the tree. Perhaps she should not have teased them so much. But she never dreamed they would be so gullible as to believe in vampires. These were intelligent girls and reason should eventually come to the forefront. But apparently it hadn't.

She placed her hand in Wesley's and climbed onto the tree. Even on its side, it almost came to her thighs and there was no ladylike manner in which to climb over so Tess hoped she did not expose too much leg in the process. Once she was settled on her knees in the middle of the trunk, she took her hand from Wesley and placed it in Atwood's. He assisted her until she stood on the opposite side.

The girls hung back.

"Rosemary, you go first."

The girl stepped forward with slow deliberate steps, placed her valise on the ground and mimicked Tess's movements in climbing over the tree. As soon as she was on the other side, she moved to the opposite side of the lane from Atwood. Tess closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head.

"Sophia, you are next."

Sophia held Eliza's hand until it was time to relinquish it to Wesley. Once she landed on the other side of the fallen tree, she scurried to stand next to Rosemary.

Without waiting to be told, Eliza climbed over the tree with no assistance and hurried to her friends. Wesley handed the lantern to Tess then the valises to Atwood before he climbed over the tree to join them. He paused only long enough to dust bark from his trousers and straighten his jacket. Only when his appearance was put to rights did he retrieve the lantern from Tess.

"Come along," he announced and led the way, posture perfect and nothing out of place.

One of the girls gasped when the clouds moved to cover the moon. Without the lantern, they would be in complete darkness and unable to see where they walked. The wind picked up and whistled through the branches.

_How much further?_ She knew Atwood's manor lay not far away, but with the change in the scenery brought about by the storm, she was unsure exactly where they were.

"I dare say, Lord Atwood," Wesley called back. "We should quicken our pace if we wish to arrive prior to the next storm."

"Come along girls," Tess called behind her. "We don't want to get drenched if it begins to rain again."

"Yes, Miss Crawford," Sophia answered in a shaky voice.

Tess hoped they made it to the house before the rain. This was her only dress. Who knew how long it would take to retrieve her clothing from her room, and if any were repairable after the closet had been crushed by a tree?

She would not think about that now as there was nothing to be done for it at the moment and with any luck, there would be a servant who could loan her a serviceable dress until she could replace her own clothing. Despite the tempest, she had been lucky tonight. Had she not taken the walk, she could have very well been crushed to death in her own bed. The thought brought a shiver and goosepimples to her arm.

"Are you cold, Miss Crawford?" Lord Atwood looked down at her with concern.

"I was just reflecting on what could have happened."

"I suppose," he offered and looked straight ahead.

It was an odd response, but another matter Tess would not dwell on. Though the man had saved her and offered a place to sleep, it is not like she knew him well, or at all for that matter. Hopefully, they would be able to return to the school tomorrow, so that he was not inconvenienced any more than necessary.

"I do believe we will beat the rain. Come along girls," Wesley called back as he rounded the corner.

Tess could not tell if they quickened their steps or not, but did not look back. They would catch up eventually.

The group rounded the corner as the clouds moved on and moonlight illuminated Atwood's home. She heard gasps from behind. So, the girls weren't that far away.

Tess took in the sight before them and could imagine what was going on in the girls' heads. Shutters hung at crooked angles along the top floor. A tree limb had fallen against the stone portico and structure. Even from here, she could hear the scraping against the window when the wind blew. Though the place appeared to remain intact, it no longer resembled the well-managed, immaculate manor she had seen in the daylight. If not for the single light that moved through the rooms below, one would have thought this place long abandoned.

"It looks worse than it is, Lord Atwood," Wesley assured and stepped onto the walkway. The gate lay on its side in their path and they carefully stepped though the wrought iron bars to keep from tripping.

The front door banged open and against the inside wall.

"The latch was broken in the storm. We will seal it shut tonight, once everyone is within."

"He is going to seal us in? _In there?_ " Rosemary whispered from behind.

Lightning flashed in the distance and the roll of thunder soon followed. Tess heard one of the girls squeak.

It was going to be a very long night and she would be lucky if the three didn't insist on sleeping with her.

They stepped into the portico just as an older woman was intent on pushing the door closed. She was small and round with her hair in disarray. Wesley held up the lantern so she could recognize them while he studied her appearance from head to toe. If Tess wasn't mistaken, Wesley actually tisked before he moved on. The harried servant harrumphed and turned away while her hands went to her head to smooth the loose wisps of hair.

"Lord Atwood!" she cried when she saw her employer. "We were so worried about you, being out in the storm and all."

"Thank you, Mrs. Zobard. I was lucky enough to gain access to the family crypt when the storm blew in."

Her eyes widened in surprise, or perhaps it was fright. Tess wasn't certain.

"Well," she said when she finally gained her composure, "lucky for you that you insist on carrying your keys everywhere."

He stepped aside and the girls followed them into the foyer. "The school has suffered some damage and these students and their teacher, Miss Crawford, need lodgings for the night."

Mrs. Zobard brightened as if the prospect of having guests, despite the lack of warning, pleased her, and Lord Atwood quickly introduced the foursome.

"It is a pleasure to have you as guests in this house." She clapped her hands together. Yes, that was a smile on her lips. From past experience, most servants were not so exuberant to have unexpected guests thrust upon them, especially in the middle of the night. Though few would voice their displeasure for fear of losing their position, none smiled with happiness in the manner of Mrs. Zobard.

"It has been an age since anyone has visited," the servant gushed.

"How long will it be before rooms are made ready?" Atwood slipped out of his greatcoat and handed it to a footman.

A grin broke on her face. "We have rooms available now, my lord."

Atwood's chin dropped and an eyebrow rose. "Indeed."

The woman wrung her hands together and continued. "There is very little for the staff to do, Lord Atwood, so we keep the house in readiness for any event that may occur."

"Indeed," he repeated again.

Tess could not understand this man. The closer they came to his home, the quieter he became with comments being limited to as few syllables and words as possible.

"Very well," he said after a moment. "Use the four rooms at the south end. I prefer them as far away from my chambers as possible." He turned on his heel and without further comment, stalked down the hall and disappeared into a room at the end.

Why had he bothered to invite them in the first place if they were going to be such a disruption? It was Atwood, after all, who made the offer so there was no cause for him to be terse with them now.

Tess shook the thoughts from her head and turned toward the servants. They would be gone tomorrow. All she and the girls really needed at the moment was a good night's sleep.

"Very well, then." Wesley brightened and clasped his hands together. "Mrs. Zobard will show you to your rooms. Ring if you need anything."

He turned and walked after his lordship.

"Come along, ladies." Mrs. Zobard led them to the staircase off the entry while she carried a black iron, scroll decorated candelabra, ancient and ornate, in her hand. Tess wished she could see the décor, but she couldn't see further ahead than ten feet. Their only light was what Mrs. Zobard carried.

The housekeeper mounted the stairs and her candles cast shadows along what appeared to be a dark paneled wall. The girls shrank together, their shadows mingling to make them appear as one, and slowly followed the housekeeper.

At the top of the stairs Mrs. Zobard turned left and continued down the dark corridor. Tess could not tell the color, but her shoes sank into the softness of the carpet beneath her.

"Don't be bothered by Lord Atwood wanting you far away. He's just sensitive to noises, is all, and he hasn't had guests since before he left for the Continent."

Despite the housekeeper's explanation, Tess knew her students were inventing more nefarious reasons why he wanted them far away. No doubt it had something to do with avoiding the temptation to drink their blood. She snorted at her own thoughts as she followed the housekeeper down the hall.

Mrs. Zobard jerked her head to the side and cast Tess an irritated look. Gone was any humor or pleasantry. Instead, her lips were pressed together in a firm line and her eyes narrowed on Tess. With the light casting shadows on the hollow of her cheeks, circles beneath her eyes and grey hair in disarray, Tess wondered if the friendliness displayed by the housekeeper in the foyer was all an act. Perhaps they needed to be cautious of this woman instead of Lord Atwood.

Tess took a step back and shook the thoughts from her mind. She was getting to be as bad as the girls. Her overactive imagination was simply brought on by the storm, the girls' fear and this old, spooky manor. She was certain that in the light of the day she would laugh at her silliness.

The housekeeper stopped at the end of the hall. This was truly a large manor, or perhaps it only appeared that way due to the inky blackness of this hall that the meager light could not penetrate. Mrs. Zobard opened the first door on the end and entered. She took one candle from the candelabra and began lighting others. The room was bathed in a warm glow, and Tess could see that it was decorated in colors of warm green and cream. Though the wood was heavy and dark, it was not an unpleasant chamber. Mrs. Zobard went to the fireplace and lit the kindling. Who knows how long the room had been waiting for guests. Hadn't Lady Atwood been dead over a year?

"Rosemary, this shall be your room," Tess announced.

The girl's eyes grew wide as she looked around the chamber then glanced at the door. Perhaps Rosemary shouldn't be the first to be left alone. "On second thought, Sophia, I think this room would suit you best."

Rosemary sighed and her shoulders drooped. Sophia, on the other hand, stiffened and bit her upper lip.

Mrs. Zobard exited the room, Tess and the remaining two girls followed as she crossed the hall. Once again she lit the candles to bring brightness to the room. This one was decorated in rose and white. It also held the same type of heavy, dark furniture that was only in style decades ago.

"Yes, Rosemary, this one does suit you better," Tess said in the brightest voice she could muster.

The girl nodded her head, walked to the bed and sank down. Tess wondered if any of the girls would find sleep tonight.

She, Mrs. Zobard and Eliza left. Eliza was given the room next to Sophia's. Like the former two, the furnishings were of dark heavy wood. However, the bed was covered in the softest light blue.

As Tess and Mrs. Zobard exited into the hall, they found Sophia and Rosemary standing there.

"Is something amiss?" Mrs. Zobard asked.

"No." Sophia shook her head.

"We were just curious as to Eliza's room," Rosemary quickly explained.

"It is late girls. I'd like you in bed shortly," Tess insisted as she followed Mrs. Zobard into the room she assumed would be hers. Once the candles were lit, it revealed a room of soft lavender and cream. Very relaxing and more feminine than those the students had been given, as if it had been designed for a lady. The bed was more delicate and the wood of a lighter quality. Cherry, Tess guessed, but she would be able to tell better in the light of day.

Mrs. Zobard turned on her the moment the door closed. "So, you are like _them_."

"Them?"

"The ones who think the worst of Lord Atwood." The housekeeper stood stiff and peered down her nose at Tess.

"No. I'm not. I swear."

Mrs. Zobard snorted. "Then why did you snort as if disbelieving in the hall then?"

Tess knew she blushed at the reminder. "It is not me, I promise. The girls, they have rather fanciful imaginations."

The woman's eyebrows arched, as if waiting for further explanation.

"I knew as soon as you explained Lord Atwood's reaction to having guests they were thinking the real reason was more horrid. That is why I reacted and I apologize."

The woman tilted her head, as if weighing Tess' words.

"Truly. I teach these girls literature and I have battled the influence of 'Wake Not the Dead' probably almost as much as poor Lord Atwood has."

"There is nothing poor about Lord Atwood," the housekeeper insisted, lifting her stubborn chin in defiance.

_Goodness, is there a way out of this without insulting anyone_? "I did not mean it in that manner." Tess insisted. "I am speaking about the rumors in town, the girls' imaginations and such. That is all."

The woman relaxed after a moment. "Then you don't believe the nonsense?"

"Of course not," Tess scoffed.

"Very well, then. Call if you need anything." The woman turned to leave.

"Thank you for your kindness and assistance," Tess called after her but Mrs. Zobard was already gone, having shut the door behind her.

"So much for a first impression," she sighed out loud. Darn, she forgot to ask for a gown. She did not relish sleeping in her dress. Her chemise would have to do, she supposed. But first, she needed to check on the girls. If she was correct, they would be in Rosemary's, next to her own.

Tess left her chamber and went to Rosemary's and entered without knocking. Just as she suspected, all three girls were tucked into bed, clinging to each other.

"I trust you will not disturb anyone this evening?" It would do no good to chastise them and make Sophia and Eliza return to their rooms. They would only sneak back to Rosemary's chamber as soon as they thought she was asleep.

"We will be as quiet and as good as possible," Sophia assured.

"Sleep would not be remiss either," Tess reminded them.

"Oh, I don't think we will sleep at all," Rosemary insisted.

Tess simply rolled her eyes and left the room. She could argue, console or try any manner of convincing, but the girls were simply too frightened. Hopefully, tomorrow all would be well again.

She had just put her hand on her own doorknob when Wesley approached. "Miss Crawford, if it is not too inconvenient, Lord Atwood would like a word with you in his library."

All Tess really wanted to do was sleep, but she could not ignore the request of her host. She turned and followed Wesley back down the hall, the dark stairs and into the room Atwood had disappeared into earlier.

The room was dark, not unlike the rest of the house. Did Atwood have an aversion to candles? She had never been in such a bleak place.

He sat in a chair, far from the fire. Enough light reflected on him that she noted he had removed his coat and jacket. His cravat was loosened and he held a glass of amber liquid in his hand. Atwood stood when she came into the room.

"Brandy?"

"Yes, please." Brandy was exactly what she needed to help her find her sleep.

Wesley poured and handed her a tumbler. "Will that be all, Lord Atwood?"

"Yes."

The valet exited and closed the door behind him.

"Please have a seat, Miss Crawford."

Tess chose one closer to the fire and wished she could see his face better. If only he would move into the light. Unfortunately, he settled back into the chair he had been sitting in when she arrived.

What was he thinking inviting her here? Vincent could have apologized on the morrow, but his terse comments and distance bothered him as soon as they were no longer in each other's company. How could he explain that he dreaded the thought of the four females being in his house? It was obvious the students feared him and probably believed in their heart of hearts that he was a vampire. They were probably equally thankful that the night rails young women wore these days covered them from ankle to chin, with no opportunity to suck their blood. Yes, he had read the insipid horror story of Walter longing for his first wife and bringing her back from the dead and how she turned out to be a vampire, preying on children and young maidens, sucking their life's blood from their bosom.

"I wish to apologize for my cold behavior earlier."

Miss Crawford relaxed back in the seat. "There is no need, Lord Atwood. It has been an eventful evening and you were not prepared for guests." She took a sip of the brandy and sighed.

"The girls, they believe I am a vampire?"

She choked on the liquid. "I've tried to convince them otherwise."

He chuckled. "I am certain you have, but they are young girls and must be allowed their imaginations."

Miss Crawford seemed to relax a bit more. Still, he could not trust that she did not believe the same. People could fool you at any turn and he knew nothing at all about her.

"My question to you, Miss Crawford, is, do you believe I am a vampire?"

She straightened and looked him directly in the eye. "Of course not." She almost seemed affronted that he would even make such a suggestion.

He lifted the brandy snifter to his lips as he contemplated his next question. Miss Crawford was a very lovely lady, with her midnight hair and pewter eyes. He wondered if she could hide anything from him.

Of course she could. Anyone could hide who they truly were, given the right motivation.

"Are you saying you don't believe in evil?"

Her brows creased, as if she were thinking the question through. "Lord Atwood," she began. "While I don't believe in vampires, I do believe in evil and know it exists."

Her response surprised him. This was a gently bred woman, a teacher at a well respected finishing school. Perhaps she was as fanciful as her students.

"What would you know of evil, Miss Crawford?"

She turned away from him to look into the fire. "I would rather not speak of it."

That was not the answer he expected. Before she turned away, he saw a true haunting in her eyes, fear or horror, he was not sure. It was the look of someone who might very well have encountered evil in her past, and perhaps he'd misjudged her.

Miss Crawford drained the glass, stood and faced him. "Thank you for allowing us to rest here tonight. I promise that the girls will not disturb you and hopefully we will be back at the school by tomorrow afternoon."

She left before he had a chance to speak. What had he said that upset her so? And, what evil had she witnessed, or experienced?

Vincent heard them, but did not bother to open his eyes. He knew he should have retired to his room last night, but after Miss Crawford left, he remained in the library, nursing his brandy. At one point he had moved to the couch, but couldn't remember doing so.

What did she consider to be evil? A simple disregard of someone, or a more immoral or wicked act? The question followed him into sleep as well as the look in her eyes, as if haunted by the past, where he wished he still was. Unfortunately, he had guests and they were now in his library.

He kept his eyes closed and feigned sleep. Hopefully they would see him and remove themselves. Then he could make his way to his own chamber and sleep for the remainder of the day.

Vincent couldn't tell which ones spoke, for he didn't know them well enough to recognize their voices. It did not matter, they would be gone soon and he would not see them again.

"Look at all of the books." The voice was full of awe.

"There must be thousands."

"They are probably better books here than what the old library has in the school," the third one commented.

"We did find that back section though," one of them giggled. "Do you think Miss Crawford knows we tried to read almost all of those novels?"

"No doubt, which is why they are gone," another snorted. "As soon as she found out the last Radcliffe novel, all the other horrid novels disappeared."

"Except for _Wake Not the Dead_ and _The Veiled Picture._ Do you think Lord Atwood has any books written by Anne Radcliffe?"

_Just grab a book and be gone_. The sooner the girls left, the sooner he could return to slumber.

"There are some books I have never heard of before," one of them offered in a thoughtful tone. "Where to begin?"

_With the first one you touch. Take it off the shelf and go._

It happened so quickly, he didn't have time to prepare. The moment he heard the sound of his curtains slide along the rod his arm moved to shield the morning light, but he was too slow. Bright, sunlight hit his face. Even though his eyes were closed, the sudden, sharp pain was not lessened. With a roar and hiss, Vincent shielded his eyes as he launched from the couch and into the corner of the room that was sheltered in shadows. The very side where two of the girls stood examining books.

Lady Sophia looked up him, her eyes wide and a book fell from her grasp. It hit the floor with a thud. Miss Eliza, who stood next to her, screamed and then grabbed Sophia's hand and pulled her toward the door. Vincent turned his glare on Miss Rosemary. She shrieked and ran from the window and into the hall. He could hear their feet pound up the stairs.

Vincent massaged his temples with both hands. He needed a brandy to sooth his pain but the bottle and glass were on the other side of the room, being warmed by the sun.

When was the last time he had felt it's warmth on any part of his body? He couldn't remember the last time he had even walked in the sun.

For the moment he was trapped. The door leading to the hall was flooded with sunlight and he weighed his options of whether to remain in the darker corner of his library like a trapped animal, or risk further pain by racing for the door and into the hall.

"Sir?" Wesley called as he entered the room. "Is anything amiss...Oh, dear," he answered his own question and stalked toward the draperies to yank them closed.

Vincent stepped further into the room. "Thank you."

"I am dreadfully sorry, sir. I didn't know the girls were coming here."

"Remind me to keep the doors locked, so they don't disturb me again."

"How could they know you would be in here?" Wesley questioned. "And, the door was open. I thought you had retired, since you had not called for me."

"I should have retreated to my room and will do so now." Vincent turned and made his way to the door. His left hand continued to massage his temple, willing the pain away, though it had lessened a bit.

"I shall be up in a moment, sir. Would you like something to help you sleep?"

"Yes, bring the brandy," Vincent called out as he turned toward the stairs.

He looked up to find Miss Crawford descending. Her lips were pursed and her eyes held accusation. _What have I done now?_

"Isn't it a bit early for brandy, Lord Atwood?"

He sneered at her. It was _her_ charges who brought on this pain.

She straightened and moved further away from him.

"Had your students not awakened me, I would be in a better mood. It is because of them I need spirits," he growled and marched past her up the stairs.

# Chapter 6

_G oodness_! Tess didn't know what to think. The man became ruder by the hour. She had been ready to chastise him for frightening the girls so, but he even scared her now.

Wesley exited the library when her foot touched the final step. "Please assure his lordship that I will have the girls removed from the premises as soon as physically possible."

The valet grimaced. "Please do not think too harshly of Lord Atwood. He was unexpectedly awakened and is not the most pleasant gentleman when he has not had enough sleep."

"It is far past morning, Wesley, and he had no cause to yell at the girls. And, why would he be sleeping in the library when he has what I assume is a perfectly good chamber?"

"He accidently fell asleep in the library early this morning," the valet explained. "And, this is very early for Lord Atwood as he sleeps most of the day and works in the evening."

She snorted. He probably got those habits from society and the life of the _ton_ during the season. Not that she had ever experienced such, but she had heard.

Wesley wasn't the one to scare the girls or behave in a despicable manner and she should not take her irritation out on him. "I apologize. This is not your fault, but all of us are a bit on edge from the experiences of last night."

"It is quite understandable, Miss Crawford."

"I will be taking the girls to the school shortly to see how bad the damage is in the light of day."

"I shall go with you, after I have seen to Lord Atwood." He held up the brandy and began to mount the stairs.

"That will not be necessary, Wesley,"

He turned to look at her. "His lordship will wish to know the details as well and I will be able to report them to him."

_He probably wants to know how soon we will be departing. Well, he shouldn't have invited us if he was going to make everyone's life miserable._

Wesley helped Vincent out of his clothing, for which he was grateful. Normally he could undress himself without any help, but the pounding in his head was making him nauseated and all he wanted to do was lie down.

"Sir, the laudanum would not be remiss, especially at a time like this," Wesley insisted

Vincent turned and glared at the man. "I will _not_ rely on the fruit of the poppy. _Ever again_."

"But sir, you cannot continue to live in this manner."

Vincent shrugged off his trousers and handed them to his valet. "I have not exactly been given a choice, now have I?"

Wesley folded his clothing, which always amazed Vincent since they would now be taken to be laundered. With a sigh, he settled into his dark cocoon of a bed. The entire room was dark, from the chestnut stained paneling, deep blue—almost black—carpet and draperies to the velvet, burgundy bed curtains, which would be closed before Wesley left his room. Only in his cool quiet cave did Vincent relax. Except for today.

"Wesley, hand me the brandy."

As instructed, the servant placed the glass, filled with a generous amount of liquid, into his employer's hand. "Will that be all?"

"Yes. No. Find out how long _they_ are going to be in residence."

"Very good, sir."

# Chapter 7

It was much, much worse than she feared. The tree had not only fallen into the side of the house, but the school appeared to be leaning a bit. Tess tilted her head to see if it helped straighten out the image. It didn't.

"Oh, dear," Wesley muttered beside her.

The girls stood beside her in unusual mute surprise.

"You are not imagining what you see," Mrs. Wiggons sighed as she joined them.

"How soon will it be repaired?"

Mrs. Wiggons harrumphed.

Tess turned to look at her. She was almost afraid to ask what her employer meant by such a nonverbal statement.

The woman sighed. "It's quite possible the entire school will need to be rebuilt." Tears glistened in her employer's eyes. Tess knew the building had been her former home from the days when her parents were alive and considered wealthy, landed gentry. When her parents and husband all perished within five years of each other, Mrs. Wiggons was left alone with only the large house, and turned the home into a school. Now, fifteen years later, she was prosperous and considered to have one of the best girls' schools in the country. That was, until a tempest practically destroyed it last evening.

Tess put an arm around the woman's shoulders. This must be as devastating as the loss of her family had been years ago. "What can I do?"

Mrs. Wiggons sniffed and brought a hanky to her nose. "I am not certain there is anything any of us can do."

"You have the responsibility of three dozen students. We must think of a plan now, for we cannot be spread out all over the county. How would any classes be conducted?"

Mrs. Wiggons shook her head as if to clear her pain and focus on the immediate concerns. "I was here when the sun rose and have already written to each of the parents. I have given them the option of the girls returning home and I would forgo the remaining tuition until the school is habitable again."

"The financial loss will be too much." Though Mrs. Wiggons did have some savings, she'd never gotten rich off of the school as most of it went back into the school and to pay her teachers. Tess wasn't even certain there was enough in the accounts to refund so many partial tuitions.

"I also explained the circumstances, where the girls were living at the moment, with whom and which teacher accompanied them. I assured them I would look into new lodgings where we could all live and continue to educate their children."

Tess sighed, at least Mrs. Wiggons was thinking of other possibilities.

"I just don't know of any place that is large enough for all of us."

Tess considered the area. She had lived here for almost two years now, and had also attended the school years earlier, but she knew little of the homes and families, rarely venturing into town. Unfortunately, there was only one place large enough to accommodate all of the students and staff, and the owner already wanted the four currently living there to be gone as soon as humanly possible. Atwood certainly would never consider allowing more females into his home.

"You will be ruined if you have to return the tuition. Further, with the funds gone, how would you rebuild? There has to be another answer, one we just have not considered yet."

Mrs. Wiggons smiled at her sadly. "I've already thought the problem through. I am afraid that when the parents arrive, they will take the girls home and we will be closing the school for good."

"No," Tess cried. What would she do? Or, Claudia and Natalie, and especially Mrs. Wiggons? None of them had any place to go. No family and only each other as friends. The staff and other teachers could all find positions elsewhere or return to families, but the four of them did not have that option.

This was turning into more of a nightmare than she ever thought possible.

"Tess, we will find a way." Mrs. Wiggons looked deep into her eyes. "I will not let anything happen to you or the others. On that you have my word."

Tess was grateful for the reassurance, but could not begin to fathom how Mrs. Wiggons would accomplish the task.

"In the meantime," Mrs. Wiggons brightened and clapped her hands. "We need to pack up what belongings survived for storage. The stables were untouched, thank goodness, and we will be storing our items in there for the time being."

"What about the horses?" Rosemary asked.

"Mr. Conner has agreed to stable them for us. He has ample room and promised they could remain there until the students return home."

Tess narrowed her eyes and looked at her employer. "Mr. Conner?" She arched an eyebrow in question. The man was of an age as Mrs. Wiggons and had been smitten with the woman for as long as Tess could remember and was also a widower.

A blush spread across Mrs. Wiggons cheeks. "Do not make anything more out of this than there is. He is simply being kind," Mrs. Wiggons insisted as she hustled toward the house.

Tess skipped to catch up. "And what is the fine Mr. Conner charging?" She already guessed.

"Nothing. He is doing this out of the kindness of his heart."

"Really?" Tess chuckled.

Mrs. Wiggons turned on her and wagged a finger. " _Kindness of his heart_ ," she insisted. "I will hear nothing more on the subject."

Tess knew when to keep quiet, and that usually occurred when Mrs. Wiggons talked to her as if she were a student once again. Still, it would not be so bad if, through his generosity, Mrs. Wiggons warmed to Mr. Conner. Why should one be lonely when one did not need to be? Unless one's only option was someone like...no, she would not even think his name.

"No," Vincent roared, then quieted his voice. It was a mistake to be too loud, but he had to make his valet understand. "I barely survived three of them. _Three_! And you expect me to take in _three dozen_ , and their teachers?"

"I know it may seem like a hardship..."

"A bloody disaster," Vincent corrected.

"But you are the only one who can help," Wesley continued unfazed.

"Have you forgotten how much I need and _enjoy_ my quiet, peaceful existence? It is all I can do to hold onto what sanity I possess, and you are suggesting the one thing that will send me straight to Bedlam."

Wesley sighed, crossed his arms over his chest and stared his employer right in the eye, his left eyebrow arched. "We will make it work."

" _You_ will make it work," Vincent corrected.

"Ah, then we are in agreement." Wesley turned to leave.

"Hell, no, we are not in agreement!" Vincent shouted and brought his palm to his head. He really should quit raising his voice. "You will make it work somewhere else, far, far away from me and this manor. Do I make myself clear?"

Wesley sighed. "Sir, after I left the school, I went into town to check on the schools finances. If they are forced to return the tuition, the school will never be rebuilt."

"It is not the only school in England," Vincent argued. He leaned his head back against the soft cushions of the chair and closed his eyes. Wesley asked the impossible.

"Yes, but it was Mrs. Wiggons' home, and the home of three of her teachers who have nowhere else to go."

Vincent cracked one eye to look at his valet, but said nothing.

"You are a leader in this community. The only lord, and the magistrate. It is up to you to take care of these matters."

Vincent snorted.

"Sir, you cannot let this travesty continue."

Vincent sat up and narrowed his eyes on Wesley. "As I did not bring on the tempest, I certainly don't see how I can possibly be the one responsible to set things right."

"I am disappointed in you, Lord Atwood," Wesley sniffed. "For the first time in my life, I am completely and utterly disappointed." He turned to leave the room.

Vincent stood. He had known Wesley since he was a boy. The man had never been disappointed in him. Perhaps angry on occasion, when he was young, but never _disappointed_. This did not sit well with him. "How long?"

Wesley turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow in question.

"How long would _they_ be here?" He wanted to make it very clear that while he was giving the idea some thought, he had not yet agreed.

Wesley folded his hands in front of him and smiled. "That all depends on how long it takes to rebuild the school."

Vincent relaxed against the chair and mulled over the idea. "Who in town is there to get the deed done?"

His valet shrugged. "There is much damage. I suspect that most of the men will be seeing to their own homes before they can help anyone else."

That was not the answer he wanted to hear. "What about this house? Is there anything that requires immediate attention?" _That could possibly keep others from living here?_

"Very little, actually. It should take no more than a day or two to set the estate to rights. Most of the work required is cleaning up the debris on the grounds."

"If there is no heavy manual labor to be done, the students can set the estate _to rights_. That should keep them out of the house a good portion of the day."

"Sir, you cannot expect gently reared ladies to pick up tree limbs and such."

Vincent narrowed his eyes at the valet.

"Very well, sir, I can see where the fresh air would be beneficial to them. I shall mention it to Mrs. Wiggons."

"Have my staff determine what needs to be done to get the school finished as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir."

"Hire others if necessary."

"That could be costly, sir, and I am not sure the funds are available."

"I'll pay for an entire new building if I have to as long as the job is done quickly and right."

Wesley grinned and bowed. "I knew you would do the right thing, Lord Atwood."

Vincent stood. "Before you announce my intentions to Mrs. Wiggons, I suggest you have her and the teachers meet with me prior to anything being settled. There will be ground rules all of them must adhere to."

# Chapter 8

Vincent regretted his agreement the moment the ladies were seated in his parlor. Introductions had been exchanged and Mrs. Zobard rolled in a cart loaded with a tea service, cups and a number of cakes, some types he had never seen before. She beamed at Mrs. Wiggons and the six teachers after she served the guests. "Please, let me know if there is _anything_ you will be needing."

Mrs. Wiggons inclined her head. "Thank you, Margaret."

Vincent eyed his housekeeper. How well did she know the owner of the school?

"Mrs. Wiggons and I grew up together," his housekeeper answered his unspoken question. "We were quite good friends when we were children."

"Judith, please, Margaret. We've known each other far too long to stand on ceremony." Mrs. Wiggons smiled. "I do hope this inconvenience will not interrupt our Sunday afternoons."

"Of course not," his housekeeper assured her friend. "As Wesley is fond of saying, we'll endeavor to make it work."

What the blazes did his housekeeper and Mrs. Wiggons do on Sunday afternoon?

Vincent shook the thoughts away. It didn't matter since he was usually asleep when the sun was at its highest. As long as Mrs. Zobard saw to his duties, what did he care what she did with her free time?

"I shall leave you. Ring if there is anything you need." With that Mrs. Zobard quit the parlor, closing the door behind her.

"It is rather dark in here," Miss Natalie Pritchard mumbled as she looked around the shadowed room.

Red velvet draperies were closed against the daytime. Heavy brocade furniture was assembled around an almost black, carved wooden table placed at the center of the sitting area which now held the tea service and cakes. Some light came from a bright fire that burned behind Vincent in the large, ancient fireplace. The rest came from candles lit in the dull gold sconces along the wall. The furnishings in the room had not been changed for generations. His mother didn't have the heart to remove the antiques and he assumed Veronica, his wife, never had the opportunity.

"I like it this way," Vincent retorted, a little too sharp, even to his own ears. However, the last thing he needed was a bunch of females redecorating, thus modernizing and opening the curtains in _his_ home.

The cup shook in Miss Pritchard's hand and she set it back on the table and folded her hands in her lap.

"I apologize. I am adverse to sunlight and ask that you understand that the windows in _my_ house will remained covered, at all times."

Miss Pritchard acknowledged with a nod of her head.

"Lord Atwood also has an aversion to noise," Miss Crawford offered with a smile and a bit too cheery tone.

Vincent cleared his throat and sat forward. "Yes, I do. In fact, I would appreciate it if during the day hours, the girls remain on this floor and I will remain above. In the evening, I will be in my library working and wish the girls to retire early or at least be in their rooms by eight."

"I think that is reasonable," Mrs. Wiggons agreed. "Will we have use of the rooms on the main floor for our classrooms?"

"Of course. There is a music room, ballroom, library, drawing room, a dining room, breakfast room, this parlor and sitting room. I assume those will be sufficient." If they stayed on the main floor then he could sleep in blissful silence.

"Oh, that would be wonderful," Miss Claudia Morris sighed.

The remaining three teachers remained mum and Vincent wondered if they were ever vocal. So far, it had been Mrs. Wiggons, Miss Pritchard, Miss Morris, and of course, Miss Crawford, who had spoken, and in fact, took the seats closest to him. The other three were older teachers and clearly more reserved. They barely said hello when introduced. Mrs. Wiggons was probably grateful to have the three younger teachers to help. If he said boo to the others, they may expire on the spot. The thought brought a smile to his face.

"I have arranged for some of my servants to see to the repairs and the possible rebuilding of your school," he continued. "They will be able to determine by the end of the day what will be needed to accomplish the task of bringing your school back to its former glory."

"I cannot begin to thank you for all of your assistance, Lord Atwood." Tears formed in Mrs. Wiggons' eyes.

_No, not tears_. He smiled through clenched teeth. "It is the least I can do. Your school is an asset to the community and it would be a shame to lose it."

"Your generosity will not go unrewarded," she assured him.

Vincent had to wonder at exactly what type of reward, but he suspected it was one of a more eternal kind. So, that made one other person present who didn't believe the rumors. Unless Mrs. Wiggons thought a vampire could make his way into heaven. He fought not to chuckle.

"I understand there is something you would like the students to do in return?" Miss Crawford asked.

He turned and focused on her pewter eyes. He had never seen the likes and wondered if they were more silver in the sunlight, not that he would ever know. She also had the thickest, blackest lashes he had ever seen on a female. Sultry and beautiful.

Vincent turned away and decided to focus on the quiet group at the back. They at least didn't distract him and he could not understand why Miss Crawford did. Their expectant eyes waited for him to explain and Vincent cleared his throat. "Well, most of my staff is at your school, but I have matters that need to be addressed here, before winter sets in."

"Go on." Miss Pritchard sat forward. Clearly she had recovered from her earlier nerves.

"I was hoping to have their assistance in cleaning up the debris from the yard. Nothing too strenuous, of course, but small limbs, sticks and such."

"What of your gardens?" Miss Pritchard asked.

"My gardens?" He hadn't thought about them at all.

"I mean no disrespect," Miss Pritchard continued, "but I did note they have not been well maintained."

"No, they have not."

A smile broke on her face. "If you don't mind, I would love to bring it back to life, or at least have it prepared for the winter."

"To what purpose?" Why should it matter and what use could it be to her?

"For our botany lessons, of course."

"Botany?" What kind of school was Mrs. Wiggons running? "I have never heard of such studies for young ladies."

All of the teachers, even Mrs. Wiggons, straightened as if a rod had been shoved down each of their spines. _Good Lord, now what?_

"We do not adhere to the teachings that a young lady need only know how to paint, play an instrument, sing, and run a household," Miss Crawford insisted.

"Apparently not," he offered in a dry tone. "What subjects do you feel are appropriate?" Did he really want to know?

"I teach math and finances," announced one of the older ones from the back. He could no longer remember her name.

"I understand math, for household accounts, at times, and pen money, and such. Why finances?"

The woman pursed her lips and inhaled through her nose. For a moment he thought she would not answer. The question had clearly insulted her. But, finances and women were not topics that usually coexisted.

"At some point in her life a lady may find herself alone, without a _gentleman_ to take care of her. She should always be aware of the opportunities available, and to be on guard if a guardian takes advantage of her wealth."

Vincent had a sneaking suspicion the same had happened to the woman, but he did not ask.

"I teach biology and astronomy," the oldest one, next to the first, said. At least he assumed she was older, given her white hair and severely lined face. Of course, looks could be deceiving. "I assume you don't believe young ladies need this knowledge at all?"

He sat back, not sure how to answer.

She rapped her fan on the table. "The world is no longer flat, Lord Atwood, and it would be best if gentlemen quit treating young ladies as if it were, or should believe it is."

He had certainly underestimated the quiet, older ones and Vincent was almost afraid to ask what the last one taught. She answered before he could question.

"Animal husbandry and agriculture."

Vincent choked on his tea. "Pardon?"

"Most of these young ladies will marry gentlemen with estates. If they are knowledgeable about everything involved, perhaps they could be of better service. At the very least, she may appreciate the concerns that could plague her husband."

The woman pursed her lips and said no more.

He turned to Miss Crawford. "You teach literature, correct?" He guessed given she was the one the girls referred to with regard to taking books from the library.

"Yes, I do, as well as history. I also thank you for the use of your vast library."

He inclined his head and smiled. "It is my pleasure."

"Miss Morris, what do you teach?"

"French and Latin," she answered with a smile.

At least those two subjects were not unusual. Well, perhaps the French, but certainly not the Latin.

"If a student shows aptitude, I will also instruct them in Italian, Spanish, Russian or German. It is their choice, of course."

Vincent was amazed the woman could speak so many languages enough to teach them. Few men he knew spoke more than three. He turned to the owner of the school. "Mrs. Wiggons, do you instruct the young ladies as well?" _Please let the answer be no, or at least a reasonable subject_.

"I train them in the proper running of a household, watercolors and embroidery. Though, in all honesty, we have very little time to spend on these lessons and are lucky to give them attention once a month, let alone weekly."

Finally, a sane teacher among the bunch. Well, besides Miss Morris and of course, Miss Crawford. But why did she encourage the other teachings in the first place?

He shook the thought away. It was none of his business and why should it matter? It wasn't as if he was going to marry any of the chits.

He turned to Miss Pritchard. At least he believed she could be of use to him, at the moment. "Are you familiar with greenhouses?"

Her eyes lit. "Oh yes, do you have one?"

"It is in sore disrepair."

She scooted to the edge of her seat and bit her bottom lip as if he were telling an intriguing tale. He had never known anyone to get so excited about plants.

"You have my permission to do what you will in the place. It certainly cannot suffer more than it has over the past year from lack of attention."

"Oh, thank you, Lord Atwood. This is the most wonderful opportunity."

Perhaps this may work to his advantage, provided the girls were quiet. He stood, glad to have the interviews concluded. "Now, if you will please excuse me. Mrs. Zobard and Wesley will see to your comfort and that of the girls. It is time I retired once again."

"It is barely one in the afternoon, Lord Atwood," Miss Morris pointed out.

He raised an eyebrow. How dare she question him?

"Lord Atwood sleeps all day and does his work in the evening. Thus, the reason for the girls to remain down here during the day."

An "O" formed on the younger ladies mouths, but thankfully they said no more.

Tess toured the guest rooms with Mrs. Zobard while the other teachers returned to the school to gather belongings and pack clothing. With a list in hand, she began to assign the rooms.

On the main floor there were a total of twelve rooms, but only eight could be used. As for the chambers above, the beds were large enough that there could be two or three girls to a room.

"The teachers can double, as can the students." Tess stood in the middle of the hall trying to determine what she should do. "However, we can only sleep twenty-six or twenty-seven on this floor."

"How many more are there?"

"Between the remaining students and teachers, fifteen."

"Oh dear." The housekeeper's eyebrows shot up. "I had no idea there were so many girls." She pursed her lips and turned a circle in the hall. "I have an idea."

"What?" Tess grew hopeful. For a moment she feared the girls would sleep four to a room. It was manageable, but terribly crowded, even with the large beds.

"The nursery floor," Mrs. Zobard exclaimed and turned to walk toward the end of the hall. "The stairs are the same ones the servants use to access the kitchen below and also lead to the upper floor."

Another floor of rooms held promise and Tess followed the woman. The wooden door opened soundlessly onto a landing. Mrs. Zobard turned left and mounted the stairs and entered a large, open room. More of a sitting room, it appeared, with various pieces of furniture covered in cloths. Windows allowed sunlight in from both sides.

"This is where the nurse and governess would relax at the end of the day," Mrs. Zobard announced as she crossed the room to open another door and Tess continued to follow her.

"I know it looks rather odd, but the upper floor had remained open after it was built, for storage, but one of the former ladies of the house, three generations ago I believe, did not want her children too close and the nursery floor was developed."

Tess was actually surprised the schoolroom and nursery had not been part of the original plan. Most houses usually kept the children up and out of the way of the household.

"This is, or was, the school room."

Tess looked at the vast area. One wall ran the length and center of the room with doors opening to various chambers. The other, open area, contained bookshelves underneath the windows and a few tables and chairs. While there was plenty of room for the girls to sleep, there were no beds.

Mrs. Zobard entered one of the open rooms. "I believe this is where the governess slept."

Tess peeked in. For a servant's room, it was rather large with a nice double bed and dresser.

"This is where the nurse slept," Mrs. Zobard continued.

The room she referred to was a duplicate of the one they had just viewed. Well, there were enough beds for four people to sleep. What of the other eleven?

"What is at the end?" Tess indicated to the far wall, where another wall blocked off the remainder of the floor.

"Oh, that is just storage." Mrs. Zobard hustled forward to open the room.

Tess stepped through. Dust motes danced in the air and reflected in the light coming through the end window. She turned around to take in the space. Two trunks sat against the wall. "Lord Atwood doesn't appear to store much."

Mrs. Zobard laughed. "No, he is of the opinion that if it is not being used, it should be discarded or given away."

The efficiency of his attitude did not surprise her and Tess rather liked that. How many people did she know, or had known, who kept items tucked away, gathering dust or rotting for no other purpose than to have such items.

Tess turned to the housekeeper. "There certainly appears to be adequate room."

"With the exception of the lack of beds."

Tess returned to the schoolroom and sat down on one of the small chairs. What to do? Then an idea struck. "The beds at the school will be unused and need to go into storage. Would it be possible to move them here, into these rooms?"

Mrs. Zobard tilted her head in thought. "I don't see why not. It seems to be the perfect solution. I'll send someone over now so that the furniture can be loaded."

Now that it was taken care of, Tess returned to the library where she set about planning where everyone would sleep and which rooms would be used for which lesson. She had originally assumed that Mrs. Wiggons would see to this task, but the woman wanted to supervise what was occurring at her school and had left Tess in charge. The older teachers were with Mrs. Wiggons supervising the removal of items from the house while Claudia and Natalie were gathering the girls to bring them back here and begin work on the vast estate.

She had just finalized the sleeping arrangements when Natalie breezed through the door leading to a terrace, a beaming smile graced her lips and she flounced down onto a settee.

"I take it you are pleased with the grounds," Tess chuckled as she stood to walk over to join her friend.

"So many plants, so many gardens." A frown replaced her smile. "So much disrepair. Lord Atwood should be throttled for letting them run to ruin."

"I don't think he views the gardens as a priority."

"For one who insists on placing flowers on his wife's grave _every night_ , he should at least grow his own instead of stealing from the neighbors," Natalie snorted.

"Then you are doing him a service, and that of the neighbors, in seeing that he has his own flowers from now on," Tess laughed.

Natalie turned, a thoughtful look on her face. "He is a rather odd gentleman."

"I am not certain what you mean." Tess didn't really want to gossip about the man who had given them refuge, but she was curious as well.

Oh, she was far too curious for her own peace of mind, actually. She had yet to forget his strength, and how he held her, or she held him, during the storm. Nor could she erase the intense look in his eyes, or the concern in those dark pools when he wiped the blood away from her face or gazed down at her when she awoke on the couch. But, forget she must. Attraction to any gentleman, or any man, was dangerous.

"Come now," Natalie answered in disbelief. "He never leaves his home, at least not in the light of day. Nor does he socialize. He has yet to accept an invitation to the local entertainments, and those are held at night. Is he above attending a local assembly?"

"I am certain he has good reason." Though Tess could not think of any. Still, one must not judge without having all the facts. Something she had come to practice herself. A lesson she learned too late.

"What could those reasons possibly be?" Natalie sat up and turned to her. "Yes, his wife died, and it is tragic. But, he is a lord and should at least consider marrying again. He is in need of an heir and he isn't getting any younger."

"How old do you suppose he is?" It was better to ask a question of reasonable inquiry, without it being too intrusive or mean.

Natalie sat back again and played with a wayward curl. "I suppose he cannot be older than six and twenty, seven and twenty, perhaps."

"Then he isn't so ancient that he need consider a wife at this juncture in his life. Being a gentleman, and titled, he has a good ten or possibly fifteen years before he needs to see to continuing his line.

"Unlike us, who will be considered on the shelf in a few short years," Natalie snorted.

"Where we prefer to be, or at least I do."

"As do I," Natalie agreed. "But, what of companionship? He must be lonely."

"He has a houseful of servants, and clearly he does not like to be bothered. I am not even sure why he asked us to stay here."

Natalie focused on Tess. "Not _friendship_ companionship. The _other_ kind of companionship."

Tess' face grew hot. "Perhaps he has no need for the type of _friendship_ you are describing."

"Then perhaps he is a vampire because I have yet to meet any warm-blooded gentleman who didn't need, how did you phrase it? Oh, yes _friendship_ on a regular basis." She stood and walked across the room to pull a curtain aside.

"I would close that. You know his rules."

"He is sleeping, and don't change the subject." Natalie let the drapery drop. "Perhaps he has a local mistress, or maybe a maid."

"I am certain it is none of our business." _Goodness, it is warm in here_.

"I am not sure if I could resist, if he focused those midnight eyes on me."

"Stop! This is an inappropriate discussion." Tess resisted the urge to fan herself and at the same time tried not to remember how mesmerizing his eyes were.

"Mesmerizing, that is it," Natalie announced.

Tess' face grew hotter. Had she spoken out loud? Oh dear.

"Perhaps he is a vampire." Her friend's grin grew larger. "And he is going to use those intriguing eyes on each and every one of us, in the dark of the night. Well, most of you anyway. Don't vampires need maidens? I suppose I am safe."

"Stop," Tess insisted. "One of the girls could hear you and we already have enough troubles without dealing with their overwrought emotions and imaginations as it is."

Natalie slumped back on the settee and shrugged her shoulders. "Still, it is a wonder. One would think he would have at least one friend who came to call."

She knew her face must have gone white, for now it was no longer hot, but cold. Atwood did have at least one friend that she knew of. How could she have forgotten Percer in all of this? She had just placed herself in the most dangerous, or almost most dangerous, place to be. What if Percer decided to renew his friendship with Atwood? What if he called while they still resided here, before the school was done? What had she done by agreeing to this? What kind of danger had she just put everyone in? Herself? What of the reputation of the school? If he showed up here, Mrs. Wiggons need not bother rebuilding, for she would be as ruined and possibly charged with harboring a fugitive.

Tess placed a hand over her mouth and ran from the room, ignoring Natalie who called after her. She was going to be sick.

# Chapter 9

"Oh, please do be quiet," Tess pleaded in a whisper. She stood just outside of Atwood's chamber door and knew he slumbered within. She could only hope that he was a sound sleeper.

A headboard banged against the stairs. "Shhhh," she admonished.

The plan had seemed sound at the time to move the belongings in and get the girls settled, all without Atwood realizing the disruption to his household. Once the rooms above were prepared, it would be harder for him to change his mind and ask them to leave. Unfortunately, they were not even halfway completed and five pieces of furniture had banged on the hall outside his door.

Something dropped on the floor above. Tess scooted around the servants carrying a bed and rushed up the stairs. An older man had one end of a wood frame and seemed strained by the weight, so much that she thought his eyes would pop out. Another man stood at the opposite end reciting words that made her blush. Perhaps the man had been a sailor prior to his employment within the household. Thank goodness the girls were not up here.

The older man none too gently set his end of the bed on the floor and walked to the other where he picked up the footboard so the younger servant could retrieve his foot.

Tess rushed to his side. "Are you injured?"

The younger man glared up at her and she took a step back.

"I'll find Mrs. Zobard, or a maid, to help you." Tess rushed from the room before he said something she would regret.

She waited at the top of the stairs while another item was maneuvered over the railing. Goodness, she never really realized how heavy the furniture was in the school.

When they passed, she rushed down the stairs and exited into the main hall once again. A headboard fell against the wall and just when she was about to admonish the servant for not being more careful, and to be quiet, the door of Atwood's room flew open and hit the wall inside.

"What the hell is going on?"

All activity stopped and everyone turned to look at Viscount Atwood. His black hair was tussled and a curl fell over his left eye. He wore a deep maroon dressing gown, open at the chest but tied at his hips. At least the lower half of him was covered because the upper part was difficult enough to take in. Tess had never seen a man's chest before and wondered if they were all as firm, almost sculpted, with a layer of dark hair that thinned toward the belly until a thin line disappeared into the robe, as if pointing in a sinful direction.

Atwood dropped his hands and folded them in front, where the V likely ended and leaned against the door frame. Her face was on fire and she pulled her eyes away to glance at his face.

His gaze bore into hers and one eyebrow rose in question. She didn't want to ask if it was to inquire about the noise, the furniture in the hall, or her opinion of his physique. Goodness, she needed to find some cool air, soon.

"Lord Atwood, I am so sorry to disturb you." She willed her eyes not to look below his face.

"I thought I made myself clear that there was to be silence on this floor during the day."

Tess bit her lip to buy time to think of an excuse. "You were clear that you did not want the students on this floor during the day."

His other eyebrow shot up. "Miss Crawford, so that you are not confused in the future, let me explain." He straightened and stepped from his room.

Oddly, his hands remained folded in front of his person.

"There shall be silence on this floor during all daylight hours. That goes for the servants, the teachers, the students and anyone else." His voice rose with each word, make that syllable, and Tess found herself taking a step back. "In other words, _anyone_ with a heartbeat and breath is not allowed on this floor during the day."

"I am very sorry, Lord Atwood. It will not happen again. I promise."

"See that it doesn't." He turned to step back into his room and stopped. He looked over his shoulder and focused on her, then the scene in the hallway, then back to her. "May I ask, what _is_ going on? And why is there furniture outside of my chamber?"

Tess rushed forward to explain. "There were not enough beds for all of us. The upper floor is practically empty so we brought the beds over from the school."

"How many more?" he groaned and dropped his head, no longer looking at her.

She glanced to the servants for a number. One of them held up two hands, their fingers indicating the answer. "Eight."

His spine stiffened and she could hear him take a deep breath then exhale. She was glad she could not see his face, for she did not doubt its expression was enough to send the strongest of souls into hiding. "Hurry and be done with this move." He slammed the door behind him.

Vincent leaned his head back against the door and closed his eyes. When Miss Crawford had looked at his chest, then further down, the tip of her tongue jutted out and licked her upper lip, it was all he could do to just stand there. Had they been alone, no doubt he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her senseless. However, he would have stopped there. Clearly the woman was an innocent or she would not have turned such a delightful shade of red at his bare chest.

It was also clear she appreciated what she saw. That had been his undoing, or perhaps what released the man in him. Had he not been so angry at being awakened, he would be embarrassed by his physical reaction, which was why he kept his hands folded in front of his response to her perusal of his body. .

A normal reaction, he decided as he strode across the room to retrieve the bottle of brandy, and nothing he should be ashamed of. However, it had been so long since any woman had looked at him in that manner—as if she wanted to explore further because she enjoyed what she'd seen so far. Veronica used to look at him with the same light of appreciation in her eyes. Others had insinuated they liked the sight of his form as well, but they had been mistresses and were paid to do so. The reaction by one who was not required to show interest, such as Miss Crawford, was another matter entirely.

A smile pulled at his lips as he poured of splash of brandy in his glass.

Veronica used to say she couldn't keep her hands away. He felt the same about her. It was thoughts of Veronica that had kept him alive on the continent, through the ugliness of the battles and while recovering from his wounds. All he could think about when he traveled home was returning to her, their bed and making love to her until it was impossible to do so any longer.

He never got the chance.

Vincent tossed back the glass of brandy and poured another.

That night was not her fault. Veronica's death was not her fault, but his...

No! That blame lay elsewhere.

Bitterness churned in Vincent's stomach with thoughts that revenge would forever be denied him.

With a sigh, he set the glass aside. At least he wasn't thinking about Miss Crawford any longer and may be able to return to sleep, though he wondered if Miss Crawford realized her eyes turned a dark grey when she was aroused.

Vincent groaned. The thoughts of Miss Crawford being aroused were not helping his current situation.

How could he be thinking about Veronica _and_ Miss Crawford, and the arousal they both brought? He picked up the glass once more and tossed back the contents. Was it disloyal to think of another woman, be painfully aroused by her, when thoughts of his former wife floated in his brain?

Yes, and the guilt was welcoming, for it cooled his loins. Thank goodness because between the servants moving furniture and his physical state, Vincent was convinced he would not have been able to return to sleep. However, he must, as it wasn't as if he could move about his house during the middle of the day.

A large piece of wood knocked against his door. Vincent tried to shut out the noise as he removed his dressing gown and crawled back into bed.

"Oh, please, we must be quiet," Miss Crawford insisted in a hushed tone. She must be on the other side of his door for her words were clear even though they were low in volume. A low, sultry tone.

Is that how she would sound in the throes of passion?

Vincent sat up. He must not think of Miss Crawford in the throes of passion. That would keep him awake longer than the banging outside his door.

"Be careful," she pleaded. "Don't hit the walls or the door."

Vincent stood. He would never get a wink of sleep while she was in the hall, right outside his bedroom. After pulling on a pair of trousers and a shirt, he grabbed a pillow from his bed before he stomped forward and yanked the door open.

As before, all eyes focused on him. Miss Crawford's wider than the others, her face paled with fright. Was he really such a scary person?

"I believe I will find rest elsewhere." He stomped past them and down the hall until he reached the stairs. Where was he to go? Noise, and Miss Crawford, were on this floor. They were moving furniture above, and the students were probably taking lessons below.

His house had been invaded and he was without a place of his own.

There had to be somewhere. Ah, yes, the cellar. A chaise and chairs had been moved down there when he and Veronica had first married. After an intimate moment in the wine cellar, she had deemed it one of her favorite rooms and set about making it as comfortable as possible, in the event such activities occurred again in the future.

Sadly, Vincent could not recall if they had. Oh, he wished he could remember. What did that say about his love for her, if he could not recall such important details?

The servants stopped what they were doing when he marched past them in the kitchen and took the stairs to the cellar. Let them think what they will.

# Chapter 10

Tess stood in the hallway, list in hand, and assigned the rooms. She wanted the girls settled, with their things put away, before dinner. Though she hated that Lord Atwood was forced to leave his chambers and find refuge elsewhere, it did make her job a bit easier.

The younger ones were upstairs. The older teachers had opted to take the three separate bedrooms, one of them formerlly being the storage area, and would watch over the girls who now would sleep in the large school room. The teachers loved the idea of having a sitting room away from the others. However, three of their youngest students would not be joining those above since the older teachers had little patience for their antics and imaginations.

Eliza, Sophia and Rosemary were now on the floor with the older girls and insisted on sleeping together, as they had the night before. The remaining older girls also insisted on sharing three to a bed and in rooms as far away from Atwood's as possible.

"It appears there are four, perfectly unused bedchambers," Claudia announced. "I shall take this one." She selected the one two doors down from Atwood's.

"And I will take the one across from yours." Mrs. Wiggons turned and grabbed the handle of the door.

Natalie and Tess shared a look. "I will take the one across the hall from Lord Atwood." Natalie grinned. "It is not as if I have anything to worry about since vampires only prefer maidens."

"Then perhaps you should take the one next to his," Tess bit out. She had already seen the room and realized immediately that it was meant for the lady of the house, Atwood's wife, or it would not have a door adjoining the two rooms.

"Oh, no, that one is for you." Natalie grinned back.

"I don't think it is proper that anyone take that room. Perhaps I should share with you." Tess retorted.

"And waste a perfectly lovely, quiet and private bedchamber? I don't think so." Natalie disappeared into her room and shut the door before Tess could say another word.

Claudia and Mrs. Wiggons did the same, leaving Tess standing in the hallway herself.

"The bed is quite comfortable, or so I am told," Lord Atwood commented as he walked down the hall.

"Goodness, how long have you been standing there?" Tess hoped he hadn't heard much.

"Only long enough for the four of you to decide who must have the chamber connected to mine."

Would her face forever heat in his presence?

"However, if rumors were to be believed, wouldn't Miss Pritchard be the safest candidate?"

He _had_ heard that comment. Oh dear. Such information could ruin her friend. "Lord Atwood, I must ask you not to repeat what you may have heard."

He stopped and looked at her. "That _Miss_ Pritchard is not an innocent?"

Oh, dear, if he threw Natalie out, or worse, said something to one of the parents, Natalie would be on her own, alone in the world. "I beg of you, do not judge her on a past circumstance."

"You believe me so cruel?" His face hardened and she wasn't sure how she had insulted him. They were discussing the state of Natalie's reputation.

"It is just that, well, you know, if society learned. . ."

"Miss Crawford," he began, his tone harsh. "I am sure there is a reasonable explanation for the state of Miss Pritchard's lack of innocence, and further, I am not one for gossip."

Tess took a step back.

"Young women are vulnerable. She could have trusted a man who promised to marry her. She could have succumbed to too many spirits, or worse, not been given a choice in the matter. What is sad is you, and apparently everyone else, sees her as ruined."

Tess was stunned by his speech. Never had she dreamed Natalie would be defended in such a manner. But she knew Natalie wasn't ruined, not that she could share the circumstances of her past with anyone and never would.

"Then you don't judge people by past actions?" It would be too much to hope for, but she had to ask.

"Only if those actions are serious enough to be judged, or if the person has not had to face the consequences yet."

All hope that he would view her in a favorable light dimmed.

What did she care what he thought anyway? They were only sharing a manor until they could return to the school and would certainly never become friends. However, on some level it was bothersome. What would he say if he knew of her past? The crime she had been accused of? The crime she had committed?

It wasn't worth considering because Atwood would never find out. She would use any means necessary so that he never learned the truth.

Vincent stepped into the breakfast room, expecting his dinner to be served and waiting him in his usual place, but the room was empty. Not even the slightest aroma could be detected. He turned and stalked back into the entry. "Wesley."

The valet hustled from the end of the hall. "Yes, my lord."

"Where is my dinner?"

Wesley lifted his chin and looked his employer directly in the eye. "Sir, as we have guests, and this is their first night in the house, your dinner has been served where they are taking theirs."

"In the nursery?" Vincent questioned. This was beyond ridiculous.

Wesley rolled his eyes. "They are your guests, young ladies and students, not small children in need of a nursey maid and are in the formal dining room awaiting your presence."

Vincent groaned. He hadn't taken a meal in the large dining room since before he went off to war. He had almost forgotten it existed because the one time he did attempt to eat supper in there, the silent, cavernous room reminded him of all that he'd lost and would never regain. So he had started taking his meals in the smaller breakfast room, though more often than not, he often ate in the library when he worked in the evening.

Wasn't it bad enough that he had to share his house with these women and girls? Must he now take dinner with them?

Vincent stalked further down the hall and stopped at the entry to the formal dining room and stepped in. Three dozen young faces, one headmistress and six teachers looked up at him expectantly and he nearly groaned as he marched to his chair.

The servants immediately began placing bowls before his guests, though none bothered to eat. His was the last to be set and he was grateful to see the soup contained large pieces of chicken and several vegetables. There would be more courses later, but this was enough to get him started.

He picked up his spoon and dipped it into his bowl. As he brought it to his mouth, he caught the eyes of his guests. They all stared at him. Some had a look of shock, others disapproval. He laid his spoon on the side of the bottom plate. "Do you not find the meal to your liking?"

"It is not that, Lord Atwood," Miss Crawford explained. "However, one should not eat before saying grace."

Grace? He couldn't remember the last time he had prayed. Perhaps it was right before he thought he was going to die. Or maybe it was over his wife's body.

Everyone around the table held hands. Miss Crawford sat immediately to his right and held her hand out. Mrs. Wiggons on his left did the same. With a sigh he clasped both of their hands and bowed his head.

He heard barely a word of the prayer. Instead he wondered what other changes this group would bring to his household and doubted any would be pleasant.

# Chapter 11

Though it was past midnight, Tess couldn't return to sleep. It wasn't from lack of comfort, for she could not recall lying in such luxury before. In fact, the softness of the bed and sweet smell of the lavender scented sheets sent her into slumber immediately. The dreams, more like nightmares, are what woke her and since, she'd tossed and turned, trying to forget. If only she could avoid thinking at night, then perhaps she could sleep. But, with the darkness, came her past, visions from the night her uncle had been killed, the blood-covered floor, her red-stained footprints through the room and the soaked hem of her gown. She couldn't forget Percer's laughter and his threat that he would see her sent to the gallows. Nor could she block her escape out her window that same night.

She got out of the bed, shook the memories from her mind and pulled the belt tight on her robe before she walked toward the window and pushed the curtains aside. There was not much to see, especially in the darkness of the night. Above, stars shown down, but the land behind the house held only forest. Dark trees swayed in the breeze.

Perhaps she should have left England. She now had enough funds she could go where she wished. However, the continent was far too dangerous given the upheaval with France and she feared America was too far away, too foreign. Yet, what was really holding her here? It wasn't as if she had family. On the other hand, Claudia, Natalie and Mrs. Wiggons _were_ her family, as she was theirs.

What if the school couldn't be rebuilt? The workers returned late in the afternoon but had not met with Atwood until after dinner. Neither she nor Mrs. Wiggons had been a part of their conversation so she did not know how much work would need to be accomplished. She only knew that they had been able to retrieve a few items from her room, such as her journal and a case that held small pieces of jewelry, letters and documents–items that had belonged to her parents. It was too dangerous to go further into her room, so she was still without clothing, other than the dress she had worn the night of the tempest. Was that only twenty-four hours ago? She shook her head and turned. So much had happened, it seemed more like a week or a month. Tess could only hope the repairs were completed soon, for she doubted Atwood wanted them to stay very long.

Thoughts of Atwood brought an entirely different set of memories to her mind. His sculpted chest, dark eyes, unruly hair. . .

No, she would not think of his image either or she would never sleep.

A book. That is what she needed. A long, boring book to put her to sleep. Perhaps a treatise of sorts. Those never failed to do the trick.

After she rolled up the sleeves, for the third time tonight, of the robe she had borrowed from Claudia, Tess made her way down the hall, then the stairs, until she stood outside of Atwood's library. The door was ajar and she peeked into the room. A fire burned brightly in the fireplace, but he was not seated behind the desk. Perhaps he had retired early. Or, maybe he had gone to visit his wife's grave.

The clock struck down the hall and Tess jumped at the sudden noise. One chime. Tomorrow would be difficult enough while she tried to teach her lessons in a new location without being exhausted as well.

Chances were Atwood had not yet returned from the cemetery so she had time to sneak in, borrow a book and be back in her cozy bed before he returned.

Tess pushed the door opened and walked silently into the room. She lifted the lamp from the desk and carried it with her so she would have enough light to read the titles. Certainly there was something dreadful enough to lull her back to sleep.

He heard her long before he saw her. Thank goodness it was Miss Crawford. Or perhaps, it was more dangerous because it _was_ Miss Crawford and Vincent wondered what could have possessed her to come into his library at this time of night when she knew he would be working. Worse, she was not even properly dressed. The robe she wore must be two sizes too big given the hem drug on the carpet behind her. Miss Crawford must have borrowed it from Miss Morris, for she was the tallest teacher and stood almost a head above Miss Crawford.

He should alert her to his presence, but did not feel compelled to do so. This was _his_ library after all. Besides, he was glad for the chance to study her, without her knowledge.

She lifted the lamp to read the titles on the shelf above her head. The robe shifted, dropped and exposed her bare shoulder. Did she not have anything on beneath her robe? This situation was more dangerous than he originally believed.

Miss Crawford turned to look at another stack of shelves. The robe pulled away and revealed a shapely ankle and calf. Her feet were rather delicate with small, dainty toes. Miss Crawford definitely had nothing on beneath the overlarge robe, not even serviceable slippers on her feet. Was she out of her mind to wander his house in such a state of undress? Had she no idea the affect she would have on any man?

He brought the glass to his lips and downed the brandy. Perhaps she would leave soon. Leave him in peace. In the meantime he allowed himself to absorb her appearance. Black curls hung loose down her back and he wished he could see her face. However, if he could see hers, she would see him and it was best that she was unaware of his presence, especially in his current physical state.

That was twice in one day that he had found himself in this predicament. Worse, it was brought about by the same woman. The other ladies hadn't caused this type of reaction, only _her_ , and he could not begin to understand why. However, it had been a very long time since he had enjoyed the intimacy of being with a woman. Still, that did not explain why it was only Miss Crawford who brought about the urge to couple. Of course, the four older ladies would not have moved him to such a state. However, Miss Pritchard and Miss Morris were attractive, and given what he knew of Miss Pritchard, one would think he would desire her above the others as she was no longer an innocent and teased her friend in a manner that would suggest she did not mind a more private relationship with a man. Yet, he had no desire for Miss Pritchard or Miss Morris. Only Miss Crawford.

Perhaps a trip to London was in order. Especially since this house had been invaded. The townhome in London offered blessed peace and quiet.

Miss Crawford bent forward to look at the titles on the lower shelves. The robe tightened against her rounded bottom.

Vincent groaned. This was not a sight he needed to see right now.

Miss Crawford stiffened and turned to look around the room.

Atwood covered his groan with a cough. She did not need to know the reaction she wrought in him.

"You live a dangerous life, Miss Crawford,"

She turned toward his voice. Her mouth opened and she squinted into the darkness.

"First, you walk alone at night. Then you are caught in a tempest. Now, you visit my library, long after you should be asleep, wearing nothing but a robe."

Her hand came up to grasp the edges of the robe to close it at the collarbone. Her face pinkened under the light of the lamp. He loved how she blushed.

She took a step forward. "Lord Atwood?"

He stood and came forward so that she could see him better. "Would you care for a brandy?" What was he thinking? He should force her to leave, not invite her for a visit.

"Oh," she took a step back, "I don't think so."

"It is much more soothing than a book, if one is wishing to sleep."

"It is not proper."

He laughed. "We have long moved past propriety, Miss Crawford. Come, share a glass with me."

He walked to the table and poured a liberal amount of liquid into his own glass, but less in hers.

Miss Crawford placed the lamp back on his desk and edged toward the settee. He took a step toward her. She took a step as well and reached out her hand. At the same time, her foot caught on the long hem and she tumbled into him. Vincent's arms went out to catch Miss Crawford and in the process spilled the contents down the back of her robe. With a hiss at the sudden drenching, she arched her back as if in an attempt to move the robe from her skin.

Vincent thought he was going to expire on the spot, or worse, toss Miss Crawford on the settee and ravage her. In the process of trying to escape the wetness on her back, the robe had opened to reveal the soft swells of her breasts. If it loosened any further, all of her would be on display for him to enjoy. It didn't help that his other hand was settled at the small of her back to keep her balanced, or that her middle section was pressed against him like a second skin. He had to escape this woman soon, before it was too late.

He set the now empty glass on the table and with both hands, grabbed her shoulders and moved her away.

She straightened and looked him in the eye. "I apologize for my clumsiness, Lord Atwood."

"There is no harm done." He forced a smile in front of his gritted teeth and wished she would tighten her robe.

She held his eyes for a moment then looked away. Vincent picked up his own glass and downed the contents. "Please, have a seat. I will bring the drink to you."

Miss Crawford bit her bottom lip but did turn to walk toward the settee. She must have looked down because he heard a gasp. When he dared turn in her direction, she was fidgeting with the front of the robe. It tightened across her shoulders and by her arm movements he could only assume she was tightening the belt. _Thank goodness_.

# Chapter 12

Tess had never been so grateful for the darkness. In the light of day, Lord Atwood would have seen a good deal of her person. Most of which he had no right to see.

He offered her another glass of brandy. She took it and kept her back erect in hopes the robe didn't cling to her skin. Not only was she now damp and cold, she reeked of spirits and prayed that one of the servants would be able to clean it tomorrow because she had no other robe. This one wasn't even hers.

Tess glanced up at him. "When you were not at your desk I assumed you were at the cemetery. Otherwise I would not have intruded."

"I have already returned from visiting the grave."

Tess looked away and toward the fire. What did one say to that? Did you find the walk pleasant? How is your wife's plot? Did it survive the storm? Whose flowers did you steal this evening? Have you discovered a way to raise her from the dead?

Instead, she took a sip of the spicy liquid.

"The girls, have they settled in?"

Tess returned her focus to him. Goodness he was handsome in the firelight. Dark eyes, pale skin, shadows cast beneath his high cheekbones, his lips. If his chest appeared sculpted, his face had been chiseled to perfection. She cleared her throat. "Yes, they have."

"Do I make you nervous, Miss Crawford?"

_Yes, you do_. "Um, no." She lifted the tumbler to her lips and sipped the fiery liquid.

The side of Atwood's mouth tipped up. "You seem nervous."

"Well, this is rather... well, unusual, yes, a different type of circumstance than I usually find myself in."

"What is unusual about a lady and a gentleman sharing a glass of brandy at the end of the day?"

"It is one in the morning," Tess reminded him. She was not used to this side of him. Atwood seemed almost nice. True, he had been kind enough to offer his house, but he had complained, and sometimes yelled, since and Tess was certain this was the first time he actually seemed, well, pleasant.

"So, it is the hour you object to?" he prompted.

_The hour, the lack of a chaperone, my lack of clothing._ "I am unaccustomed to sitting with a gentleman in his library."

"But not unaccustomed to brandy?" He lifted his glass in question before he took a drink.

Tess bit her lip and looked down. Ladies were not supposed to enjoy brandy, but for some reason, she did not put much stock in that rule. "The teachers and I, not all of them mind you, tend to enjoy a _small_ libation at the end of an arduous day."

"Having met some of your students, I wouldn't blame you if you enjoyed a _bottle_ at the end of every day."

Tess tried to hide her giggle, but what he said was too true. In fact, she, Natalie and Claudia often considered doing just that. "While I should defend the students, I find your statement to be quite accurate."

His grin broadened and Tess' heart skipped a beat.

Atwood leaned back, a small smile still on his lips as he studied her face. "Tell me about yourself, Miss Crawford."

Tess took a deep breath and said nothing at first. She certainly would not tell him the truth. "What would you like to know?" she countered. It was easier to answer a direct question than to ramble on about her life. Especially when there were pertinent details that should remain hidden for eternity.

"What of your parents? Do you have siblings? What brought you to the academy to teach when a lady, as lovely as yourself, could have landed a husband during any season you chose to attend?"

Tess' face heated. Atwood thought her lovely? She couldn't remember the last time a gentleman had given her a compliment. Those from Percer did not count as he had an ulterior motive.

It didn't just please her that Atwood thought she was pretty, it warmed her, from her very core. "My parents died when I was four and ten. I was a student at the academy at the time."

"How did they die?"

She had to look away. He was no longer smiling but had a true look of concern on his face. It wasn't that long ago that he lost his own parents, brother and wife, so perhaps he understood her loss better than anyone. "They were crossing the Channel. Father had taken his yacht out. Either a ship from her majesty's navy did not see him, or my father could not maneuver in time..." She paused to sip from her drink. "Regardless, the two collided and given the difference in size, there was nothing that could be done."

He reached over and grasped her hand. "I am truly sorry for your loss."

She turned to look in his eyes. She would have never believed those almost black pools could be so full of warmth and carrying.

This was not good. Tess broke eye contact once again and took a hasty drink. Her hand tingled beneath the warmth of his, but she had no will to pull it away.

"Once I finished school, I went to live with my uncle."

"Did you have a season or two?"

"No." Had she, her life could have turned out entirely different. Her uncle would also still be alive. "He passed before there was an opportunity." Tess could claim to have had a season, but that fact could be confirmed too easily. It was better to stay as close to the truth as possible. "He was elderly and though he wanted to give me a chance in London, I could not bring myself to prevail upon him to take me to the city. We remained in the country, in quiet recluse." That was partially the truth. Atwood did not need to know that her uncle had died right before she turned nineteen and before their planned trip to London for her presentation.

"There are no other relatives?"

"None that I knew very well or were close to." Besides, they all thought she'd fled the country to avoid being charged with murder.

"So, instead of going to live with one of them, and getting the season you deserve, you returned to your childhood home."

That summed it up. Tess turned and smiled at him. "That is exactly what happened."

"But you are so young. Why would you throw your life away at a school?"

Tess was not prepared for this question. Others had asked about her family, but this question had never been posed.

She pulled her hand from beneath his and stood. "I enjoy my position at the school and enjoy my time with the girls. It is fulfilling in a way I never dreamed possible."

"Don't you long for more?" His voice was quiet, hushed, prodding.

She turned to look at him.

"In truth, Lord Atwood, the thought has never crossed my mind."

Vincent had seen endless waste in the world from the dandies that wagered estates on a hand of cards to soldiers who wagered their lives in war. Miss Crawford, with her silver eyes, black hair, and form of a goddess, was wasting away at a girls' school tucked away in the country, far from London. There she would only grow old and lonely, having never known love, passion, or children. Waste, that was the only way to describe it.

"I believe I should return to my room. Thank you for the brandy." Miss Crawford turned to leave. He was not ready for her to go yet, but knew it was probably the wisest thing she did.

Vincent stood to follow her. Only every other sconce was lit, and he feared she would trip in the darkness.

Tess placed her hand on the railing and took the first step. Her foot caught on the hem of her robe and she tumbled forward.

Vincent stalked forward and lifted her into his arms.

"Put me down," she protested.

"And watch you try and negotiate the stairs only to fall and break your neck? I think not." His voice was harsh to his own ears, but the sight of Veronica lying broken at the bottom of these very stairs swam in his vision. He would not allow another lady to share the same fate.

He cradled her in both arms and stalked up the stairs.

"You may put me down now," Miss Crawford hissed once they stopped on the main floor.

Vincent knew there was very little chance of her getting injured in the hallway, but it had been so long since he held a woman in his arms, and one that smelled as sweet as Miss Crawford, and he did not want to relinquish her too soon.

"I prefer to see you to the safety of your room," he replied and strolled further down the hall.

A door banged shut at the end of the hall and he turned to look but no one was there.

"I am sorry. It was probably one of the girls."

Vincent rolled his eyes. It would be interesting to find out what tale they made up after seeing him carrying Miss Crawford to her chamber.

# Chapter 13

"Did you see?" Eliza asked her wide-eyed friends, her back pressed against their bedroom door.

"Who do you think it was?" Sophia walked toward the burning fireplace, her arms wrapped around her body as if to ward off a chill.

"Who do you think?" Rosemary turned toward her.

Sophia shrugged. "All we could see was her feet."

"And the pale robe," Rosemary added, her tone ominous.

Sophia looked between the two girls, her expression blank, and she shrugged again.

"It was her, _his wife_ ," Eliza insisted as she came forward. "Atwood did find a way to raise her from the grave."

Rosemary grew pale. "It must be her. Who else could it be?"

"It is impossible. We would have heard. Remember the story." Sophia turned her pleading eyes on Eliza. "It has been a calm night."

"True," Rosemary agreed.

"It wasn't last night," Eliza reminded them, a small smile on her lips, her eyes lit with excitement.

Rosemary's mouth popped open and her eyes grew wide.

"Where do you think she has been all this time and why did Atwood wait until now to bring her home?" Sophia sank into a rocking chair.

"Maybe he didn't know it worked." Eliza sat on the bed, then jumped back up and paced. "He had to hide in the crypt with Miss Crawford, and then they went to the school. He probably didn't even know his wife had awakened."

"Then where has she been all this time," Sophia asked with exasperation. "And how did she get out?"

"The storm must have blown the dirt from her grave, freeing her." Eliza's pacing increased. Her fingernail tapped against her chin. Suddenly she stopped and looked at her friends. "I know. She was hiding in the crypt at day and hunting in the woods at night."

"Hunting? Vampires don't hunt animals," Rosemary argued. "Or, at least I don't think they do."

"True." Eliza resumed her pacing. "The poor woman must have been hiding and waiting for her beloved husband." Eliza stopped in front of the fireplace and focused on frightened Rosemary. "She must have been beside herself, wondering why she was back and worried about where her husband may be," she ended with a proper dramatic sigh.

"Do you think we will see her?" Rosemary leaned forward.

"Of course not. Atwood will have to keep her hidden," Eliza admonished.

"I just hope we are out of here before she gets hungry," Rosemary mumbled.

"Me too." Sophia pulled her robe tight around her shoulders.

Tess woke to a gloomy room. Then again, it shouldn't be a surprise since her windows faced north and would never see the true light of day, just like Atwood's.

She rose and walked to her armoire. The same dress she had worn for the past two days once again hung within and her freshly laundered chemise folded neatly on a shelf. The servants had been kind enough to wash it each evening and repaired some of the damage, but not all of the blood stains could be removed. She dreaded the thought of wearing that dress again, but had no other choice.

She exited her room and turned down the hall only to meet Atwood strolling from the opposite direction. His eyes raked her from head to toe.

What was wrong with her appearance? She had glanced in the mirror one last time before she exited her room. Her hair and clothing were neat, so what could be wrong?

"I mean no disrespect, Miss Crawford, but shouldn't you address the issues of your wardrobe before the studies of your students."

Tess took a step back. How dare he?

"While the dress is quite lovely on you, I have never known a lady who could wear the same ensemble for six hours, let alone three days. I find it rather impressive that you have managed."

So, he was not insulting her, or was he? Tess did not know what to make of his comments. Atwood was very strange indeed.

"I am sorry, Miss Crawford. I see I have left you speechless. Please pay me no mind. If you wish to wear the dress for the rest of your days it is no concern of mine."

He did not move on, but seemed to focus on her forehead. She brought her fingers up to feel the injury, wondering if she was bleeding again.

"Your cut seems to be healing nicely. Though the bruise is an interesting mix of purple, blue and it is turning a bit green around the edges, but the swelling seems to have gone down."

She let her hand drop. Atwood certainly knew how to make a lady feel attractive, she thought sarcastically.

"I still wish you would have allowed Wesley to stitch your head, though this may not scar after all."

"I would rather risk a scar than face a needle and thread, as I explained."

He quirked a brow. "You are a rather odd lady, Miss Crawford. First, your dress, and now no concern over a scar on your face."

Goodness, could he insult her any more?

"Good day, Miss Crawford. It is time I retire." He nodded and walked past her to enter his own rooms.

Tess turned to watch him go, unsure of what to make of the odd conversation. However, his thoughts had mirrored her earlier ones. It was time for new clothing.

Vincent fell onto his bed. That was not well done of him. He was simply curious as to if she would be replacing her clothing. Any woman of his former acquaintance would have had a seamstress here the moment the sun rose the day after losing all of their belongings. Yet here was Miss Crawford, still in the same dress as if she never gave it a thought.

No matter what he said, his words came out as an insult. And then he complimented the colors of her injury. Worse, he mentioned the possibility of a scar. No, not well done of him at all.

He rose and walked to the decanter of brandy. He had hoped to meet no one on his journey from the library, especially her. But there she was, right in his path and he said the first things that came to mind. It would have been better to walk by without comment. Yet, he could not do that after last night.

After a sound sleep and when the pain in his head was gone, he would seek Miss Crawford out and apologize.

As to her wardrobe, he hoped she would soon purchase a new nightgown, and a very thick robe to wear over it. Slippers would not be remiss either. Then, when Miss Crawford wandered the halls late at night, she would be sufficiently covered so as not to tempt him.

Vincent laughed then tossed back the drink. The woman could be covered from head to toe in sackcloth and he would still desire her.

As to the scar, it could be an inch thick and cover the length of her forehead and still wouldn't take away from her attractive face or sultry eyes.

Vincent groaned and poured more brandy in his glass. He should not, under any circumstances, think of Miss Crawford as attractive, interesting, or any other manner of adjectives. With luck, the teachers and the students would be gone from this house in a few months and he would never have to lay eyes on them again. Besides, what could come of a relationship with Miss Crawford? He was a person of the night and she needed to bloom in the sun.

# Chapter 14

The girls were assembled around the long dining room table enjoying their breakfast when Tess walked in. She filled a plate from the sideboard and took a seat by Claudia. "I need to go into town this morning," Tess announced.

Mrs. Wiggons looked up at her. "Why is that?"

Tess gestured to her bodice. "I need to replace my wardrobe."

The headmistress looked at Tess's dress and sniffed her nose in disgust. "Yes, I can see that."

"Will I be able to replace my clothing also, Miss Crawford?" Eliza asked. The poor girl had lost her possessions as well, but at least she was able to borrow from Rosemary.

"Yes, and anyone else who is in need."

"If I may be so bold," Wesley stepped into the room. "I have taken it upon myself to invite the local modiste to visit here later this morning."

Stunned, Tess looked up at him. "That is very kind of you, Wesley, but I don't want to be an inconvenience. The girls and I can go into town."

"Nonsense," he dismissed. "Besides, I made the arrangements on the morning of your arrival, in anticipation of your needs."

The teachers shared a surprised look. Tess turned to the valet. "Then I thank you, Wesley. Please let me know when she arrives."

Wesley bowed and quit the room. The girls returned to their meal.

"Miss Crawford?" Sophia asked.

"Yes."

"When a person is buried, are they wearing their shoes?"

Stunned silence surrounded the table and all of the girls looked at her expectantly. "I honestly have no idea," Tess answered after a few moments. And, it was certainly something she had ever thought of, nor cared to think about.

Tess dismissed the girls and settled into the chair behind Atwood's desk. Her first history lesson outside of the school had been a trial. Her students were too excited about the room, the books and the strange gentleman who took them in to concentrate on the Orient. _Well, in time they will become comfortable with their surroundings._

At first it seemed odd to have their lessons in here, but this is where the books were. And, she did teach literature as well as history and she no longer had access to the study materials from the school. The Orient had been the first topic that occurred to her when she found the four volume set of books on China.

She glanced up when there was a knock on the door. "Yes?"

Wesley stepped in. "The modiste has arrived."

Tess stood and walked around the desk. "Thank you. Where have you put her?"

"In your chamber, Miss Crawford."

She stopped in her tracks. "That will not do, Wesley. We cannot be on that floor during the day."

Wesley rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "Lord Atwood will not be disturbed and it is the most private."

Tess had to agree with him in regard to privacy. She did not relish stripping down to her one, worn chemise in the parlor.

Tess mounted the stairs and Wesley followed. How very odd.

He continued to trail her down the hall and into her room. Surely he didn't plan on staying. Tess turned to look at him and opened her mouth to speak.

He was looking around the room and not at her. "Ah, I see the other young ladies have arrived as well." He stepped further into room. "Mrs. Jameson, I knew I could trust you to bring the perfect colors."

"How could I go wrong when you described their coloring with such expertise?" Mrs. Jameson blushed.

"This yellow is perfect for Miss Eliza." Wesley picked up the pale yellow cotton fabric and draped it across Eliza's shoulder. "Yes perfect. See how the shade brings out the highlights in her auburn hair."

Tess turned and looked around the room. Yes, this was the room she had been assigned temporarily. The girls were familiar. However, this must be some type of dream. No man she had ever encountered would ever be so familiar with women's fashions or what color looked best on them.

"And this green, why, I couldn't have chosen a more perfect shade to compliment her eyes."

Eliza blushed deeper and smiled and Tess couldn't decide if the student was torn between being thrilled at being the center of attention, if the light in her eyes was any indication, or being appalled at having a man drape material on her, if her rigid stance meant anything.

Tess didn't know what to say. Wesley wasn't doing anything inappropriate, just odd with the way he continued around the room and chose fabric for Eliza.

When he had finished, Wesley crossed the room. Tess expected him to leave but instead, he stopped in front of her. His hand came up to cradle his face while his other supported his elbow, head cocked to the side and studied her as if she were a painting.

"The silver, Mrs. Jameson." He held out his hand and the seamstress placed a luxurious silk into his hand.

"Oh, no. I have no need for such a fine material." Tess began to step away.

"Nonsense, Miss Crawford." Wesley stopped her with a hand on her arm. He placed the silk across her shoulder. "Oh yes, this is perfect." He turned to look at the seamstress.

"Just lovely. It will make a beautiful ball gown."

"No, you misunderstand. I have no need for a ball gown. I teach school and only attend church on Sunday."

Wesley turned straighter. "My dear, are you saying you are not invited to the social functions in town?" He appeared appalled at the idea.

"I am a teacher. I am not part of society." Tess smiled at him.

"Well that is just sad," Wesley said and Tess expected him to tsk. He took the silk, folded it gently then picked up a bolt of dark blue. "Yes, this is lovely."

"It is a bit bold, don't you think?" Tess had never worn anything so dark. Her clothing consisted of grays, pale yellow, light pink or green.

"No, dear, it is perfect."

Tess looked to Mrs. Jameson. She smiled and nodded her head in agreement.

"Oh, Miss Crawford, that is lovely on you," Eliza gasped. "What other colors would you suggest, Wesley?" Eliza ran forward to test different fabrics against Tess' hair, eyes and complexion.

Soon, the other girls were helping. They laughed when an orange made her look green and then tested other colors that would look lovely on a blond, but ghastly on Tess. Even Wesley remained to enjoy the fun. It wasn't as if any of them had been stripped to be measured yet. All the while different materials were put into piles for Eliza, or Tess to be discarded.

"May I ask what you are doing, on _this_ floor, in the middle of the day?" Atwood roared.

All activity stopped and everyone turned to the door that connected Atwoods's room to hers.

"I believe I made myself quite clear that this floor, especially this portion of the hall, closest to my room, would have silence during the day.

Tess swallowed hard as she took in his stern features, angry eyes. So different from the night before. This was the gentleman she was familiar with. At least he was dressed. How horrible would it be if he appeared as he had yesterday, wearing only a robe.

"I apologize. I know we should have tried to be quieter."

"What is going on in here?" He scanned the room. It must look like a complete disaster with material of every color possible spread out around the room. "Couldn't this have been done somewhere else?" His focus landed on Wesley.

"Sir, I am the one who suggested this room."

Atwood scowled at him.

Tess looked over at the girls, hoping they remained quiet or were not too intimidated by Atwood's presence. Instead of cowering, as she anticipated, Eliza was straining to look past Lord Atwood and into his room. What did she hope to discover? She would have to keep an eye on the girl. Any of them having an interest in Lord Atwood's bedchamber was extremely dangerous.

"It was the most appropriate for the size we needed," Wesley attempted to explain.

Atwood crossed his arms over his chest, his feet braced apart. A stance Tess suspected a captain would take on his ship. "How long?"

Tess looked back at Wesley. "It should not be much longer. Mrs. Jameson only needs to measure the young women and then they will be gone."

Atwood walked to the bed and fingered the silver silk then looked over at Tess. "I would listen to all of Wesley's suggestions. Veronica never purchased anything without his approval." He turned abruptly and walked back to the door. "See that this task is completed soon," Atwood barked before he closed the door none too gently.

"Who is Veronica?" Eliza whispered to one of the other girls.

"Lord Atwood's dearly departed wife," Mrs. Jameson answered.

Wesley turned to the ladies and clapped his hands. "Chop chop. We've not much time." He turned to the seamstress. "I will return to help you with the material when you are done, Mrs. Jameson." With that he quit the room and closed the door behind him.

Vincent braced himself against the door. He couldn't believe he had been awakened, again, _by her_. He had been ready to storm into the chamber but luckily heard the students giggle before he brought embarrassment to them all by appearing in only a robe. He had taken a few moments to toss on his britches and shirt.

The sight he encountered stopped him short. Material and females everywhere, with the exception of Wesley, who was in his element. If it were possible for a man to be a modiste, Wesley would own the most prestigious and popular shop in London. Thank goodness it was unheard of because Vincent didn't know what he would do without his valet.

Vincent tossed off his clothing and crawled back into bed. If Wesley was deciding Miss Crawford's wardrobe, she would look more beautiful than before. Of course, she had been wearing the same repaired and stained dress for three days so anything would be an improvement. But, Wesley had the ability to transform and Vincent could not wait to see how Miss Crawford turned out.

He tried to envision her in a dress made of the raspberry satin he had seen draped across her shoulders. Reds and bold pinks were the colors which best suited Miss Crawford. However, they were also the most inappropriate colors if one was a teacher. It was such a shame and a waste. Vincent turned over and punched the pillow.

"Would you kindly remove your clothing, Miss Crawford," Mrs. Jameson's voice bled through the door.

He did not hear the rustle of clothing, but could envision it.

"Oh, Miss Crawford, why do you hide yourself beneath such frumpy clothing?" Mrs. Jameson asked.

Vincent already had a very good idea what she did hide, though he would like some clarification.

"I am a teacher. I am not on the marriage mart," Miss Crawford argued.

"That does not mean you need to hide yourself either," Mrs. Jameson scolded.

"Miss Crawford, you must get the silver silk," one of the girls insisted.

Vincent pulled the pillow over his head. If they were not finished soon, he would never get the necessary sleep.

"Miss Crawford, by the time I am finished, you will not even recognize yourself."

The girls giggled. Vincent couldn't take it. Once again he got out of bed and dressed. With pillow and blanket in hand he strode out into his hallway. Wesley approached from the end of the corridor.

"Lord Atwood?" His brow raised in question.

"I will be in the cellar!" he yelled and marched to the stairs.

# Chapter 15

This was Tess' favorite time of the day. Lessons were done and dinner had yet to be served. It was when she took tea with Claudia and Natalie. Today was no different, except they opted to enjoy the terrace on this beautiful, unseasonably warm autumn day and she settled back to sip the tea and enjoy the changes around her. They were seated at the back of the house, the same side where her chamber was located with the forest spread out before them. A most beautiful sight indeed, with leaves of red, gold, orange, and warm brown. The sky above was a beautiful rich blue without a cloud in sight. On sun-filled days like this she could forget there were troubles in the world or that she had anything to fear.

All too soon those glorious leaves would drop, dry to a dead brown and crumble, but today she could enjoy their beauty.

"I've never known the girls to have so much fun working out of doors," Claudia intruded on her thoughts.

Tess turned to look at the students. They were further out on the vast grounds picking up sticks and branches and placing them where chopped wood and kindling had already been stored. Laughter could be heard as they ran and played, yet the work was being done. Thank goodness they were far enough away that they could not be heard inside. If Lord Atwood was awakened one more time, she feared they would be asked to leave.

"How does it feel to be wearing a new dress?" Claudia asked.

Tess stretched her legs out in front of her and admired the emerald green skirt. She couldn't believe the dress had been waiting for her when the lessons were completed for the day.

Another dress also waited for her to wear tomorrow, along with new bed clothing. "It feels wonderful," she sighed.

"How did the seamstress manage to complete the dress so quickly? She only left a few hours ago." Natalie asked.

"Can you believe Wesley guessed at my measurements and gave them to Mrs. Jameson? All she needed was to double check today. She simply had to hem the two and have them delivered."

"Remind me to consult Wesley next time I need a new dress," Claudia chuckled.

Natalie gasped. Tess and Claudia turned toward her expectantly.

"I can't believe I forgot to mention the latest news."

Claudia leaned forward. "What?" she asked with anticipation.

"It appears Lady Atwood is back from the dead," Natalie announced.

Tess whipped her head to her friend. Certainly she had not heard correctly. Claudia looked just as perplexed, and Natalie grinned.

Vincent returned to his room, no longer able to sleep on the uncomfortable lounge in the cellar. It had served its purpose as originally intended, but a full night's, or as it were, day's sleep, had not been the reason it had been placed there. He stretched and removed his shirt. Dinner would not be for hours yet and he was determined to slumber in his own comfortable bed. At least this floor was blessedly silent now.

A breeze blew the curtains and he walked toward the window to close it against the distant laughter he heard coming from the western lawn. He stopped short when he heard Miss Pritchard's announcement and leaned out the window to find the three younger teachers taking tea. Though he should remove himself and not eavesdrop on their conversation, he could not bring himself to do so. Apparently his wife was back from the dead. He would dearly love to know how that occurred.

"Did you say that Lady Atwood has arisen, apparently?" Miss Morris asked.

"That is what the girls believe," Miss Pritchard confirmed.

Miss Morris leaned forward. She sat at the far corner, next to Miss Crawford, and the one piece of sun that found its way to this side of the house shone on both of them. Their faces were alight with curiosity and humor.

"Eliza?" Miss Crawford questioned.

"Apparently the girls saw Lord Atwood carrying Lady Atwood to his room last night."

Miss Crawford choked on her tea. He wasn't surprised, given she was the one who he'd actually carried.

Vincent leaned against the window but held back his own laughter. Veronica would have found great enjoyment in these current rumors surrounding her.

"Of course, all they saw were her feet and pale nightgown, but they are completely convinced it was she."

"That explains Sophia's question at breakfast this morning," Miss Crawford acknowledged in dry humor.

"And when did she apparently come back to life?" Miss Morris asked.

While Miss Morris and Miss Pritchard laughed, Vincent noted that Miss Crawford had become very quiet.

"During the storm," Miss Pritchard announced. "According to Eliza, this has been the first time he was able to bring her home and the poor woman has been hiding since the tempest."

Miss Morris howled with laughter and was joined by Miss Pritchard. Miss Crawford remained silent and the women turned their attention to her. Vincent could observe the mischievous look on Miss Pritchard's face from where he stood. "So, Tess, who do you think Lord Atwood was actually carrying through the house? I know it was not I."

"Nor was it I," Miss Morris added.

"All right." Miss Crawford stood and placed her cup on the table. "He came across me in the library and we spoke for a short time. When I tripped on your robe going up the stairs, he insisted on carrying me so I didn't injure myself."

Both ladies sat back and looked at her thoughtfully. Neither said a word.

"What?" Miss Crawford demanded and flopped back down in the chair, exasperated.

The other two ladies exchanged a perplexed look. "Why, nothing," Miss Morris insisted, "but you do seem rather defensive."

Miss Pritchard leaned forward. "How long did you talk and what exactly did you discuss?"

Miss Crawford made a show of filling her cup with tea, and then with slow deliberation added sugar. After she settled back, she answered their questions. "He asked me about my life, my family, where I come from, why I did not make a match in London."

Both ladies stiffened. Vincent found their reaction rather odd. Had he missed something?

"What did you tell him?" Miss Morris asked in an ominous tone, as if she feared the answer, and when she placed her cup on the table, it rattled in the saucer.

Miss Crawford fixed her gaze on the woman, her mouth firm and serious. "I told him as much as I dare."

"Go on," Miss Pritchard prompted.

"That my parents died when I was fourteen and that I chose to remain in the country with my uncle and forego a season and that he had died."

The two other teachers looked at each other then back to Miss Crawford. "Did you mention your betrothal?"

_Betrothal?_ She definitely left out that particular detail, for he would have remembered such a pertinent fact.

Miss Crawford shook her head.

"So, he knows nothing about your association with Lord Percer."

"No, and I would like to keep it that way."

Vincent turned from the window. It felt as if a fist had been slammed into his gut. The one man he hated above all others was betrothed to Miss Crawford. Why did she insist on keeping it a secret?

Truth be told, had he known he would have never allowed her into his house. How could such an apparently kind woman be engaged to that deceiving bastard? Further, what possessed her to remain mum about her involvement? Any other woman would gloat about an engagement to a lord, so why hadn't Miss Crawford?

His mind turned back to the first time he had seen her. At first he thought she had caught the girls spying on his house, when perhaps she had actually joined them. Perhaps she had encouraged it for an excuse to get close.

Then, she was out walking late at night, by the cemetery when the entire town knew he would be there at that time of night. Was she in the county for reasons other than to teach those young women? Had Percer sent her on the mission because he had failed himself?

Vincent poured himself a brandy. The pounding in his head increased with each second that passed. He downed the first glass and refilled another.

What a fool he was. He took her at her word, for who she was, when all along she had been sent here to do Percer's dirty work. Vincent drew his arm back and flung the tumbler against the wall. Shards of glass flew in every direction.

How fortuitous it was that a tempest came through on the very night she was out and demolished the school. Had she not been spying on him, she would have been killed and then where would Percer be?

Vincent wondered how she had managed to contain her glee at being invited to stay in his home. He no longer believed it had been chance for her to end up in the room next to his, but planned all along. As for the library last night, he sincerely doubted her trip at one in the morning had anything to do with reading material.

No, he knew why she was here and she would go away empty handed, just like Percer had the night he helped kill Veronica.

# Chapter 16

Tess thought that after losing sleep last night and all that transpired today, she would fall into an exhaustive slumber tonight. Such was not the case. With a sigh, Tess threw the covers off her bed and placed her feet on the cold, wood floor. This was ridiculous. She should be able to sleep sooner or later, shouldn't she?

Tess slipped her feet into her new slippers, enjoying the softness against her skin and shrugged on the thick, pale blue robe. It was just past midnight. Given the hour she knew she could retrieve a book from Atwood's library and return before he ever suspected she was out of her room.

Having wandered the house enough at this hour already, Tess did not bother with a candle. She knew the way, and the number of the steps. As before, the door of the room was ajar. She stepped in and noted the seat behind his desk was vacant. She picked up a lamp and once again perused the titles on the shelf.

"I am beginning to wonder if you continually hope to find me alone, Miss Crawford."

She whipped around. Why hadn't she looked toward the corner, the same place he had sat last night?

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be at the cemetery?"

She could see him smile in the muted darkness.

"I once had a purpose in visiting Veronica's grave. Now, I have a purpose to remain home."

What an odd statement. "I shall leave you in peace." Tess turned to leave.

Atwood stood. "Don't be in such a hurry, Miss Crawford. You did come here tonight and it would be a shame to leave without what you came for."

Why did he make it sound as if she wanted something more than a book? Did he think that because she had shared a brandy with him two nights in a row she wished to spend more intimate time with him? "I am certain that I will finally be able to sleep, even without a book."

"Ah, yes. The same excuse you had last night." He stepped further into the room and the light from the fireplace illuminated his features. His eyes were cold, his lips firm. "Besides, if I recall, I have mentioned that a brandy is the best tonic for a sleepless night."

Tess took a step back. Would she ever be able to keep up with his ever-changing moods? She should simply stay in her room at night. Tomorrow, after class, she would choose a book so she would have no reason to venture here at midnight.

He poured her a glass without asking permission and held it out to her.

"No thank you."

"Come now, Miss Crawford, indulge me in my one pleasure." He held the tumbler out to her.

Tess took it with reluctance. At this moment she was almost afraid to refuse him. "Perhaps you indulge a little too often, Lord Atwood," she said with caution.

"Pardon?" He tilted his head and looked at her.

"It seems to me as if you drink quite a bit of brandy. It concerns me, for it certainly cannot be healthy."

Lord Atwood tossed back the contents of his glass and poured another. "Are you an expert on the consumption of spirits, Miss Crawford?"

"No." She wished she could understand what was wrong. He almost seemed angry, cold. She knew Atwood was often irritated with the presence of all the females in the household, even surly at times, but this mood was different from any of the others she had seen. It almost frightened her.

"Drink, Miss Crawford." He pointed to her glass. "Sit." He indicated to the chair. "I promise not to bite."

She looked up at him and slowly sat.

He grinned down at her. "Unless you want me to."

A chill ran up her spine. How did one deal with _this_ Lord Atwood?

He took a seat in the chair opposite of her. "I would like to know more about you, Miss Crawford." He took another drink.

Tess fidgeted with the tie on her new robe and looked down at her hands. She really had nothing more to tell him. Or, nothing else she dared share with him. Wouldn't he feel it his duty to turn her over to the authorities? "What is it you would like to know?"

"I find it difficult to believe no one pursued you, asked for your hand in marriage."

She glanced up at him, startled to find that he had moved and now stood before her. He sank to his knees and brought a hand to her face. "A man would need to be blind not to desire you."

Tess tried to pull back but he held her chin in place. "If you recall, I did not have a London Season."

He smiled at her again and his lids dropped. "Gentlemen reside in the country as well. Not one approached your uncle? No one wished for even a courtship?"

His eyes locked on hers and she was mesmerized by the dark pools. Oh, she was a horrible liar, but what could she say? The truth would damn her but he made it impossible to lie. "Tell me about your wife," she changed the subject. "Did you meet her in London?"

Atwood reared back and looked down at her. "Very impressive, Miss Crawford. I find it fascinating how you always manage to change the subject when the topic becomes uncomfortable."

"Pardon?"

"It's happened before."

She sputtered.

Atwood chuckled and took a seat on the couch beside her. "As neither one of us wish to discuss our pasts, shall we discuss the present?" His arm rested along the back and she could feel the hardness of his bicep behind her head. This was a very dangerous situation and she willed herself not to bolt from the room.

What would he do if she did flee? Run after her? The thought brought a chuckle to her lips.

"Do you find something humorous, Miss Crawford?"

She swallowed her laugher and looked at him. He had an eyebrow cocked in question.

"No, I just, oh, I don't know why I laughed. I apologize."

"Oh, Miss Crawford, life is far too short not to enjoy every moment."

He was out of his mind. That is all she could conclude. Or, his intake of brandy was higher tonight than normal. She leaned forward and placed her glass on the table. "I should return to my room."

His hand reached behind her, grasped her shoulder and pulled her back against the couch. His other hand picked up the tumbler and handed it to her. "No, stay."

"Don't you have work to do?" She cradled the glass on her lap.

"I needed a rest. The eyestrain was giving me a headache."

Tess glanced around the dark room. The only light came from the fireplace and a few lamps. "Perhaps if you lit more lamps, or perhaps worked during the daylight hours, your eyes would not suffer."

"Or, perhaps I could use the help of a proficient secretary." He leaned toward her.

Tess pulled back. "I am sure if you placed an advertisement, you would have several candidates apply."

Atwood chuckled and toyed with a wayward curl. He wrapped it around his finger and studied her face. "No, I don't think so, Miss Crawford. In fact, I think I have the perfect candidate right here."

Surely he wasn't suggesting... "Me?"

"Of course."

His thumb brushed against her cheek. She was surprised by roughness, though not quite calloused. Percer's hands were as soft as a woman's and she assumed all gentlemen were the same.

Tess' skin heated where he touched and she fought the urge to squirm away, or was it lean closer. No. She would not move closer to him. To do so would be far too forward.

Tess pulled back and scooted away. "I teach. I don't have time to be your secretary."

"Your evenings are free." He moved closer, his warm breath caressed her ear.

"I have lesson plans."

"Think of it as repayment for me allowing everyone to stay in my house."

Tess turned her head to look at him and found his eyes a few inches away, his lips even closer. She feared he wasn't talking about reading and writing correspondence.

"It is not as if you sleep anymore than I do. Shall we begin tomorrow night, at seven?"

She finally found the strength to nod her head after a few moments

Atwood smiled and pulled back. His arm returned to his own side.

Tess stood and took a step back. "Until then," she nodded and practically sprinted for the door.

_Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into?_

Tess grabbed the footboard of her bed the moment she entered her chamber. It was all she could do to stop the tremor of her hands. If she did not calm herself soon, her heart would surely beat out of her chest. Goodness, what was she to do? What had come over Atwood?

She sank onto the bed. She couldn't be his secretary. Maybe before, but surely not now.

A moment later Tess stood to pace. She could still smell his scent. Brandy and soap. Not the tobacco she recalled from her father and uncle, and it was intoxicating. His warm breath against her ear and his hand gently cupping her face had almost been her undoing. When she turned to find him so close, his lips a breath away from hers, she almost leaned forward, to taste.

_Stop that_!

Atwood was not intoxicating and she would do well to remember that. But what was he about tonight? Was he trying to compliment her by insisting she should have been courted or engaged? Or, was he questioning what she had earlier told him?

No, that could not be it. Why would he suspect she had lied about her past? Her friends would never breathe a word of the truth. So, the only explanation was he found her attractive.

That was just too hard to believe.

Perhaps he thought she wanted him. She had appeared in his library, long after dark, in her night rail. What else was the man to think? Goodness, she never dreamed he would conclude that she was interested in something more than a professional, friendly relationship.

Tess straightened and strode to the bed. Well, she would just have to make it known that she would _not_ succumb to his charms and she was certainly not interested in an illicit liaison. From now on, when she left her room, she would be properly dressed.

Vincent followed Miss Crawford out of the room at a sedate pace. He stood in the entryway and watched her fly up the stairs as if the hounds of hell were on her heels. If she were wise, she would pack and leave his house tonight. However, no doubt Miss Crawford still believed him to be the same gullible gentleman she had first met.

A smile pulled at his lips. Oh, he would show her gullible and her fiancé too.

How Percer would feel when he found the tables turned on him? The question was, would Vincent seduce her before he exposed her?

Once he heard her door close, Vincent strode toward the foyer, lifted his greatcoat from the chair where it was left each evening and exited out into the darkness. This would be his last midnight visit to Veronica's grave.

Vincent stood at the foot of Veronica's grave. He sniffed the late roses and placed them on the ground. "I took these from our own garden. I thought you might appreciate that." He knew she would not have cared for him stealing from others' yards, but it gave him so much pleasure to do so. Had one of them even asked what he was about, he would have explained why he didn't visit during the day, or why he had no maintained garden of his own at the moment. Instead, they let a fictional story influence their common sense, if they had any to begin with. They simply watched him cut a small bouquet each night from the safety of their homes, all the while probably praying that the monster didn't come for them that night.

He bent to brush the leaves away from Veronica's headstone, as he did every night.

"I know I don't speak when I come here." It always felt strange to Vincent to do so. "But, tonight I need to explain."

Vincent paused and looked around, to make sure he was alone. It was one thing to visit his wife's grave at this odd hour, it was quite another to converse with her.

What was he thinking? The town already thought him a madman. Why should he care if their opinions lowered because he conversed with his dead wife? Well, it wasn't exactly a conversation as there would certainly be no reply.

He settled on top of the granite headstone.

"I want you to know I don't blame you. I lay everything at his feet." Vincent took a flask from his pocket and sipped.

"I have come here every night to remember, to nurse my rage and anger. Now, I finally have the opportunity for revenge."

He looked up and studied the stars. "I've never told you this, Veronica, but it is important that you know."

He stood and walked to the foot of the plot so he could face her, so to speak. "Percer had been my best friend since I was ten, as you know. I left instructions that if anything were to happen to me while I was on the Continent, he was to be here when the news was delivered. He was to lend you support." _Not seduce you_.

"In addition to word of my death, I know he was told I, in fact, did survive. I was afraid that after you got word of my death, a letter of my survival would be viewed as a cruel joke so he was instructed to deliver that news as well."

He tossed back another swallow. "I know he did not relay that message to you and for that I will be eternally sorry. I should have trusted someone else. But who is more trustworthy than your boyhood best friend?" He let out dry laughter.

Vincent closed his eyes as the horror of the night returned to him. _He had been so happy to be home, away from the war and still somewhat whole._

_Once his ship made land in Dover, he could not wait for the doctor to release him to return home. He simply left. All he cared about was seeing Veronica again. He knew he would arrive a week early, but he did not care. No doubt his wife had planned a homecoming celebration, but that didn't matter to him. He just wanted her in his arms at the earliest opportunity._

_When he arrived at the house, no light shown through the windows. He dismissed the idea that anything was wrong. After all, it was close to midnight and his wife was probably already asleep. He just hoped he wouldn't frighten her when he awakened her._

_He let himself in and mounted the stairs. The closer he came to his rooms, the louder their voices could be heard. He tried to focus on what was said. He stopped and turned around in the hall. Why was Percer up here with his wife?_

_He shook his head to clear the fogginess brought on by the laudanum. Perhaps he should have waited to take the swig until he was home, but he was not sure he could climb the stairs without the pain being lessened in his thigh._

_"I don't know what I will do without him."_

_"Shush, Veronica. I will take care of you."_

_He could hear her gently crying. It seemed surreal at the time. Why was she wasting tears over him? He was alive._

_With slow, steady steps he walked toward his wife's chamber. His uneven and painful gait grated on him as he was hampered from moving quickly down the hall._

_"No, I can't," his wife protested._

_"But I love you, Veronica. I always have."_

_Vincent's blood boiled. His best friend didn't even wait for his body to turn cold in the grave before he set out to seduce his wife. Besides, Percer knew he wasn't in a grave._

_"It is wrong. I love my husband."_

_"Your husband is dead," Percer insisted gently. "And, I know you are lonely. I will stay with you tonight and if you wish me to leave in the morning, I will."_

_Vincent swayed when he attempted to increase his pace and had to stop to hold the wall for support. Their rooms were too far away and he could not get there._

_"I think you should go now," Veronica insisted._

_"Hush, you don't mean that."_

_Vincent dearly wished he was hard of hearing for the next moments would not have been so painful. He thought of calling out, to let them know he was home, but he determined his foggy mind was fabricating his worst fears of losing his wife, and he would see he was mistaken once he reached them._

_"I am lonely, afraid, at a loss and I long to be held, just one more time," Veronica sniffed after a few moments._

_"Let me," Percer replied._

_Vincent's pace quickened as he continued down the hall. He would have run to her if the wound didn't threaten to collapse his leg. Instead he was forced to painfully limp toward her room._

_Veronica's door was wide open. No wonder he had been able to hear them so well._

_No further conversation followed however and he stepped into the room, convinced he had misunderstood their words and all would be well. Veronica would run and wrap her arms around him and kiss him with the love he remembered._

_There they both were, lying on his wife's bed. Percer practically on top of her, kissing her. Veronica's gown pushed down to her waist. His gut tightened and Vincent thought he would vomit._

_He swallowed the bile and cleared his throat."Did you not get my message?"_

_Veronica's head came up and a look of true elation lit her face before it was replaced with the horror of being found in such a compromising position. "I thought you were dead," she cried._

_How could he blame her? She was in mourning and Vincent had seen Percer work his seduction so often in the past. Veronica succumbed, like so many others before her._

_Percer sat up and simply smiled. "You're a week early."_

_"You bloody bastard." Vincent stormed into the room._

_"My timing was a bit off. I hoped to have what I wanted before your return."_

_Veronica's eyes went wide and she pushed Percer away from her and jumped off the bed. "You knew he was alive!" she accused._

_Percer shrugged and stood._

_"Why?" she screamed._

_"He has something I want. I hoped to get it from you."_

_"You could have asked," Veronica screamed._

_"Oh, but I did. You said you didn't know where it was." Percer stood and straightened his coat._

_"You lied and seduced me over a piece of paper?" Tears streamed down her face._

_"Ah, it is so much more than paper."_

_"It is a myth. A story my grandfather made up to entertain young boys," Vincent ground out._

_Percer turned to him. "Ah, there you are wrong. There are six pieces. I have already obtained two."_

_Vincent's blood boiled. His former best friend had set out to ruin, if not destroy, his heartbroken wife over a nonexistent treasure. "I will meet you in the west field at dawn."_

_Percer threw back his head and laughed. "You are calling me out?"_

_"No, Vincent, don't." Veronica rushed to him. "He is not worth it." She fell to her knees and hugged his legs. "I am so sorry. I was so lonely, weak. I didn't know what I was going to do without you."_

_Vincent glanced at her tear streaked face. His wife had nothing to be sorry for. The anguish in her voice was too real. She would have never betrayed him had she known he was alive and Percer was an expert at attacking a woman's weakness to get her into bed. All of this was Percer's fault. The man had known for five days that he was not dead. No doubt he used every single second to strip away any resolve Veronica still had. The filthy bastard._

_"Dawn!" he insisted. "You name the weapon."_

_Percer grinned back at him. "What of seconds?"_

_"I have Wesley and I don't care who you have. I won't be surprised if you can't find one man in the country who would stand by you."_

_Percer rolled his eyes and strode past Vincent and out the door. "I will not waste my time with this. Besides, I would likely kill you and since your first death did not bring me what I need, your second one surely will not."_

_Vincent stalked after him. His legs moving faster than he thought possible. "Come back here and discuss this like a man, you sniveling coward."_

_Percer turned on him and had the audacity to laugh again. "You insult my manhood? What of yours? I heard about your injuries. How you can no longer read, or write, or be in the light of day."_

_"Greatly exaggerated," Vincent bit out._

_"Regardless, unless all the doctors consulted are wrong, it will not be possible for you to meet me as the sun rises, for that would surely cause enough pain to bring you to your knees and I would rather kill a man who can face me on his own two feet."_

_Percer reached the stairs and turned one last time. "It was a pleasure, Lady Atwood. And, if your husband dies on you again, please send word around so that we can renew our acquaintance."_

_At least Percer had sense enough to run. Vincent raged after him, taking the steps two at a time. Pain knifed through his thigh, but it didn't slow him._

_Veronica followed, crying for him to stop. He turned to ask her to wait. She did not need to witness him kill his former best friend._

_Her foot caught on the rug at the top of the stairs. Her scream rent the air. He reached for her. His fingers brushed the soft fabric of her gown as she tumbled over the railing. The crash of the entry hall table and vase shattered the silence._

_"Veronica," his own anguished voice cried and he rushed to the bottom of the stairs and into the hall where she lay. Her blood streamed into the glass, flowers and water spilled on the floor. The leg of the delicate table protruded through her chest. Vincent knelt next to his wife and lifted her into his arms. Blood trickled from her lips and her pain filled eyes looked up into his._

_"I am sorry. I did not know."_

_"Hush, love." He placed his lips to her forehead. It was already cold._

_"I missed you." A tear leaked out the corner of her eye._

_"All I ever thought about was you. I love you, Veronica."_

_She tried to lift her hand, but it fell limp to her side._

_"I love you. Please, forgive me."_

_He graced her with a smile, though he didn't know where he had summoned it from. "There is nothing to forgive. You have always been my love and always will be."_

_She coughed, more blood seeped out. He had seen similar wounds on the battlefield and knew there was nothing he could do._

_"I am cold," her voice whispered._

_"I will warm you." He pulled her closer, willing her heart to beat in tempo with his._

_She sighed and went limp. Vincent looked down. Her blue, lifeless eyes stared up at him._

_By the time Vincent was pulled away from his wife's broken body, Percer was long gone and he had not seen him since._

"So, my dear," Vincent concluded, looking at his wife's grave. "His accomplice has come to do what he could not. I will now have my revenge and can leave you in peace."

He touched his fingers to his lips then placed them on her headstone. "Sleep well, my love."

# Chapter 17

Tess could not think. She was too tired to concentrate on teaching the girls anything and leaned against the desk and took in their expectant faces. Perhaps she should have them teach _her_ something.

She glanced at the books on the shelves. There were so many to choose from and not one subject had been left unnoticed, Slowly a thought came to mind as she focused back on the girls.

"I would like each of you to write a paper."

Their groans were in unison.

"First, you will pick one country. Then, you will find one of the books on the shelf– _not fiction--_ and write a paper on their origins, beliefs, pasts. Tell me something about the people that make them who they are."

"Their myths?" Rosemary asked.

"Possible."

"Their history," Sophia suggested.

"Yes, but it needs to be something in their history that could define them, or perhaps defined them at one time."

"Their superstitions." Eliza grinned.

Tess rolled her eyes. Leave it to Eliza to find and target a spooky topic.

"If that can be used to define who they once were or are."

She gave the girls permission to peruse the books and settled into the chair behind Atwood's desk. The papers should keep them occupied for at least a week. Hopefully by then she would finally be able to sleep and no longer let Atwood disturb her.

"Miss Crawford, I would like to see what I can learn of Ireland."

Tess glanced up to find Eliza holding the book. "I am sure you will find several topics upon which you can write your paper."

One by one the girls brought books to her, which she either approved or rejected and sent them back for another choice. She hoped Atwood did not mind the books missing from his library, but he had given permission.

A knock on the door interrupted her discussion with Sophia on Greece. She looked up and called for them to enter.

Wesley opened the door and stopped at the entrance. "Excuse me, Miss Crawford, but Sir William Fairview is here."

"Papa?" Rosemary cried with excitement. She turned anxiously to Tess.

"You may go see your father." She smiled at the girl.

Sophia and Eliza shared a worried look.

"What is it, girls?" Tess asked them.

"Rosemary will soon go home," Sophia pouted.

"Oh, I doubt her father will remove her from school," Tess tried to reassure them. "It isn't as if we haven't continued on, even if it isn't in the same building."

"That is not what she means, Miss Crawford," Eliza responded. "Once he hears what Lord Atwood is, he will pack up his daughter and take her far away."

Tess closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she spoke. "Girls, you must cease letting your imaginations get the best of you. _Wake Not the Dead_ is a _fictional_ story. Vampires do not exist. Do you understand me?"

The girls shared a doubtful look, but nodded in agreement. With their heads hung, they wandered to the window to look out on the vast lawn. Tess followed behind. She could see Rosemary talking to her father, who sat and smiled up at her. He was much calmer than his daughter, who stood, twirled and talked to him with expressive arms and body language. The man had been laughing until his daughter turned serious. Though Tess could not hear what was said, she could guess. Rosemary pointed to her teeth and pointed to the house.

Sir Fairview followed her line of vision. All humor left his expression and his face turned pale and stern.

_Oh dear_. It appeared Sir Fairview was not at all pleased with the idea of his daughter staying in the house of a vampire. Hopefully the man could be made to see reason or all of the girls would beg their parents to take them from here. If that turned out to be the case, there was no point in rebuilding the school.

"What?" Vincent shouted as he sat up in bed. "Quit that incessant knocking and get in here."

The door opened and Wesley stepped inside.

"Is it too much to ask for undisturbed sleep?"

"I thought I would alert you to a guest and thought perhaps you would like to join him and the teachers for tea." Wesley turned, walked to the wardrobe and removed a jacket and pants.

Vincent fell back on the bed and pulled the blanket over his head. "I don't care who is here. I only want to sleep. The _females_ can entertain him over tea and if he is still here at dinner, I'll offer a cigar and brandy afterward."

The covers were ripped from his face and he glared up at Wesley.

"This is a guest you will want to see _now_." Wesley held up a shirt and waited.

Vincent got out of bed and allowed his valet to help him dress. "Who is this exalted person? The king?"

Wesley snorted but did not answer him.

Once his cravat was neat enough to please Wesley, Vincent stepped back and narrowed his eyes on the servant. "Who is here and why is he so important that I must greet him now?"

"A father of one of the students," Wesley sniffed.

Vincent could not believe he had been awakened for this. "Why can't Mrs. Wiggons or one of the teachers deal with him? I have nothing to do with the school or the students. I am simply providing a temporary roof over their heads."

"The father is most insistent on speaking with you, sir."

Vincent strode for the door. "Very well."

He grumbled all the way down the hall, down the steps and had formed the perfect set down for making demands in _his_ house when he stepped into the parlor. The words died on his lips and a grin spread across his face. "Lieutenant Colonial Fairview," Vincent greeted and stepped forward with his right hand extended.

"Atwood," the man returned. "Call me Fairview. I've retired and my rank is too much of a mouthful."

Vincent chuckled. "I did not realize one of the students was your daughter." Perhaps if he had bothered to remember any of their names he may have, but Vincent tried to know as little about them as possible.

"Would you care for tea, Lord Atwood?"

He turned to find Miss Crawford holding a cup and looking at him. Her pleasant smile did not reach her wide eyes. Did she plan to poison him?

Vincent shook the thought from his mind. She had the run of his house. She did not need him unconscious to search. "Yes, please."

"Sugar, milk?"

"Neither," he grunted and turned his attention back to Fairview. He did not want his focus to be on Miss Crawford or he would forget his purpose. No, her purpose.

He could also strangle Wesley for helping to replace her wardrobe. Miss Crawford looked utterly delicious in the dark blue dress. Usually he did not like women to wear dark, somber colors, but the blue brought out the silver in her eyes and contrasted with her pale, milky skin. It made a man wonder if all of her skin would be as pure, sweet and soft as her face.

"I hope you find your daughter well and not too disturbed by the events of these last few days." This visit did make him wonder why only one parent had bothered to check on their child and found he held more respect for Fairview to show he at least cared.

On the other hand, the tempest hadn't been that long ago. Should he expect more parents to show up on his doorstep?

The man chuckled. "I am sure she will settle in eventually."

"They all will, I am certain," Mrs. Wiggons assured him.

Vincent really did not want to exchange pleasantries with the women. However, he did want to visit with his former commander so he sat in the only empty seat available. Too bad it was directly across from Miss Crawford. "Have you been by to see the school, Fairview?"

"Yes, before I came here. Though it is hard to tell what damage the tempest caused and what destruction the workers are responsible for."

"I don't understand," Miss Morris interjected.

"Well, the south side of the house is completely gone," Fairview noted and looked to Atwood for guidance.

"The house had been shaken from its foundation. Though repairs could have been made, the man in charge feared it would not be stable," Atwood explained.

"You need to rebuild the entire school?" Miss Crawford asked, her eyes wide with concern.

Vincent wouldn't have thought the idea of being in his house longer than a few weeks would be disconcerting to her as it would give her ample time to explore and search. Unless she hoped to be able to leave her position as soon as the piece of the map was found to rejoin her lover.

"Unfortunately, yes," he answered and hoped the smile on his face was one of sympathy instead of contempt.

"I am truly sorry, Lord Atwood," Mrs. Wiggons offered. "I know you probably wished we would be gone in short order but it appears we could be here for months."

"Months?" Miss Crawford squeaked out.

Vincent turned to look at her and smiled warmly. "Why yes. Are there concerns you have not mentioned, Miss Crawford?"

She sat her teacup on the table and folded her hands. A small worry line appeared between her eyes and she bit the corner of her bottom lip. He waited for her to explain. What lie would she tell him now?

"It is just the girls. They are not all comfortable being here." Her eyes shot to Sir Fairview, as if she wished to convey some type of message.

"So I gathered from my daughter," Fairview laughed.

"They are still getting settled in. We should not worry," Mrs. Wiggons insisted.

"It is not so much the household." Fairview grinned at Vincent. "What they fear is what lives in this household."

"Oh, dear." Miss Crawford straightened her spine and a lovely, light shade of rose colored her cheeks. "You should not listen to the rumors. I will talk to the girls again."

Fairview chuckled. "I am sure you have assured them enough and anyone without an active imagination would be comforted. Unfortunately, for my daughter and her friends, it is a more difficult task."

Miss Crawford glanced at Vincent for but a moment, but her cheeks darkened further, and she focused back on Fairview. "Sir, perhaps we can discuss this in private and determine a way to convince your daughter that all will be well."

Vincent couldn't believe it. Miss Crawford was trying to keep him from the rumors or perhaps she thought he would be disturbed that the discussion she carried on with Fairview involved him.

"No need to hide from the truth, Miss Crawford." Vincent crossed his legs and took a sip of tea. "We all know the girls fear I am a vampire and are scared of what will become of them living in this house."

"Yes, my daughter told me everything. I do believe she about had an apoplexy when I informed her that it was I who retrieved you from the dead."

Miss Crawford choked on her tea; the others looked at him with stunned silence and Vincent roared back with laughter.

He turned toward the ladies. "I am sure you have heard the rumors that I was left among the dead on the battlefield and lay there for two days. My commanding officer," he gestured to Fairview, "is the one who discovered I was still part of this world and carried me back to the surgeon."

Their faces held a combination of intrigue, horror and disgust.

It was not well done of him to mention the ugliness of battle in front of such delicate creatures. Though, he doubted Miss Crawford was included in the group. She was betrothed to Percer after all. If the engagement were normal, she would be in London, planning her wedding. Not teaching at a girls' school and snooping around his house.

# Chapter 18

Tess marched down the hall and banged on the door to the bedroom of Miss Weston, Lady Trent and Miss Fairview. She'd had enough of their silliness. Their concerns must cease and desist, _now_. Thank goodness Lord Atwood saw the entire matter in good humor, but it was inconsiderate and insensitive for the girls to carry on so when he had given them a place to stay.

There was no sound from within and she banged a bit harder.

Still nothing. She turned the handle on the door, stepped into the room and jerked at the brightness. Goodness, even she was pained from coming in here. The girls' room was situated at the southern end of the house. All three windows were open, the drapes pulled back to allow the fullest amount of sun into the room. No vampire in his or her right mind would attempt to enter this room.

She left and slammed the door behind her.

Tess found the three of them sitting in a gazebo by the lake. A book on Ireland was open on Eliza's lap and the other two read over her shoulder. What they could find so interesting she had no idea. Besides, right now it didn't matter.

"We need to have a word, girls." She used the tone most likely to illicit a prompt, respectful response.

All three sets of eyes snapped up. They scrambled to their feet and faced her. Eliza closed and placed the book on the chair behind her.

"I have had about all I can take of your fears and superstitions."

"But, Miss Crawford..." Sophia began.

Tess focused on her. "You will remain silent. You will listen to what I say."

"Yes, ma'am." Sophia dropped her chin, her lips formed a pout.

"Lord Atwood is _not_ a vampire. His wife is _not_ alive."

"We saw her," Eliza interrupted.

"What exactly did you see?" Tess demanded.

"He was carrying a woman down the hall."

"Did you see her face, hair, or clothing?"

"Well, ah, no," Eliza admitted.

Tess could not tell the girls it was she Atwood carried. That would invite an entirely new set of problems. Whether it be her fall from morality or mortality. Either way, they would invent a story that would see her ruined.

"What time was it when you saw him carrying this... _person_?"

The girls shared a look. Rosemary answered, "Around two in the morning."

"What were you girls even doing awake at that time?"

"We, um, couldn't sleep," Sophia answered in a weak voice.

Tess marched down the line and looked each of them over. She knew this was intimidating for she had used it on them before. Something had to be done. "Perhaps I should separate the three of you."

"No," their voices cried in unison.

"What else am I to do? You have the rest of the girls too frightened to sleep. They wake the other teachers at all hours of the night because they _heard_ something or _saw_ something."

"Perhaps they did." Eliza's chin jutted out.

This child had always been the most stubborn and difficult one. Tess walked over and stared down her nose at the girl. "You are the instigator in all of this. If you do not stop, now, you will be moved to the top floor, with the younger girls."

Her eyes grew wide. "No, Miss Crawford, please."

"Then I suggest you get a hold of your tongue, and imagination, because if you do not stop encouraging these other two with your outrageous ideas, that is exactly where you will find yourself. And, if that doesn't work, you will be sent home."

Tess knew if she stayed and listened to any argument she would end up yelling at the girls and possibly make threats she could not follow through on. So, to end the discussion, she turned on her heel and marched out of the gazebo. Once she was far enough away, she stopped. She was much too agitated to return to the house or try and concentrate on the lessons for tomorrow. Perhaps if she slept at night it would be easier, and maybe she wouldn't be so exhausted.

She took in her surroundings. Perhaps a stroll would calm her enough to enjoy conversation with the other teachers in the household.

Tess took deep breaths and tried to calm her anger. She shouldn't have been so hard on the girls but they were being ridiculous. She was certain neither she, Claudia nor Natalie had ever behaved in such a manner.

Well, there was the time Claudia insisted the fishermen were smugglers. Her friend couldn't imagine why anyone would be out in boats before the sun rose if not for illegal purposes. For a week they rose at three in the morning to spy on the men, to see what they were really about. Every morning, just before the sun rose, the local men rowed their boats out to the sea and cast out their nets. Not one bottle of brandy or bolt of lace was ever retrieved. All the girls managed to do was catch a cold that kept all three of them in bed for days.

Still, they were much more mature than Eliza, Rosemary and Sophia. Not once had Tess, Claudia or Natalie ever imagined such an outrageous scenario as vampires.

Tess chuckled at the memories as she turned into the gardens but the sight before her brought Tess up short. Natalie's classes had done wonders. Before, weeds choked out the plants and flowers. That had all been cleared away and the last of the summer flowers bloomed, offering an array of color that would soon die with the first frost and later be covered in snow.

Tess settled onto a bench and willed all tension from her body. At least Atwood was handling the girl's beliefs with good humor. She wasn't so sure she would have been as kind had people talked about her in the same manner.

Atwood. He was a very strange gentleman. One moment he was barking and ordering people about. The next, he laughed. She could not come to grips with his ever-changing moods.

What had last night been about? Why had he gotten so physically close to her? Tess could even still smell his scent.

No, she must forget his scent, his sculpted chest, his chiseled face and most importantly, his penetrating eyes.

Her body warmed at the remembrance of his face, close to hers, and the urge to place her lips on his.

Tess abruptly stood and began to pace among the mums. How could she be attracted to such a contrary man? Of course he was handsome, but she had met other handsome men in her life and memories of their lips, faces and chests did not keep her awake at night. Or at least not their lips and faces. Atwood's was the only chest she had ever seen.

Her face heated at the memory. What would it be like to touch it? Would the strength be similar to a statue? Would his hair be soft?

_Stop it_. Atwood may be handsome, and at times, nice, but there was no future. Goodness, the man's best friend was Percer. That alone should tell her something about his character. Anyone who considered Percer a man worthy of respect was not someone she cared to know. Atwood may be the most attractive, intriguing, if not almost perfect man alive, but his choice of companions left a lot to be desired and was the strongest reason why she should keep her distance.

There was only one problem, how was she to combat her attraction when she was now forced to spend the evening hours with him acting as his secretary?

With determination, Tess started back to the house. She was resolved and she would stay strong. No matter how much he tempted her, she would not succumb to his charms. With her mind made up, Tess set off on the short path that cut through the woods to the main lawn.

"Ah, Theresa Ford-Creigh. How long has it been? Two years?"

Tess stopped. A chill went up her spine. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck. She knew that voice and had prayed never to hear it again.

Out of the woods stepped Lord Walter Percer.

_Where had he come from and how did he find me_?

Tess took a step back. Her eyes darted from one end of the short path to another. She wasn't sure if she hoped for rescue or not. _Why was he here?_

"Ah, Theresa, you have grown prettier over time." Percer's hand came up to caress her cheek.

Tess jerked away.

"Had I known, I may have actually gone through with my ruse to marry you."

Tess moved back from him, off the path.

"Come now, don't be afraid." His voice was silken, seductive. The same voice she had fallen for so many years ago.

"What do you want?" She edged to the side, back onto the path, yet kept her distance from him.

He advanced on her. His steps slow and menacing. "Do you know how long it took me to find you?"

Tess shook her head and continued to look for an avenue of escape. She considered screaming, but what if Percer turned her in?

"Personally, I would have been more creative if I had to change my name. Ford-Creigh to Crawford. Any idiot could have figured it out."

"It took you a long time." Her brow arched and Tess wondered where she got the inner strength to insult him. Was she a fool?

He laughed. "Touché, my dear." He stopped before her. "I honestly thought you had left the country. I never dreamed you would be foolish enough to return to your former school."

"How did you find me?" Tess needed to know where she had gone wrong. That way, when she disappeared again she would not make the same mistake.

"I was visiting a friend when a teacher and a few of the students spent the night. When the teacher, Tess Crawford, was mentioned I could not help but be intrigued."

It was stupid to come back here and she'd originally only intended to stay a short time before she moved on. But, when no one came after her, Mrs. Wiggons assured her she would be safe. Well, she had been for over a year.

"After a few further questions, I knew it had to be you. What were the chances of someone, with a similar name, matching your exact description, teaching at a school you had attended?"

Tess took a step back. She would run if she had to, even without her belongings. This was a day she had prepared for. "Why haven't you turned me in?"

He grinned and advanced. With each step, she took one backwards. "I want something."

She stopped. "What?"

He arched a brow. "You know exactly what I am looking for."

"I don't have it."

He reached out, grabbed her hair and jerked her to him. "Don't lie to me."

Tess bit back a scream. The girls were not that far away and she did not want them to come investigate.

"You will bring me your father's piece of the map."

"And if I don't?"

"I will contact the magistrate and you will hang."

Tess fought the dizziness and blackness that engulfed her. It was what she had always feared. Oh, why hadn't she moved to the Continent or America? "How do I know you will not turn me in once you have the paper?"

"You don't." He grinned before he brought his face down and kissed her.

Tess twisted her head away. Hair ripped from the base of her skull.

"Don't fight me. I control everything."

Tears sprung to her eyes. What was she to do?

"Bring me the paper and I won't turn you in."

"What assurance do I have?"

"My word." His smile grew wider. "Besides, there is more I need from you and a hangman's noose would be a bit inconvenient at this moment." His eyes raked over her body and lingered for a moment on her breasts.

She feared what else he would demand. Would the payment be worth survival? Further, she could not trust him. She would never be that foolish again.

"Miss Crawford," Eliza called from the far end of the path. "I have a question. Are you still here?"

Percer turned to look in the direction of the voice, as did Tess. She could not see her and hoped Percer could not either, or that Eliza could see him.

"Tonight, at midnight, here. Bring me the paper." He faded into the woods and she heard his feet run through the brush.

Tess collapsed against a tree. She could not find her breath and her heart beat so fiercely it was a wonder it couldn't be seen. What would have happened if Eliza had not called out? What if Eliza had come across them? So many questions and no answers. Percer was dangerous and he had found her. She had to protect the girls no matter what. She knew, in her heart, that she would deliver the paper to him tonight. What happened afterwards, she did not know.

She could hear the girls approach and saw them a moment later.

"Miss Crawford, is something wrong?" Sophia asked.

Tess straightened. It would do no good to have them wondering. Who knew what kind of scenario the girls would invent, though it would never be close to the horrible truth. "Nothing. Did you need me?"

Thankfully they didn't question her further. "Do you know anything about the Druids?" Eliza asked.

Laughter bubbled up at the absurdity of the question. It reminded her how simple these girls' lives were when hers was held in the balance over a simple slip of paper.

Eliza locked the door and the three of them sat in a circle in the middle of the bed. "Who do you think he was?" She asked.

"A lover," Rosemary giggled.

"No," Sophia answered. "He wanted to hurt her."

"And Miss Crawford was afraid," Eliza added. "Could either of you hear what he wanted?"

"Only that she was to return it to him tonight, at midnight," Rosemary offered.

"When Atwood is gone," Eliza ended in an ominous tone.

The girls looked at each other, suspicion formed in their minds.

"We will be there when they meet," Eliza finally said.

"We can't do that. Miss Crawford would be very angry," Sophia insisted.

Rosemary rolled her eyes. "We will hide and she will never know we are there."

"And if he tries to hurt her," Eliza continued, "we will protect her."

The color drained from Sophia's face, but she said nothing more.

Vincent stared in the fire and sipped his brandy. What was he to do with Miss Crawford? Though seduction was an intriguing idea for the plan, it was not a level to which he wished to sink. That was Percer's expertise and he did not want any part of his own personality to reflect that of Percer's.

However, chances were, Percer had already seduced Miss Crawford, with the promise of marriage as soon as the map piece was found, so it wasn't as if he would be bedding an innocent. Yet, the thought of bedding Miss Crawford for revenge left a sour taste in his mouth. It was the revenge that soured him, the bedding however offered intrigue.

Why, of all men, did she have to be involved with Percer? She deserved so much better.

Perhaps he should help her. Miss Crawford had no family that he knew of, and taught. No doubt Percer determined her susceptibility and her location to him, and set out to make her fall in love with him, all so she could gain access to this house for a piece of paper. There was a very good chance Miss Crawford was innocent, or had been, and would soon be dropped the moment her mission was completed.

Vincent liked to think that was the way things were, but his gut told him differently. Too often she changed the subject when a question became too personal. Besides, she had never told him of a betrothal. That in itself was a lie by way of omission.

Yet, the betrothal did not sit well either. If she were in love with Percer, why had she reacted to Vincent in the manner she did. He could have sworn that she was about to kiss him last night. If he had not pulled back, would she have placed her lips on his? If so, where would it have led?

Perhaps Percer instructed her to seduce the paper out of him if necessary. Vincent certainly hoped that was not the case because he would give in. Not that he would give her the paper, but he would allow her to seduce him.

The thought of Miss Crawford giving him pleasure brought a smile to his lips. Oh, it had been too long since he'd been intimate with a woman. Perhaps the answer to his current need was sleeping right next door to his chamber.

Regardless, he would determine her motive and plan. If seduction were involved, on her part, he would gladly follow. And, with any luck, he may just be able to turn Miss Crawford against her fiancé.

A quiet knock sounded at the door. Vincent glanced at the clock and smiled. He downed the last of this brandy and called for her to enter.

He smiled. "Ah, Miss Crawford. I am so glad you are punctual."

"I expect it of my students so must expect it of myself."

"An admirable trait. Can I get you anything before we get started?"

"No," she answered and took a seat in front of his desk.

The door to the hall had been left open. Vincent wondered it if had been intentional on her part. It didn't matter. He walked over and closed it before he took a seat behind the desk, he picked up the first sheet of correspondence and looked at her. Tonight she wore a raspberry dress, with ecru lace around her neck. The color was very becoming and he knew he had Wesley to thank. Prior to Wesley, Vincent would have considered the dress a dark pink with lace. Words like raspberry, with regard to a fabric, nor ecru ever entered his vocabulary.

The dress, however, is not what caught his attention. It was the paleness of her skin. Even her lips were without color. Her eyes, a dull grey. There was no life. "Are you feeling well, Miss Crawford?"

She looked up at him, as if startled. "Yes, thank you."

He did not question her response, but could not help wonder what was wrong. Not that it was any of his concern, but it did give one pause.

Did she fear him? No, that couldn't be the answer. Then why was she disturbed? He would ask, but Vincent didn't believe she would give a truthful answer. Instead, he held out the correspondence to her. "Would you read this for me please?" He stood and poured himself a brandy.

She read the latest news from his London solicitor and when finished, placed it on the desk.

"Perhaps it would be better if you sat here." He instructed her to take a seat behind his desk. She raised questioning eyes to him.

"It would be easier to write the reply on a stable surface, do you not think?"

She visibly swallowed. "Yes, it would." She sat, retrieved a piece of clean parchment, readied the quill and waited for his dictation.

Vincent rattled off a reply without thought. This was remarkable. One piece of correspondence read and another dictated without even the slightest hint of a headache. Yes, he should have employed a secretary long ago.

While she read, or wrote, he strolled his library and thought through the requests and responses. He almost felt giddy with the freedom. For the first time since the war, he was without pain and had completed more letters than he could finish in a month.

The clock struck twelve and Miss Crawford jumped in her seat.

"Is something wrong, Miss Crawford?"

She glanced at the clock. "Shouldn't you be going?"

"I have decided I will no longer visit the cemetery."

Her face blanched. "Oh, I had just assumed."

"No," he dismissed her. "We have accomplished much tonight. I thought we could continue for a bit more, unless there is somewhere you need to be." He meant it as a joke, considering it was midnight, but she blanched further.

After a moment she cleared her throat. "No, I am fine." She picked up a piece of parchment. "Shall I read the next one?"

Vincent tried to get through two more letters but it was near impossible. Miss Crawford became more jittery as each second passed. She glanced out the window more times than he could count and she broke three quill tips. At one in the morning he called an end to the evening. "I think we have accomplished enough. Shall we continue tomorrow?"

She stood and nodded. "Of course."

Vincent watched her go. Something had upset her but for the life of him he did not know what. She was fine until he decided not to leave. Why did she want him out of the house?

He walked to the window to stare out at the clear night and took a sip of his brandy. It was the same one he had poured over an hour ago. He could not remember the last time he had drank so little in an evening. He had no pain and for that he could thank Miss Crawford. Well, perhaps not her directly, since he had been the one to ask her to act as his secretary, but she had fulfilled a need that he truly didn't know he had.

A flash of dark pink caught his eyes and he watched it move through the yard. What was Miss Crawford doing out at this time of night?

He didn't think further, but opened the doors leading to the terrace and followed her. The moon was high and full tonight so he had no difficulty following her path as she turned into the woods.

Where is she going and what is her purpose? The thoughts plagued him as he stepped into the woods. He did not have far to go before he heard her voice. Vincent stepped off the trail and behind a tree.

"I am sorry I am late. Lord Atwood didn't leave tonight, as he has in the past."

"I know. I saw you through the window."

Percer! What was the bloody bastard doing on his land? The answer was obvious. He was meeting his fiancée. If this turned out to be a lovers' tryst, he would be sure to interrupt and make sure Percer didn't miss his next appointment at dawn.

"I have the paper."

Had she found his piece of the map? No, impossible. That was kept in his room and as far as Vincent knew, she had not been in there...yet.

"I knew I could count on you, Theresa."

Theresa? Why was he calling Miss Crawford by that name? Was Tess a nickname?

"May I go now? You have what you wanted."

"Not quite yet, dear."

Vincent's blood boiled at the endearment. All he needed was a few more words to prove he had been used and he would make his presence known.

"What do you want from me?" her anguished voice cried.

Percer chuckled.

Vincent edged forward to see them. They stood in the middle of the path, in a break in the trees. The moonlight shown down on Miss Crawford's black hair.

"Why haven't you called on Atwood?" she asked.

"Why should I?" Percer reached forward and snatched the document out of her hand.

"I was led to believe you and he were very close at one time," she countered.

Did Miss Crawford not know their history? If the two were close, she would not ask such a question.

"True, friends since we were children."

"Yet, you would rather hide in his woods than visit him?"

"He no longer wishes to see me. Or, have anything to do with me for that matter.

"Why?" Miss Crawford took a step back from Percer. Vincent wondered if she was afraid. This meeting was not going as he had anticipated when he first saw them together.

"I was there the night his wife died."

"Did you kill her?"

Maybe Miss Crawford knows Percer for who he really is. If that were the case, why was she betrothed to him?

"Ah, Theresa, you wound me. But no, he was heartbroken over her death and wants no reminders of that night."

Vincent snorted at the comment then covered his mouth in an attempt to muffle any sound. As dearly as he would love to call Percer out, right now, he would rather remain silent for the moment and find out what he could learn.

"It was well over a year ago, perhaps he has changed his mind."

Percer offered a dry laugh. "My dear, Theresa, I have written and contacted him in London. While we may enjoy a friendship amongst the _ton_ , I am not welcome in his home."

The man was a bloody liar and Miss Crawford seemed more innocent as each moment passed. For some reason, that gave Vincent a good deal of relief. Something he would examine later, in the warmth of his chamber.

"If he knew you were here?" she asked.

"He would not like it and he would ask me to leave. However, if you do not believe me, we can return to the house and ask him."

_Oh, please do. I would gladly await your arrival._

"His mood will be much worse for the reminder and for being disturbed as I know this is when he works. How do you think he will react when I tell him he is harboring a murderess?"

Murderess? Miss Crawford had murdered someone?

"By the way, I thank you, my dear." He folded the piece of paper and put it in his breast pocket.

Miss Crawford turned to go. "If that is all, I will bid you goodnight."

Percer reached out and grabbed her arm and yanked her against him. His lips flattened against hers.

Vincent stiffened and watched as Percer kissed Miss Crawford. What was their relationship?

Tess fought against him and hit Percer with the one hand she had free.

He finally lifted his head. "Did you forget there is one more thing you need do for me?"

Vincent was about to go to her rescue when Percer pulled away. Clearly Miss Crawford did not welcome his attentions.

"What is it?" She bit out before she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Atwood has another piece of the map. I want you to get it for me."

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" She spat. "You are friends."

"He refuses. Atwood claims it is a myth and insists on holding onto it as a family heirloom."

"Heirloom?"

"It is one of the few possessions he has of his great-grandfather's and he refuses to part with it."

Had Miss Crawford given up a piece of the map? He never dreamed that is what the piece of paper held. So much more was becoming clear. Percer was obsessed with finding that treasure and he would ruin whomever he could, without guilt, to obtain all pieces. Had Miss Crawford simply been another victim?

"Where does he keep it?"

Percer shrugged. "He will not tell me because he knows I want it."

"You truly believe this map leads to treasure?"

It sounded as if she didn't believe the map held the secrets of a treasure either.

"It is worth trying to discover, don't you think?"

"Well, I don't know where he keeps it so I cannot help you." She jerked her arm from his hand.

He grabbed it again. "Ah, Theresa, don't you understand? If you don't retrieve the piece of the map for me, I will turn you in. Do not doubt that for a moment."

Her chin came up. "So, I will go to the gallows. You will still be missing a piece of the puzzle."

He grinned down at her. "Then I will have someone else find it for me." He nodded toward the house. "Which girl do you think would be most susceptible to my charm? Miss Westin perhaps?" He shook his head. "No. However, Lady Sophia would be more than happy to assist me, don't you think? She is that susceptible age and would believe anything I told her, an older, handsome man, if I declared my love. Girls are so easy and simple." He lifted a hand to her head and brushed a thumb across her cheek. "Just as you once were."

Vincent could see her stiffen in the moonlight. One of her students had been threatened and Miss Crawford would not allow any of them to be hurt, no matter how vexing they were at times.

Percer also knew who to pick, who was the weakest, to do his bidding. How long had he been watching the house? Had he watched the school prior to them moving here?

"I will find it." She pulled away and marched back down the path. His laughter followed her.

# Chapter 19

The girls sat before the fire in their chamber, trying to get warm.

"So, first, we need to find a piece of a map," Eliza announced.

"If not, he will try to seduce me to do it," Sophia grumbled. "As if I would fall for someone his age. He is old. At least thirty."

"Some gentlemen think highly of themselves when they should not," Rosemary assured her.

"Miss Crawford may find it first." Sophia stretched her feet and pointed her toes toward the fireplace.

"I hope she does. But if not, we will help her," Rosemary insisted.

"Miss Crawford a murderess?" Eliza looked at her friends. "I don't think that can be true."

"One never knows what the truth is. My mother always says that nobody really knows what goes on in a household," Sophia insisted.

"But a murderess? If that were the case, Mrs. Wiggons would have never let her teach."

"That is true," Sophia sighed.

"Finally," Eliza looked at both of the girls. "Lord Atwood's wife is back from the dead, sleeping in his chamber."

Rosemary pulled her robe tight.

"And, our school will not be done before she begins to get hungry."

"Oh, dear." Rosemary clasped the lapels together at her throat.

"What are we going to do?" Sophia cried.

"All we can do," Eliza answered. "Find the map piece, determine if Miss Crawford has murdered anyone, and kill a vampire."

Vincent paced in his chamber and sipped his brandy. What was he to do now? Even if Miss Crawford was engaged to Percer, it was not something she had agreed to.

He understood her giving up her piece of the map. But how had she gotten it? There were no Crawfords with pieces, unless it had come from her mother's side of the family.

No, it was passed from son, to son, to son, unless there was no male issue.

He stalked the table beside his bed and yanked open a drawer. Inside was his piece, along with it was the list of names. He read through them. "Palmer, Banter, Trent, Latimer, which would be his, Ford-Creigh and Walters." There is no Crawford on the list.

He read over them again. "No," he uttered in astonishment. "It can't be."

He slammed the door behind him and took the stairs two at a time and strode for the servant quarters.

"Wesley," he called out and banged on the servant's door.

A moment later it opened. "You could have used the bell pull," Wesley offered in a dry tone as he opened the door.

Vincent marched into his room. "What do you remember about Ford-Creigh?"

"The man on the list?" Wesley asked and ran his hands through his already messed hair.

Vincent held the list and pointed to the name. "Yes, what do you know of him?"

"He died with his wife. I think a boating accident."

"What of his children?" Vincent demanded. He knew Miss Crawford was tied to this family. And the boating accident fit with how her parents died...

"He had one child, a girl."

"What happened to the piece of the map?"

"Supposedly it went to the daughter, though it could have been given to his brother." Wesley sank down on the end of his bed.

Vincent whipped around and approached him. Though he didn't know how it was possible, Wesley knew everything. If asked, he probably knew what the king dined on for dinner and Vincent had stopped questioning how Wesley came by his knowledge long ago. "What happened to the brother?"

"Sir, what is this about?"

"Just answer me," Vincent yelled. After a moment he calmed himself. "I am sorry for disturbing you so late, but I need to know. What happened to the brother?"

"He was murdered. Shot. By his niece."

A sick feeling came over Vincent. He was afraid to ask, but did. "Her name? Do you recall her name?"

"I believe it was Teresa."

Vincent sank down beside his servant. The woman he was attracted to—had considered helping—was a murderess.

"Sir?"

Wesley's voice intruded on his thoughts and Vincent turned to look at his valet.

"If that will be all, I would like to sleep."

Vincent stood. "Yes, of course. I am sorry to disturb you."

Wesley showed him to the door. "I really wish you could sleep when the rest of us do, sir," he mumbled.

"So do I," Vincent agreed after the door shut and he turned to make his way back to his room.

Tess paced in her room. She was far too agitated to sleep. She must plan.

If she were smart, she would disappear tonight, but she could not put Sophia in such danger. Tess did not doubt for one moment that Percer would try and use the young woman to find Atwood's piece of the map.

She sank down onto the bed. She couldn't believe Atwood had one as well. There were only six pieces in England and she ended up staying in the house that held one, by the gentleman who was friends with the man who would see her hang. It was too much.

She fell back on the bed. Where would Atwood keep his portion?

Tess sat up again. His library, of course. That is where her father had kept his, in a secret compartment, as had her uncle. All she had to do was locate the hiding place and all would be well.

Not exactly well, but she would be free, for the moment. She stood and walked to her wardrobe. Time would be of the essence and she should prepare what she could now.

Tess pulled the dark blue dress and put it aside, separate from the other dresses. She also hung her new, fur-lined cloak beside it. Beneath, sturdy boots. Finally, her reticule.

She then went to the dresser and counted out her money. If she were frugal, it would be enough to get her to Edinburg and on a ship bound for anywhere far away from England.

But first, she must find the map. That would be her priority tomorrow. At least she used his library as her classroom, which gave her ample time to search. After it was found, she would wait for Percer to contact her. She just prayed none of this took long because she was not sure her nerves could stand it.

Vincent returned to the library and poured himself a brandy and laid the list and map piece on the desk before he resumed pacing. What to do about Miss Crawford? Did she or did she not murder her uncle? Did she murder him for a piece of the map? Vincent didn't doubt that she'd been engaged to Percer at one time, but clearly that relationship was long over.

He paused and stared into the fire. She had spoken of evil. Was she talking about herself or Percer? Or, something entirely different?

There were too many questions and not enough answers.

Should he try to gain her trust to find out the truth? But what if she had murdered her uncle? Wouldn't he be required to report her to the authorities? That would make him no better than Percer. Also, if she had murdered the man, what did that say about her character? And if she'd murdered her uncle for a piece of the map, what would stop her from trying to murder him?

It was too much to think on.

Vincent could not reconcile the teacher, Miss Crawford, with the formerly betrothed murderess, Theresa Ford-Creigh.

Vincent downed the brandy and decided to turn in for the night. He stopped when he reached the hallway and retreated to his desk and picked up the papers. He certainly did not want to make it too easy for her to find the map. At least not until he decided what he was going to do.

# Chapter 20

The girls were sent to the dining room to work on their papers. It was the only place with enough work space for all of them. It also freed Tess up to search, though she would have to check on them periodically to make certain they were working and not up to any mischief.

She sat behind Atwood's desk and opened the top drawer. Nothing but a few quills and sheets of parchment. She then turned to look in the drawers on either side of the desk where she found ledgers, legal documents, but nothing that resembled a piece of the map.

She sat back in his chair and looked around the room. Where could he hide it? She knew it was small enough to fit almost anywhere, especially if folded, though she doubted he would have done such a thing, for the paper was very old and could tear or be ruined. So, she needed to look for a square sheet of paper, roughly the size of the one she had once owned.

A safe. She stood. Surely Atwood had a safe in here.

Tess walked the perimeter of the room and lifted the corners of paintings. Nothing.

Books! It could be hidden within the pages of a book. A very clever hiding place. But, the man owned hundreds. Would there be a particular book that held meaning? She stood back and read the titles on one wall, then the next. With a frustrated sigh, she fell into a chair. She had no idea in which book he would have placed it.

Tess sat up. The girls had books in the dining room. What if one of them was the key? Each book was about a place or a country, which could also be a clue as to where the treasure was supposedly hidden. She had no idea where the treasure was, but perhaps Atwood did or had a general idea. Oh, she had to retrieve it before one of them lost it.

"Girls," Tess announced as she stepped into the dining room. "I want to remind you to be very careful with the books."

"We will, Miss Crawford," one of the younger girls assured her.

She looked over the table. Books were open and each girl was writing on parchment. There were no extra pieces of paper on the desk.

Tess strolled the room, hands clasped behind her back. "You know, sometimes people will mark a page with a piece of paper, so they can return to where they last read."

Some of the girls looked up at her and others continued working. "If any of you come across a piece of paper in a book, would you please tell me?"

"Yes, Miss Crawford," they answered in unison.

She continued around the table, looking over their shoulders. "Did anyone find any papers inside of books?"

The older girls looked up at her with curiosity, but said nothing.

"Well, has anyone?"

"No, Miss Crawford," they answered again.

Tess sighed. She should have known it would not be this easy. "If anyone needs me, I will be in the library."

She did not get a moment alone with Mrs. Wiggons, Natalie or Claudia until classes were done for the day. Instead of taking tea in the parlor, she asked them to come to her room. It was the only place she would be assured of privacy. Her friends needed to know what had happened and prepare for the worst.

"Tess, what is wrong?" Mrs. Wiggons asked her the moment the door closed.

"Percer is here!"

"What?" Natalie cried. "What are you going to do?"

Tess told the women of her two meetings and the dilemma she now faced.

"You have to leave," Claudia insisted.

"What of Sophia?"

"Now that we have been warned, we will be able to protect her," Natalie offered.

Tess worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

"Go, you must leave while you can." Mrs. Wiggons marched to her wardrobe and yanked open the door.

"I have nothing to pack my clothing in," Tess reminded them.

Without comment, Claudia left the room and returned a moment later with a bag. "Here, I don't need it."

"Thank you." Tess was grateful she would not have to leave with only the clothes on her back.

"How are you on funds?" Natalie asked.

"I think I have enough to make it to Edinburgh and take a ship, somewhere."

Her two friends shared a look, left the room and returned mere seconds later. Both placed notes in her hand.

"I can't take this." Tess tried to give the money back.

They refused. "You may need it," Natalie insisted.

Mrs. Wiggons began pulling clothing from the armoire. Two more dresses had been delivered with the cloak. Tess now had almost enough clothing for a week.

"No, not yet."

All three turned to look at her.

"It is daylight. What if he sees me?"

Claudia sank down on to the bed. "True."

"When?" Mrs. Wiggons persisted.

"Tonight, after I am done with my secretarial duties. It will be long past midnight and no one will notice I am gone until tomorrow."

"Excellent idea." Mrs. Wiggons nodded her head. "I'll tell the girls you are ill, so they don't disturb you. That should allow an extra day before anyone else knows you are gone."

Tears sprang to her eyes. "Thank you, all of you. I can't tell you how much this means to me."

"You would do the same for us," Natalie insisted.

"I'll miss all of you."

The two younger women came forward and pulled her into their arms. Tess didn't fight her tears and accepted the warmth of their embrace.

Vincent settled in behind his desk and awaited Miss Crawford's arrival. At the strike of seven, she knocked on his door and he let out a sigh of relief. He feared she had bolted, though he could not blame her. However, he would have been very put out if that had been the case and would have been forced to go after her. Not something he relished.

"Come."

Miss Crawford, no, make that Miss Ford-Creigh, stepped into the room. She wore the stunning blue dress again. The cut emphasized the fullness of her breast and narrowness of her waist and Vincent let out his breath. He needed to keep his head.

"Please, have a seat."

She sat in the chair directly in front of his desk.

"By chance did you or one of the girls go through my desk? There are a few items out of place."

Her face grew red. "I needed a piece of parchment. I am sorry to have intruded."

He grinned at her. Miss Crawford, or whoever she was, lied very well, especially since she was very familiar with where he kept the materials to return correspondence after acting as his secretary last night.

"No harm done, just ask in the future."

"I believed you were asleep," she countered.

Vincent nodded his head. "True. In the future ask Wesley."

"Yes, sir," she obediently answered.

He stood and refilled his glass. "Would you care for a brandy?"

She stared at the bottle and answered after a few moments. "Yes, please."

Vincent said nothing. The state of her nerves must be overset for her to take the offered glass. He poured and handed her the goblet. Miss Crawford took a healthy drink, then set it on the desk. Vincent raised an eyebrow in question.

She did not answer but another blush spread across her cheeks.

"Shall we begin?"

"Yes." She straightened her spine and picked a letter off the top of the stack.

"Why don't you move to the other side of the desk, as you were last night?"

Miss Crawford changed seats without a word and then looked at him with expectation.

He nodded his head. "Go on."

Vincent absorbed the information his man of business conveyed from his estate in the north. Once she was finished reading, he began to dictate his response and instructions.

"Pardon?"

Vincent turned to look at her.

"You are speaking fast, Lord Atwood, could you go back and repeat after," she paused to read what she had written, "the shearing of the sheep."

He had moved on from the sheep and was giving instruction for the fallow fields. What had he wanted done? Oh yes. He continued his dictation.

The pattern repeated and after she had interrupted him for the sixth time, he turned on her. "Is there a problem, Miss Crawford?

She looked up at him, her eyes wide, blinking at him as if startled.

"You did so well last night. Tonight it is as if you aren't concentrating."

She looked away. "I am sorry. Perhaps I am tired."

Of course she was tired. She was out half of the night meeting Percer. "Let's try again."

Vincent started another letter but he barely managed to get to the second paragraph before she interrupted him once again and asked him to repeat.

"This is not working tonight, Miss Crawford."

She lowered her eyes. "I am sorry."

He added a bit more brandy to her glass. "Why don't you come over to the couch and discuss what is on your mind."

She lifted the tumbler. "Nothing. I am tired is all." She swallowed a very healthy drink.

Vincent sat down. "I insist."

She hesitated but finally said, "Very well," and moved to take the offered seat.

# Chapter 21

Tess wished she could have paid more attention, but her mind was full of what she needed to pack, if she had enough funds, the easiest route to Scotland and if she could manage to escape without Percer finding her. She was not in a proper frame of mind to have a discussion with Lord Atwood.

"What is really on your mind, Miss Crawford?" His hand came up to caress her cheek.

Tess sighed.

"Simple tiredness would not cause the distraction you have suffered from tonight."

She longed to tell him the truth, everything. To unburden herself and ask for sanctuary. Tess didn't want to run again. Further, she didn't want to run for the rest of her life, which it appeared she would. Or at least until Percer had all of the pieces to the map and went on a treasure hunt. But, she could tell Atwood nothing. At the very least, he would not believe or support her. At the worst, he would have her arrested.

"Miss Crawford?"

She turned to look at him. "As I said, I am simply tired."

"Worried as well?" His fingers traced the lines that must have formed between her brows. Then he gently traced her injury. "This is healing well. Does it pain you much?"

Tess let her eyes close and enjoyed the tenderness of his touch. Would she ever be free to enjoy the love and caring of a man? Would she ever be free enough to marry, have children?

Tess already knew the answer—not as long as Percer lived, and not while she resided in a country that branded her a murderer and would hang her if she was ever found.

"Tell me what is wrong, Miss Crawford."

She looked into his eyes. It would be so easy to trust in those dark pools. But she could not. "I worry about the girls and the school."

The left corner of his mouth turned up and he raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

She nodded her head, not trusting that her voice wouldn't give away her lie.

"The students will be fine and the new school will be sturdier than the one before."

"Thank you for your assistance. Mrs. Wiggons was beside herself with what to do."

His smile deepened. "It is my pleasure. Surprising, even to me, but I find that I am happy to help, and to have the students in my home."

She laughed. He hated that they were here.

"I know I may not act as if I like the disruption, but I truly don't mind."

He moved closer, placing his arm across the back of the couch and Tess inhaled his clean scent.

"Tell me, Miss Crawford, what of your future? Where do you see yourself in a few years? Do you plan to be with the school forever?"

She looked up at him. He was very close. Almost too close, but she didn't move away. "I honestly don't know where I will be."

"I hope you are around for a very long time."

She opened her mouth to respond but his lips descended onto hers.

Tess melted into the kiss. Goodness, she could have never predicted he would behave in this manner. Then again, she had yet to be able to predict Atwood.

His tongue traced her lips: she opened further. He was gentle and firm at the same time. She did not know a kiss could be so wonderful, warm, thrilling. Percer's had always left her cold and she only wanted to get away. Atwood could go on kissing her forever.

Of their own volition, her arms rose and her hands went around his neck. One hand moved into his hair. Her tongue mimicked his. He groaned and warmth pooled in her belly. Goodness, she had no idea a kiss could be so powerful.

His lips moved from hers and to her cheek, then ear, and finally the neck. Tess' head fell back and she enjoyed every incredible moment. Who knew when she would ever experience this again, if ever?

"There is nobody in the hall," Rosemary whispered.

"Are you sure we should do this? Isn't it dangerous?" Sophia whined.

"We have to. She will be thirsty soon and Atwood will not be able to control her any more than Walter could Brunhilda," Eliza insisted.

"But isn't Atwood a vampire too?" Sophia asked. "Won't this make him angry?"

"Clearly Atwood can control his thirst," Eliza explained. "His wife will be a different story and I do not intend to be her meal."

"It is just so dangerous," Sophia worried.

Rosemary and Eliza turned to look at her. "Would you rather stay back here, alone?" Rosemary taunted.

Sophia blanched. "No, I will go with you."

"Do you have the hammer and spike, Rosemary?" Eliza asked.

"Yes, but you have to do it."

Eliza rolled her eyes. "Of course I will. It has already been decided."

The girls inched into the dark hallway and stopped outside their host's door. They looked at each other and took a deep breath. Eliza turned the handle and they entered the room. Rosemary held the spike, ready to defend herself. They shut the door behind them and stared into the darkness, trying to make out shapes.

"We need light," Sophia whispered.

"Just a minute." Rosemary inched her way across the room to the door that adjoined to Miss Crawford's. She opened it and the light from her lamp and fireplace penetrated the darkness in this room.

"Get her lamp," Eliza hissed.

Rosemary disappeared into Miss Crawford's room and returned a moment after with a lit candle.

Quietly the three approached the bed. Rosemary lifted the candle so they could see the woman who slumbered there. They held their breath in anticipation.

"It is empty," Sophia sighed with relief.

"That doesn't mean she isn't in here. We need to check the closet, or anywhere else she could hide."

The girls clung together and walked to the other side of the room, staring into the dark corners and behind furniture, waiting to discover the vampire. After a thorough search, nothing was found.

"Where do you think she has gone?" Rosemary asked.

"Atwood must have moved her to a safer place. He knew it was dangerous for her to be here," Eliza decided.

"Perhaps he has a castle somewhere. That is what Walter did," Rosemary offered.

"We should go before anyone finds us in here," Sophia insisted as she glanced around the room one last time but a piece of paper caught her eyes and she walked over to the table beneath the window. One sheet listed names. They were names she was well familiar with. Beneath the names was another piece of parchment. Another piece of the map.

"What is that?" Eliza asked as she came to stand beside her.

"Atwood's piece."

"What should we do with it? Give it to that nasty man so he will go away?"

"No," Sophia answered, her voice stronger than either girl had ever heard before. "We will make a copy." She looked up at them. "Not an exact copy, of course. Then we will return the original here and give Miss Crawford the copy."

"And how will you explain how we should know about the map?" Eliza questioned.

"Then we leave it somewhere where she will find it." Sophia shrugged.

"One of the books. I will find it in my book," Rosemary suggested with excitement.

The girls blew out the candle. Rosemary returned it to Miss Crawford's room and they left as quietly as they had arrived.

# Chapter 22

He could not get enough of her. If she would have discouraged him at any point, Vincent would have pulled back. Instead, she clung to him, and made soft mewling sounds. Did she have any idea what those sounds did to a man? She also wasn't acting like any innocent he had ever met, which meant he did not need to hold back, if he wished to proceed further.

His fingers found fastenings at the back of her dress. He wanted to loosen her bodice before he did anything else. Her hands moved from his neck to plant firmly on his chest.

His lips trailed down her neck to the edge of her bodice. _Only a few more inches._ He pushed the dress further down.

Vincent lifted his head to view the sight. Only a thin bit of muslin kept him from her skin. With both hands, he pushed her chemise down and she was free. Perfect, just as he had envisioned. One hand caressed a breast as he brought his mouth to the other. Miss Crawford moaned and arched her back.

While his mouth loved on her, his hand reached down to grasp the hem of her skirt. Slowly he lifted it until her leg was exposed. With his hand, he caressed her from knee to thigh. All of her was as soft as he originally believed.

His fingers were a fraction of an inch from the apex of her thighs when she pushed on his chest. No, she could not want to turn back now. _Please no._

He lifted his head to look at her. Miss Crawford's eyes were wide. Her face pale. "Please, I cannot do this."

He wanted her with a need he had never experienced before, but he was not a monster. He pulled away while she straightened her gown. Her hands shook as she reached around behind her and tried to refasten the few buttons he had managed to undo. "I can't believe I behaved in this manner. What must you think of me? I've never allowed such liberties."

"Here, let me." He turned her so her back was presented to him and finished what she could not reach.

"You've never allowed a kiss?" _Please, don't lie to me. Not after this?_

Her face burned bright and she smoothed her skirts. "I've allowed kisses in the past. But they were never like that."

If possible, her face turned even redder. So, he kissed the best. Better than Percer. A grin pulled at his lips.

He stood to retrieve the bottle of brandy. They both needed a drink right now. He returned and stopped before her. Miss Crawford's eyes were focused on him, or at least his physical reaction to her.

She looked up at him. "I'm sorry."

At least she wasn't so innocent she didn't understand the bulge in his pants. He chuckled. "I will survive." Though he wasn't so certain if he was the one telling the truth now.

Miss Crawford accepted the glass. "Lord Atwood, I want to assure you, I have never behaved in this manner before."

"Vincent."

She turned to look at him. "Pardon?"

He grinned. "Vincent. It is my name and I wish you would call me by that instead of my title."

"Oh, I couldn't."

"Well, perhaps not in front of the students or other teachers, but when we are alone, working. Do you think that is possible, Tess?"

Tess swallowed. "I suppose."

She took a hasty drink, then a second, and then a third. Vincent lifted the glass from her hand. "I am afraid if you keep drinking so quickly you will regret it in the morning."

"I am sure that isn't the only thing I shall regret," she mumbled.

He placed his hands on her face and turned her toward him. "Tess, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Your innocence is still intact and what occurred between us is quite natural."

"Not for me. I am a teacher and held to high standards."

"I promise not to tell." He bent forward and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. "Now, you should return to your room. If you sit here much longer, looking as desirable as you do now, I may not be responsible for my actions."

Her eyes widened, but she stood and made her way to the door. "Goodnight, Lord...I mean, Vincent."

He could hear her slippered feet run up the stairs. Oh, it was going to be a very long night.

Tess closed the door and leaned back against it. What had come over her? She should have stopped him long before his hand was on her leg, but the will to do so was not there.

She'd always wondered what it would be like to have a man kiss her in a way that made your toes curl. She had heard it was possible, but never truly believed it until tonight. Then he did those other things to her body...My goodness, one must not behave in such a way so close to the fireplace because she was positive she would burst into flames if she got any warmer. So warm she wanted him to strip the dress from her. To be free. To finally know what happened between a man and a woman, but she had stopped herself. If she hadn't ended it when she did, she knew it would have been all over and her innocence but a memory.

Tess slowly walked into her room and sat on the bed. Perhaps she should have allowed him to make love to her, completely. She may never again have the chance. And, who better to make love to you than Lord Atwood? The experience alone would warm her for many a night on her voyage to America.

No, she was right in stopping him when she did. She had enough to worry about without a pregnancy on top of everything else. Her virginity was not a concern because she doubted it would ever be an issue. As long as she had to run and hide, she could never love and marry.

Perhaps she should return to him. Would it be so bad to have that one experience to remember forever?

Tess shook her head. _Stupid girl. You need to leave tonight to save yourself. You lost your head once over a gentleman and look what it got you. You are wanted for murder. Eventually Atwood will find out too and turn you in._ Even the memories of tonight would not keep her warm in Newgate.

With determination, she placed the bag from Claudia on the bed and walked to the armoire. She would pack and go. Time was of the essence.

# Chapter 23

What possessed him to kiss her? Vincent's intention had been to gain her trust but she had looked so alone and afraid that the will to protect rose within him. The more they spoke, the more he could not resist until the only thing he could think of was kissing her. Now what was he to do? He still did not know the truth of her relationship with Percer or if she did, in fact, murder her uncle. How could he be drawn to her, knowing what little he did?

But drawn to her he was and something had to be done to rectify the situation.

Vincent looked around the library. It would be impossible to work tonight so he might as well turn in. After he blew out the candles in the library Vincent made his way to his room. There he lit the lamp beside his bed.

After pouring a glass of brandy, he pulled off his shirt and wandered to the window to look toward the path into the woods. He dearly hoped he did not see Tess run in that direction. Not after what they had just shared.

As he placed his glass on the table he noticed the parchment turned over and picked it up. It was the list of names but where was his piece of the map? He searched the table, the floor and under the bed. It was gone.

The door crashed against the wall and Tess jumped. She was just about to leave her room and sneak out of the house.

"Where is it?" Vincent demanded.

The blood must have raced from her for suddenly she was chilled, even in her cloak. "Where is what?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

She took a step back as he advanced on her. "No, I don't."

He stopped and his eyes raked her from top to bottom. "Are you going somewhere?"

She swallowed. She was in her cloak and carrying a bag full of her clothing. A lie would not suffice right now. It was better not to answer.

"I should have known better than to trust you." He stalked toward her.

Tess continued to back up, suddenly afraid. Where was the lover she had been with a short time ago?

"Did you think to seduce me into giving it to you, but changed your mind? That is the tactic your fiancé used."

"Fiancé?"

"I know all about Percer and your betrothal."

"No, you don't understand." She dropped the bag.

"Then explain it to me. Or is there another reason you met him in the woods last night."

Oh dear, how did he know? "I can explain."

"I already know. You were sent here to retrieve a piece of the map and return it to him."

"No, I mean, yes. Wait. Let me explain," she begged.

He stood, feet braced apart, arms crossed over his chest. "Explain!"

"I was engaged to Percer, a very long time ago, before I knew what he was like."

"Go on."

"He found me here and threatened me."

"With what? What did he want?"

"He wanted the piece of a map. He already took mine. I thought he would go away after that, I prayed he would go away, but he demanded I find yours."

"And now that you have it, you are on your way to meet him."

"No," Tess cried. "I don't have it. I am running from him. Don't you understand how dangerous he is?" She knew she was screaming but he had to be made to understand. She could still get past him and to the door and would if necessary, though she doubted she could outrun Vincent.

"It is no longer where I left it. So who do you suppose took my piece of the map?"

The statement shocked her. No, it couldn't have disappeared. Unless Percer somehow got into the house. That thought scared her beyond anything else. While she was lying on the couch with Vincent, Percer could have been up here wandering around, doing anything he wished. "Oh, no." She rushed for the door.

Vincent was there in a heartbeat and grabbed her arm. "Where do you think you are going?"

"I have to check on the others. If he got in here, he could have hurt any of them. Don't you understand how dangerous he is? How evil?"

Vincent stepped back. "He could not get in the house."

"Then where did your piece of the map go? I don't have it and that man is obsessed with getting all of them."

Vincent gently held onto her arm and pulled her into his room. He tugged on the bell pull and turned back to her. "Why run now? All you had to do was give him the paper, once you located it, and he would leave you alone."

A knock sounded at his door and Wesley appeared.

"I want you to awaken the servants and search the house."

"Has someone broken in?" Wesley straightened his jacket as if not disturbed by the possibility.

"My _document_ is missing. Miss Crawford fears Percer may have come into the house to get it."

"That would be most unpleasant." Wesley sniffed. "I will notify you with what we learn." Wesley closed the door behind him.

Vincent turned back to her. "You did not answer my question."

Tess pulled her arm away. It would do no good to try and run now. It was over and she would have to face her punishment.

"If I remain, he will see me arrested." She was surprised by how calm her voice sounded now.

"Because he claims you murdered your uncle?"

How did he know? Tess swallowed and blinked back tears.

"Well, did you?"

She looked him directly in the eye and answered. "Yes."

# Chapter 24

Her answer was a punch to his gut. Vincent had hoped there was a mistake, but she had just admitted to murder. That sweet, beautiful woman looked at him with those grey eyes and told him she murdered her uncle. It was incomprehensible.

"Tess, are you all right dear?" Mrs. Wiggons' voice called from inside Miss Crawford's room. "I heard you scream." She eventually found her way into Vincent's room.

"Do you normally employ murderers to teach your students?" he asked her in a cold tone.

"Oh, dear," she muttered and turned to Tess.

"Oh, goodness." Miss Morris stopped abruptly behind Mrs. Wiggons.

"Oh, my," added Miss Pritchard. A slow, appreciative smile graced her face.

Both of the younger ladies had their eyes focused on his chest.

Their appraisal of his body, or at least his chest, brought heat to his face. Good Lord, he was blushing like a school girl.

"We shouldn't be in here," Mrs. Wiggons pulled Tess back into her own room. The other teachers followed, though Miss Pritchard moved a bit slower.

Vincent stalked after them. He focused on Miss Crawford and pointed to her. "You. Don't go anywhere." He marched back through his room and found his previously discarded shirt on the floor and put it back on, then stalked back into Miss Crawford's. He stopped and anchored both hands on his hips. He had no idea what they had been discussing, but their urgent whispers stopped the moment he entered the room.

"Now, would you mind answering my question, Mrs. Wiggons?" He turned his focus next on Miss Crawford, or whoever the hell she was. "Or, would you like to explain why you murdered your uncle?"

All three women spoke at once and he didn't know who said what.

"Oh, it is nothing like that."

"You misunderstand."

"Tess, explain that you are not a murderess."

However, Miss Crawford remained silent and stared at him. Her face deathly pale. He hoped she didn't faint before he got his answers.

"Let Miss Crawford explain," he suggested in what he hoped was a calm tone, but these women were giving him a headache. Something he had not had to deal with in two days and did not relish experiencing anytime soon.

"It is as I said," Miss Crawford began in a quiet tone. "I shot my uncle." She sank into a chair in the far corner of the room.

"It is not that simple," Miss Pritchard insisted.

"What isn't simple about pointing a pistol at someone and pulling the trigger?" he asked Miss Pritchard, but his focus remained on Miss Crawford.

"For one, she was aiming at Percer." The answer came from Miss Morris and his focus immediately shifted to her, then back to Miss Crawford. He should have known there was more to the story. "Explain," he demanded of Miss Crawford.

She turned pleading eyes on Mrs. Wiggons, her face flushed red. Well, at least she didn't look like she was about to faint.

"You need to tell him, dear. This has to come from you."

She turned to look at him and lowered her eyes. A pained expression crossed her face. She took a deep breath and stood. "I was foolish enough to believe Percer was interested in me, well...for me."

"There is nothing foolish in thinking that," Miss Morris admonished.

Vincent had to agree. A man would have to be dead not to be interested in Miss Crawford. Or perhaps not. Didn't half the town believe he was actually dead? So, anyone dead or alive would be interested in her.

She offered a grateful, yet small smile to Mrs. Wiggons and continued. "I learned that he was only after my piece of the map. Or my uncle's actually."

"Go on," Vincent prompted when she paused.

"I heard them arguing one night. I had come down the stairs and stood outside of my uncle's study. I feared he was turning Percer out. But what I did hear chilled me to the bone." She stopped and walked to the window, her back rigid. Vincent did not urge her to continue but waited for what came next.

"He said he had no intention of marrying me."

Her voice came from somewhere far away and Vincent knew she had returned to that night and was no longer in the room with them.

"My uncle said he had learned enough to deny the marriage. Percer said it didn't matter. That he didn't really want me but the map."

Vincent wanted to go and comfort her. He must have taken a step because Miss Pritchard's hand on his arm stopped him. He looked in her direction and she simply shook her head. A sad smile on her lips.

"I heard Percer say, 'Give it to me and I will be gone'. I peeked through the crack in the door and saw that he held a gun on my uncle."

Good lord, she didn't go in, did she? If so, how did she get the gun from Percer?

"I ran upstairs to my room and grabbed my father's pistol. After I loaded it, I ran back down. When I got there, Percer still had the gun trained on my uncle who swore he did not know about the map piece." She gave a dry laugh. "Of course my uncle knew exactly where it was, he had hidden it in my room. It used to be in a book in the library, but he feared a common room was not safe enough and had me hide it in a false bottom in my jewelry box."

Miss Crawford turned to focus on the group. "I stepped into the room and leveled my father's gun on Percer and demanded that he leave. He laughed at me."

Vincent's blood ran cold with the thought of her facing Percer, or anyone, with a pistol ready to shoot her.

"He pointed the gun at my uncle. I pointed mine at him. He demanded that I tell him where the map was. I asked him if the courtship had always been a lie. For some strange, self-loathing reason I wanted to know. He laughed harder, as if the thought of being attracted to me was too much to comprehend. It was really all I needed to know. I lifted my gun further and demanded that he leave. He turned to look at my uncle, who had moved from behind the desk to the front. I demanded that he leave again and insisted that my uncle knew nothing of the map piece."

Vincent noted the tears in her eyes and Miss Crawford turned away from them once again. He knew this had to be incredibly difficult for her.

"My uncle approached and insisted we didn't have the piece. Percer said that was too bad, for now he would have to shoot both of us for nothing. He pointed the gun at my uncle's head. I knew he would shoot. I remember my finger on the trigger. My uncle screamed no and placed himself between me and Percer the moment I pulled the trigger."

Her shoulders slumped. Again Vincent took a step in her direction. Miss Pritchard kept hold of his arm.

"The servants were there in a moment. Percer was yelling at how I had shot my uncle because he refused to allow me to marry Percer. That he only had his own gun out in self-defense."

Miss Crawford turned back to them. "I don't remember much of what happened after that, except the blood. There was so much blood. . ."

"Move on, Tess," Mrs. Wiggons encouraged.

Miss Crawford looked up at her. A tear fell down her cheek. "The servants didn't know me well and they believed Percer. I was taken and locked in my room until the magistrate could be summoned. Percer swore he would see me hang for the murder of my uncle, unless I turned over my piece of the map. He was still convinced I knew where it was even after our denials."

The tears fell freely now but she did nothing to wipe them away and Vincent's heart ached for her. All he could think of was bringing her comfort. Miss Pritchard's hand finally fell from his arm and he moved forward to gather Miss Crawford in his arms. He held her tight against his chest as the sobs wracked her body.

Percer needed to die for what he had done to so many and Vincent would happily put a bullet in the blackguard's heart.

Vincent offered soothing words that he hoped were not empty of meaning. "I will protect you. I will not let him harm you further. You have my promise." These were said into her hair, in hushed tones. Vincent did not know if the others heard him or not, nor did he care. This woman, who cried her heart out, had stolen a piece of his. She had stood, ready to defend someone she loved, and not flinched. He had seen seasoned men on the battlefield turn from danger, but this woman faced it head on.

He had not thought it possible, not after Veronica, but this small wisp of a woman made him hope again. Hope that love had not left him after all.

The sound of someone bumping into a piece of furniture in his room brought his head up. The three other women looked in the same direction. They had heard it too. Vincent brought a finger to his lips and urged them to be silent. He disengaged himself from Miss Crawford and walked silently toward the door. He picked up a candlestick and blew the light out. Slow and steady he entered his room. A figure could be seen on the opposite side of the bed. He raised the weapon and advanced on them but stopped when he noted the size. This was not Percer.

He drew closer, noted the blond hair and let his arm drop. "Miss, what are you doing in my bedchamber?"

The young woman turned and looked at him with wide blue eyes and gasped. "Lord Atwood, please forgive me."

"Lady Sophia Trent, what are you doing in his lordship's bedroom?" Miss Morris demanded from the doorway.

The girl cringed. "I only wanted to return this." She held up his piece of the map.

Vincent grabbed it from her hand. "What were _you_ doing with this?"

"I was trying to make a copy." Her eyes shifted to Miss Morris and she shrugged. "Not an exact copy, but one good enough to fool Lord Percer."

_Save me from well-meaning females._ "To what purpose?" Vincent demanded.

Lady Sophia swallowed, then focused her eyes directly on Vincent.

"To save Miss Crawford. If Lord Percer believed he had the right piece, he might go away, and perhaps he would think he had enough to leave the others alone."

Vincent cocked his head at her statement. "What do you know of Percer's demands?"

Her eyes shifted back to Miss Morris, but Vincent did not look in that direction. "We were in the woods last night. We heard everything."

He would beat their behinds and lock them in their rooms. Surely their parents would understand. "What possessed you to be out there so late at night?"

"Because we heard him earlier and knew we had to save Miss Crawford."

This was too much. He needed one question answered at a time. Yes. He had to think this through logically, or illogically, given he was dealing with young women who couldn't be past fifteen.

"So, you decided to save Miss Crawford. How did you know where to find my piece of the puzzle?"

Again her eyes shifted to Miss Morris.

"Please look at me when you answer the questions or I will ask your teacher to leave."

Her eyes returned to his and she worried her bottom lip. Vincent wondered if she would ever respond.

"I found it, by accident."

"What else would bring you to this room if you were not looking for my piece of the map?"

She blanched. "We, um, well, we, you see..."

"Spit it out!"

"We came to see if your wife was here." She took a hasty step back.

So, this was what they had conjured when they saw him carry Miss Crawford that night. It was all too much and Vincent threw his head back and laughed. When he recovered he looked down at the young girl. "Had you found her here, what would you have done?"

"Not I, but Eliza. She was the one prepared."

Vincent noted that she hadn't answered the question, but he could very well guess. If he could, he would burn every book containing that wretched story.

"So, in the process of looking for my wife, you found the piece of the map?"

"Yes, and the list."

"Yet you did not take the list. Why not?"

"I already knew the names."

Tess gasped from the doorway. She had heard more than she cared to and would have another talk with the girls, not that it appeared to do any good. Both Vincent and Sophia focused on her and she stepped further into the room. "How could you possibly know the names?"

Tears flooded the girl's eyes. "Because my father is on that list. I saw it at home."

The wind was knocked out of her. It was not possible that three people possessing parts of the same map were all living under one roof. "Give me that list." She held out her hand.

Sophia picked it up and handed it to her. Tess read through the names. "I didn't realize this Trent was your father."

"It isn't an uncommon name."

"And you knew what to look for when you heard us discuss the map?"

Sophia nodded her head.

Tess sank down onto the bed. This was too much.

Sophia rushed forward and sat down beside her. "You don't need to worry, Miss Crawford. I won't let him seduce me."

Those words brought her back to reality. "Of course not." Tess bit back the smile at Sophia's earnest assurance.

"I heard him in the woods. Even if he tried his very best, it would never work. Why, he is much too old for me."

Tess could not take anymore. Sophia was so urgent, so serious, so like a soldier that she couldn't help but laugh.

Lord Atwood walked forward and placed his hand on Sophia's shoulder. She looked up at him, as did Tess. "That is very brave of you."

Humor twinkled in his eye and he winked at Tess.

"I am worried though." Sophia slumped against Tess.

"You needn't be. We will see that nothing happens to you," she tried to assure the young girl.

"You don't understand. I worry for my father."

"I am sure he will not come to harm," Lord Atwood comforted.

Sophia stood and faced them both, her back rigid. "Are you both mad?"

Her angry tone stunned them. "He has Miss Crawford's. He wants Lord Atwood's."

"But he isn't going to get it," Atwood insisted.

"He already has three of the six," she cried.

"Those won't do him much good." Tess tried to comfort the girl, not understanding why she was suddenly so upset.

With a frustrated sigh, she stalked across the room. "Do you, by chance, know whose pieces he has?"

Tess looked at Atwood. He shrugged.

"What do you know of the other names on the list?" Sophia demanded.

Tess stiffened at the rebuke from the child. Atwood seemed to stand a bit straighter as well.

Tess reread the names. She knew absolutely nothing about the others.

Sophia grabbed it from her. "I do," She insisted. "He has the pieces of Banter, who was shot in a hunting accident. Shortly thereafter, his house was ransacked."

A cold dread swept over Tess.

"He also has the one belonging to Lord Gibbons. He was killed when apparently thugs attacked him in London. While everyone was at his funeral, his house was robbed as well."

Tess glanced up at Atwood. Any humor he possessed before had disappeared.

"That leaves Davis and _my father_ ," she cried.

Tess stood and went to the child. "I am certain your father is taking every measure of security."

"That doesn't mean that Lord Percer won't get to him, or my mother, or anyone else in my family."

"I will send a note to him immediately," Atwood assured the girl.

Sophia looked up at him. "Davis too?"

"Do you know the identity of Davis? All I've ever had is the name."

"Lord Parham, Gaylord Davis."

"I'll see that it is done, immediately," Atwood insisted.

Tess turned to the young girl. "Do Eliza and Rosemary know what you have told me?"

The girl looked down sheepishly. "No, I was afraid to tell them."

"May I ask why?" Tess suspected it was because Sophia knew the importance of keeping this secret.

"They would both think it grand and decide to look themselves. They could never understand the danger."

Tess' respect for the child grew. Perhaps she wasn't as foolhardy as the others.

"It is one thing to pretend, or possibly believe and scare yourself into believing that someone could come back from the dead. But it is something entirely different when there is a real monster, who will kill to get what he wants."

A chill ran down Tess' spine. Yes, Sophia was a bit more mature than her two closest friends and she had to respect how the girl had gone along with them with nary a word. "Would you like to stay with me tonight?"

Sophia smiled at her. "No. They are waiting for me now. If I don't return they will come to investigate."

"They still think my former wife roams the house?" Atwood questioned.

Sophia turned a light shade of pink. "I am sorry, Lord Atwood."

He laughed. "It is better they worry about fictional monsters than what we truly need to be concerned with."

"I agree." The tension appeared to have left Sophia and her shoulders relaxed as she walked to the door. She stopped and turned toward Tess. "I promise to be alert and cautious. I made that promise to my father and I am making it to you, as well."

The girl was very wise. "Thank you, Sophia."

The door clicked shut and Atwood turned toward her. "Would you join me in my study, Miss Crawford? I have two letters that need to be written and delivered."

# Chapter 25

Vincent held the door so Tess could precede him into the library. There was little light from the low embers in the fireplace and he moved around lighting lamps and candles. She stood in the spot where she stopped, not sure what to do. "Please, take your seat behind the desk."

Tess made her way to the comfortable chair, retrieved a piece of foolscap and readied the quill.

Vincent paced before the fireplace, beginning the letter to Sophia's father and stopping only to start up and then backtrack. Tess wrote and crossed out words, knowing she would have to recopy the correspondence once he decided exactly what he wanted to say.

With a frustrated sigh, he turned to her and ran his fingers through his hair. "I can't come right out and tell the man what has happened, or the threat he faces."

Tess set the quill aside. "Who do you trust above all in this house?"

"Wesley, of course,"

"Have him deliver the message verbally. It is better that this situation be explained in person rather than read in a letter."

He looked at her, a smile tugged at his lips.

"Very good, Tess." He walked to the bell pull to summon his valet. "However, I cannot send him."

Tess leaned back in the chair. "Why ever not?"

"I need the man," Vincent answered as if she asked a ridiculous question. "He will know who to send however."

A scratch sounded at the door. "Come," Vincent announced.

Wesley stepped into the room. "We found no one in the house, Lord Atwood. And everything is locked and secured."

"Thank you, Wesley. We managed to find the map piece."

The valet's face relaxed. "Very good, sir. Will that be all?"

"No." Vincent sighed and rubbed his dry, tired eyes. When this was over he was going to sleep for a week, if the students managed to remain quiet, that is. "For this conversation we need privacy."

After he closed the door, Vincent explained everything that had happened. Well, not everything, for which Tess was grateful. Wesley grew pale, walked to Vincent's decanters, and poured himself a glass of what Tess assumed was whiskey. He downed it and poured another, then turned to his employer. "I don't know why it didn't occur to me before." He walked across the room and sat in the large leather chair.

"What?" Vincent watched him with interest.

"The names. I should have made the connection." The man sipped from the glass.

"I don't follow?" Vincent shared a confused look with Tess.

"Every one of those men have estates, or at least the families do, close by. The furthest one away is only a day's ride, and all are along the coastline, like this one."

"So, you think they all knew each other?" Tess prompted.

"Or at least when that map was originally drawn up."

"My parent's home wasn't far from here, to the west. Sophia's family lives about the same distance but to the east."

"At least it explains the odd coincidence. But why did the men make up the map to begin with?"

"I wish I knew. It has caused nothing but trouble." Tess toyed with the quill in her hand.

Wesley stood abruptly. Apparently the shock of what he had been told had now worn off. "What shall you have me do?"

"I need to know who we can trust to deliver messages, and not be sidetracked on their mission, and remember everything I tell them. Someone with excellent recall."

Wesley sipped as he pondered the request. "Michael and David would be best."

Vincent poured himself a glass of brandy, though it held much less than it normally did. "Please send for them."

The two servants, one a footman and the other a stable hand, arrived in a matter of minutes. However, their appearance left much to be desired as one was still tucking his shirt into his pants and neither had bothered to use a comb on their hair. Vincent didn't seem to care but Wesley studied them with a critical eye, brow raised. Each blushed and tried to straighten their clothing further. What astounded Tess were their faces. Both had the darkest of hair and the most brilliant blue eyes. Neither could have been over sixteen years of age. They had to be brothers, because they were practically identical in appearance. The only difference was the clothing they wore.

"I have a very important task for both of you," Vincent announced.

Both straightened and their arms fell to their sides as if they were soldiers being given orders.

Vincent told them exactly what they were to say. He questioned them and asked them to repeat his words. When he was satisfied they would not fail, he settled into a chair. "Take horses from the stables and do not stop for anything. Return here and report directly to me when you are done."

"Yes, sir." They both bowed and quit the room.

"Will that be all, sir?" Wesley asked, turning to his employer.

"Yes, Wesley. I am sorry to have disturbed you so late in the evening."

"It was not inconvenient, Lord Atwood, and certainly urgent. I shall see you in the morning."

He closed the door behind him when he left. Tess rose from the chair and stretched. It had been a very long and arduous day.

Vincent poured another glass of brandy and held it out to her.

"I don't think I should."

"It will help you sleep," he insisted.

With reluctance she took the offering and settled onto the couch. Vincent sat down next to her.

She hoped he did not try to kiss her again, or touch her person. It was wrong to behave in such a manner but she feared she would not have the will to fight him.

He smiled at her over the rim of his glass and her stomach quivered. This was a dangerous place to be. She should return upstairs, alone, and crawl into her bed. Alone.

No, she should be planning on where she would go next. Percer could still come after her. He still expected her to deliver Atwood's piece. If she didn't leave, she would go mad waiting for him to contact her.

Perhaps if she never left the house, then he could never get word to her. Also, she should forbid the girls from leaving as well. She turned to Atwood. "I think we need to keep the girls in the house. If they must go out, for whatever reason, they should not leave the terrace area."

He sighed and cradled the goblet in his hands. "I understand that you wish to protect the students, but keeping them inside will not do them any good. What explanation could you offer?"

"They can't roam the estate. _He_ is out there and I don't doubt that he will use whatever means necessary to get the piece of the map. He already threatened to use Sophia so what is to stop him from hurting someone else?"

Vincent reached over and grabbed her hand. "I agree. However, if we change their behavior, he will know. I think that would be more dangerous."

"But it is too dangerous to allow them out," Tess insisted.

Vincent shook his head. "I will alert my staff. Perhaps it is time I put them to work on the grounds. If they are out in abundance, and keeping a lookout, the girls will be safe and Percer won't be the wiser."

Tess wanted to believe him, but she needed assurance the girls would remain safe.

Vincent must have read the reluctance in her face. "Trust me, it is best this way. I am certain he is watching the house very closely, if not looking in windows. He wants that piece of the map badly."

Tess brought her hand to cover her mouth. Oh no. Was he watching tonight?

"Tess, what is it? You have gone very pale."

She swallowed and then lifted the glass to her lips and took a deep drink.

"I demand you tell me what has upset you. You are practically shaking."

She looked up and met his eyes. "It was late when I met Percer last night."

"Go on."

"I explained what I was doing. He already knew. He said he saw us through the window."

"I am not surprised. But why should that upset you?"

"What if he was watching us tonight?" Heat spread across her face.

"Then he will conclude that I have a strong desire for you or you were doing what was necessary to obtain the piece of the map."

Tess stilled and looked at him. He didn't seem at all concerned that a voyeur was watching his attempted seduction of her.

His eyes narrowed as he continued to look down at her. "What was it tonight, Tess? Were you with me because you wished to be?"

She didn't understand what he was saying. Why else would she have allowed such liberties?

"Or, were you willing to use your body to get my piece of the map?"

Her hand came up and smacked him before she gave thought to her actions.

Vincent grinned and rubbed his jaw. "I suppose I have my answer."

Tess set her glass on the table and stood. "How dare you assume I would prostitute myself for a piece of the map!"

Vincent came to his feet and looked down at her. "I had to ask. You allowed me to kiss you, to touch you. Then, you were going to run away from my house never to be seen again. What else could I think?"

Her spine grew rigid. "I told you everything upstairs and you still think I have an ulterior motive?" Hot anger flowed through her veins like lava. "If I allowed you such liberties only for a piece of the map, why would I have stopped you from going further?" she demanded, her face burned from this embarrassing argument.

"A change of heart?" he goaded.

She turned and walked to the door. "I can assure you, _Lord Atwood_ , we will never engage in such immoral activity again."

Tess reached for the door but his arm snaked around her abdomen. "Tess," he whispered in her hair. "I would never dream you would prostitute yourself for any reason"

She remained rigid. "Why did you accuse me in the first place then?"

"In case he is watching."

Tess stiffened against him.

"He witnessed your working, my attempted seduction and now our argument."

"And?"

"It is better Percer not know what to make of our relationship."

"We don't have a relationship," Tess bit out.

"Perhaps not yet, but we will."

She turned and pushed him away. "It would be well advised if you kept your distance, Lord Atwood." Tess turned and strode from the room.

# Chapter 26

Vincent watched Tess as she marched up the stairs. He should go after her, but held himself back. There was too much to think about. Too much had happened tonight.

He turned back into the library and closed the door behind him. She did allow liberties, not as many as he may have wished. For a moment, he did wonder if she was willing to do anything necessary to get the map and it was a valid question. How well did he know her anyway?

She'd deceived him since they met. Had Percer not shown up here, would he have ever learned her true identity or the fact that she had killed her uncle?

He turned and walked to the sideboard where he refilled his glass. At least it wasn't murder. No, a horrible accident for which she would always blame herself. Given the same circumstances, he would probably lie as well.

The question now was what to do about Percer. No doubt the man would make contact, very soon, to see if Tess was successful in obtaining his piece of the map.

Vincent's gut tightened at the thought of _that man_ being alone or even in the vicinity of Tess.

No, her true name is Theresa. Vincent settled into the leather chair by the fire. Theresa didn't fit her. Tess did, however and he wondered if he would feel differently had he been introduced to her as Theresa. He didn't believe so.

Regardless of what she called herself, Vincent knew he needed to protect her. Percer was capable of murder, unlike Tess. Vincent knew in his gut that Percer had been responsible for the deaths of Gibbons and Banter and would probably not hesitate to kill another.

If Tess did give him the map piece, he would kill her too because he'd not want to leave anyone behind who could identify or stop him. If she didn't comply with Percer's demands, then how soon would it be before a magistrate showed up at his door to arrest her for the murder of her uncle? And, who would the courts believe? Percer actually had a sterling reputation amongst the _ton_. Of course, they didn't know his true character. Whereas Tess had run from the crime, changed her name and hid. All actions of a guilty party. If she did not hang, she would be shipped off to Australia.

The thought sickened Vincent.

Something had to be done about Percer before he destroyed any more lives.

"Did anyone see you?" Eliza asked in an anxious tone when Sophia returned to their bedroom.

Her face heated but she looked her friend in the eye and lied. "No."

"Oh, I was so afraid you would be caught. Or that Lady Atwood would find you." Rosemary dramatically fell into an overstuffed chair.

"Now, all we need is for Rosemary to find the fake map piece in her book tomorrow and give it to Miss Crawford," Eliza concluded as she crawled into bed.

Sophia turned to look at her friend. She had forgotten to tell Miss Crawford about that part of the plan then dismissed her concern. When it happened, Miss Crawford would know what they were about. At least she hoped.

This was getting too complicated. But, at least the adults knew the truth, which was important. She just had to keep her friends from becoming too involved. They would never appreciate the danger until it was too late.

"Sophia, are you all right?" Eliza questioned.

"Of course." She turned to her friend. "Why would you ask such a question?"

"Because, you are rather pale, and you look a bit worried."

She forced a smile. "It is nothing. I am just tired, is all. And worried about Miss Crawford and that awful man."

"Don't worry." Eliza smiled. "We will see that she is safe. I am certain that once she gives him that piece he will not bother her again."

Sophia bit her lip before she answered. "I am certain you are correct." She so wanted to confide in them, but if she told them that Percer would probably kill Miss Crawford anyway, they would not believe her. Perhaps they would try something even more foolish than they already had. "We need to get some sleep so we are alert."

Rosemary stood and yawned. "I am exhausted from everything that has happened."

Sophia choked back a laugh. If only they knew.

Tess woke to an overcast sky and rain. Thank goodness. The girls would have to be inside and she didn't have to worry about Percer, at least not for today. Her mood lightened as she dressed and made her way to the breakfast room. One by one the girls entered and took their seats.

"I hate rainy days. We were to explore the far woods to identify plants that grow in the shade," a young girl whined.

Tess shifted her eyes to Natalie. She needed to tell her all excursions that took the girls away from view of the house would need to be put off for the moment.

"Actually, I was going to change the lesson," Miss Pritchard announced and Tess sighed. "It is too late in the year. Perhaps in the spring Lord Atwood will allow us to return. There will be flowers and plants in abundance at that time of year."

The young girl offered an unhappy sigh and returned her attention to her food.

"Miss Pritchard, you are welcome to return and explore the grounds of the estate anytime you wish," Lord Atwood announced from the doorway.

Tess glanced up at him. He had only joined them for a meal once before. He took his place at the head of the table and the footman set a plate loaded with food before him.

"Thank you for your offer, Lord Atwood. We do not have wooded areas around the school and thus we are limited in our explorations."

He smiled at her. "Don't forget I have a greenhouse that needs attention as well. Once you are back at the school, if you still wish to make use of it for your studies, simply alert my staff beforehand and they will make sure it is available to you."

"Again, I thank you for your generosity."

His smile was uncomfortable, as if he was not used to being paid a compliment and then he turned his attention to Tess. "With the rain, I am assuming the students will need to remain indoors today."

"I will make sure they do not go up to the second floor."

His lips quirked. "Don't worry. If I need silence, I have a place I can hide."

She didn't want to ask where that was, but she knew it had to be somewhere in the house, since he had disappeared twice before to sleep elsewhere. She couldn't imagine where it would be.

Tess glanced down the table. Eliza and Rosemary shared a conspiratorial look. She would need to keep a close eye on those two, or they were sure to go snooping and disturb Atwood once again.

Conversation continued around the table as Tess sat back and sipped her coffee, not ready to begin another day of teaching. In fact, she was very tired at the moment. She would love to return to her bed since this was the perfect day to sleep away. But, duties called and she needed to keep the girls busy as it was.

Atwood pushed away from the table, stood and looked down at her. "Miss Crawford, if you have a moment I would like to speak with you in the library."

"Of course." She set her cup on the table and stood to follow him. What could he possibly want to discuss with her now? She was still angry from his accusations last night, but admitted he was right to keep Percer guessing about their relationship. Not that they had one, or ever would for that matter. Of course, she did wonder why Atwood thought they would.

He closed the door behind her. She did not take a seat, but remained standing in the middle of the room. She must not allow herself to become comfortable in his presence. To do so would invite behavior she should not exhibit, especially while the students were also in this household.

Atwood leaned back against the desk, his arms folded across his chest. "You are becoming almost as indispensible to me as Wesley."

This comment surprised her. "How so?"

"The correspondence," he explained. "What we managed to do these past two days would have taken me a week."

She frowned. She hadn't done all that much, really.

"You don't understand. I cannot read or write without inviting a headache."

Tess studied him. "Surely you know how to read."

Atwood threw his head back and laughed. "I assure you, Miss Crawford, I am well read, or used to be until the war."

"Because of the war, you now have headaches?" She did not understand how the two could be related.

"Yes," he answered simply and offered no more. "I hope you will continue to act as my secretary for the duration of your stay."

She arched an eyebrow. She had only been a productive assistant one of the two nights she took his dictation and feared he would want more liberties and less correspondence, given her earlier behavior.

He tilted his head and looked at her, the left corner of his mouth lifted. "Don't you trust me, Miss Crawford?"

Heat spread across her face. She should not assume he wanted her to continue for anything immoral, despite what had occurred before. "Of course," she answered.

# Chapter 27

Vincent fought to keep the smile from his face. Her emotions played out in her eyes and he knew she expected him to ask her for favors a gentleman should not ask a lady. Or, at least a lady who was not his wife. While he would enjoy an intimate relationship with Tess, he would not demean her in such a manner.

"Do you still wish to continue meeting at seven?" Her eyes remained downcast, as if she were afraid to look at him.

"As we have for the past two nights." Though this was ill-advised, he relished having her all to himself in the evenings.

"And we would still work until after midnight?" She worried her bottom lip after asking the question. Was Tess concerned with the amount of time they would be alone, sequestered in this room? Perhaps she should worry because at the moment, he was not thinking about the stack of correspondence on his desk but focused on her lovely lips instead.

He gestured toward the desk. "I am afraid some nights could be late, until I am caught up on everything requiring my attention."

Tess took a deep breath and folded her hands primly before her. "I understand, given the past few days, that you expect that I do not sleep. To tell you the truth, I am exhausted and can no longer remain awake as I have. Therefore, I would request that we complete our work by ten."

"Three hours is hardly enough time." He stalked toward her. "Any other requests you wish to make?"

She stiffened as he walked behind her. "That the door remain open."

He put his hands on her shoulders. "But I prefer my privacy." He bent forward, his lips a mere fraction from her cheek.

Tess pulled away and turned toward him. Her spine was stiff as a board and her chin held high. "Lord Atwood, I understand you may believe I would continue with an intimate relationship, but that will not happen. Last night was a mistake and if you wish for my presence for anything other than secretarial duties, I am afraid I must decline."

He crossed his arms over his chest. She was so adorable, so indignant and he couldn't help but smile. "We already agreed that you would perform the duties I requested in exchange for my letting the students and teachers remain here."

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. "Are you trying to blackmail me into continuing to help you?"

He groaned. Blackmail was a tactic Percer used. He was just trying to tease the delightful teacher but her words sobered him. "I am sorry, that is not what I meant."

Her shoulders relaxed, though only a small bit.

"If I promise to behave, will you continue to act as my secretary?" He couldn't believe he was about to beg her, but he was willing to do just about anything to obtain her agreement.

"There are other teachers who would be just as proficient, and probably more, than I am," Tess argued.

"I don't want them." He took a step forward. "I want you."

Tess stepped away from him. "Which is why, perhaps, you should request their assistance instead of mine."

"Very well." Vincent sighed and turned away. "If I promise not to touch or kiss you, will you continue to act as my secretary for the duration of your stay?" When he turned to look at her, his eyes pleaded with her to say yes.

A blush formed on her cheeks and she quickly looked away. Ah, so she wasn't so against him kissing her. She was afraid of what would happen if he kissed her again. At least he hoped those were her thoughts.

"And we stop at ten?"

He raked his fingers through his hair. "Yes. But that leaves me with hours of nothing else to do."

The right side of her mouth quirked. "Perhaps you should try sleeping, as the rest of us do."

He had to tell her. He never bothered to explain to anyone else, but his staff. Tess had a right to know of his affliction. The one he alluded to a moment ago. "Please, have a seat." He gestured to the couch.

"I can't, not at the moment, Lord Atwood. The students are waiting for me."

He glanced at the clock. It was well past the breakfast hour. "Very well. I will see you at seven."

She scooted past him and was out the door before he had a chance to call her back.

The girls were already gathered around the long dining room table. Remnants of breakfast were long gone and books lay open as girls read and wrote their papers. Tess strolled down one side of the table, and glanced at the progress each student was making.

"I wonder what this is," Rosemary exclaimed, holding a piece of paper.

"Is there anything written on it?" Tess asked as she walked in the girl's direction.

"No, just odd lines." She handed it to Tess. "Is this the type of markings you mentioned yesterday? Should I put it back in the book where I found it?"

Tess looked at the document and bit her lip to keep from smiling. So, Sophia had been successful in replicating a piece of the map.

She glanced down at Rosemary, who looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes. Oh, she would have to keep an eye on that girl. She looked over to Sophia, who sat next to Eliza. She bit her upper lip and looked back down at her book.

"I think I will hold onto this." She continued on and ignored the whispers behind her. Undoubtedly, Eliza and Rosemary were discussing how successfully they fooled her.

Tess glanced at the student's papers some more, but her mind was not on what she read. In fact, at this moment, she could not remember the topic of any of the papers. Her mind was on the map. Perhaps Sophia had a plausible idea. If she gave the piece she now possessed to Percer, would he believe it was real?

Not that it mattered. Regardless of what he thought to be true, he would still either kill her or have her arrested as soon as he was in possession of the piece of paper. That is what she feared most. However, it was better that she was in danger rather than Sophia.

Tess wondered if Percer knew the connection between Sophia and the Trent listed. Had he simply picked her from among the girls, or was he taunting Tess with the possibility of using the young woman further?

The thought sent a chill up her spine. Whatever his reasoning may be, Tess knew they would need to remain diligent in protecting the girl and would mention it to Atwood when they met this evening.

This time a thrill raced through her body and Tess chastised herself. She must not think about his kisses or caresses. She must maintain a professional relationship with him at all times, no matter what.

With her new resolve, she turned her attention to her students and tried to concentrate on what they had written. She failed miserably and memories of the night before invaded her brain.

# Chapter 28

Vincent rubbed his dry, scratchy eyes. This was the first time since his return home that he had not slept during the day. He decided, after Tess' comment, perhaps he should sleep at night, as did the rest of the world. The servants did keep the house sufficiently dark during the day, with draperies closed in any room that received sunlight, so he was not pained. However, it was unfair to them to have to clean and work in muted light. If he could, he would allow the brightness into the rooms and should not punish them because of his affliction, which is what had brought about his sleeping during the day to begin with.

The students needed the light as well. How could they get any work done by candles alone? Besides, young ladies were not meant to be stuck in a dark gloomy house.

He glanced out the window. The rain had held off but the day remained overcast. He amended his thought. They should not be stuck in a house made gloomy despite the weather outside.

Restlessness ate at him but there was nothing for him to do, not while they were in his home because he could only go from his library to the stairs, and into his room. The only route that did not have curtains opened at the moment. Besides, though Tess' students were in the dining room, several times he was interrupted by teachers and girls to retrieve a book. Not that he was doing anything when they arrived. He tried to work, but gave up after a few moments. Why torture himself? There was no point when it would only bring a headache. And with Tess as his secretary, he hoped to go without those for a very long time.

He paced and walked toward the door leading to the patio. Even had the sun been shining, it was late in the afternoon and the area was sufficiently shaded at this time of day but Vincent couldn't remember the last time he had sat outside. Even when the sun didn't beat down here, he remained inside. Of course, he would normally be asleep.

Vincent turned the handle and stepped outside. He paused and waited. No pain. He closed his eyes and inhaled the cool, crisp fall air. He opened his eyes once again. It was good to be outside in the day and he would make a point of spending more time on this terrace in the future. Doing what, he had no idea. But at least he no longer felt like a creature of the night.

Voices caught his attention and he glanced to the south side of his estate. Servants were clearing the wood line, cutting trees and limbs, chopping logs into pieces small enough for the fireplaces. He had no idea if the house already had enough wood for the winter but it was the only job he could think of that would keep the men outside and alert.

The plan was all well and good for the daytime, but what of the night? How could he protect the students, teachers and especially Tess?

He scanned the wooded area. Was Percer watching him now?

"Sir, you are outside," Wesley exclaimed with surprise.

Vincent smiled and turned. "Very strange, I know."

Wesley straightened. "Actually, it is about time."

Vincent chuckled, not affronted by his servant's chiding tone. "Is there a reason you wished to see me?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes, young David has returned."

Wesley's tone and demeanor changed to one of gravity. Vincent feared what he would be told. "Send him to me."

Wesley stood back and allowed the young man to pass.

"What news do you have?" Vincent asked.

The boy twisted his hat and looked up at his employer, fear on his face. "Lord Parham is dead, sir."

Vincent knew he should remain upright, stiff and authoritive, but found it difficult. He willed himself to remain standing when he wanted to sink down into one of the chairs. He was the employer and in charge of this household after all. "How?" Please let it be a natural death.

"They think he took too much medicine."

He focused on the young man. "Was he ill?"

"No, injured."

"How so?" Vincent demanded.

David's eyes grew round and he took a step back. Vincent immediately regretted his harsh tone. It was not David's fault, he was just the messenger. "Tell me what you know," Vincent continued in a calmer voice.

"Sir," Wesley stepped forward. "Perhaps we should take this discussion inside." His eyes scanned the surrounding wooded area.

Vincent glanced around as well then nodded his head and followed David and Wesley back into his library. "Did you see something, someone?"

"No, sir. But, one cannot be too careful and I would hate for Percer to learn of what few plans we have or what we have already determined," Wesley explained in a hushed tone.

"Yes, you are correct," Vincent sighed and took a seat behind his desk. He focused on David. "What did you learn?"

"The housekeeper said Lord Parham had been shot with an arrow."

"How on earth did that happen?" Wesley asked.

"Nobody knows, but most believe it was an accident. Perhaps someone who missed an archery target."

"Was a target, or arrows, found in the area?" Vincent asked, though he already suspected what the answer might be.

"No, sir. Which is why the housekeeper doesn't believe it was an accident either."

"Go on." At least someone in that household had some sense.

"The arrow got him in the shoulder and he was on the mend, but still in a lot of pain, I guess."

"How much medicine?" Vincent stood and walked to the decanter of brandy.

"A whole bottle," David answered in awe.

Vincent whipped around and looked at him. "Of what?"

"Laudanum. The doctor had left a full bottle to get him through his convalescence and Parham drank the entire thing."

Vincent's stomach turned at the thought. He knew from experience that even the slightest bit over what a doctor recommended could make a person sick. Even though he had built up a tolerance, he could not drink over one-third of a bottle without becoming ill. Parham should have been passed out before he could have finished half of it.

"Did no one think it strange that he would drink an entire bottle of laudanum? A fraction of that would have relieved his pain and put him to sleep."

"That is what the housekeeper said. She doesn't believe for a minute he drank it on his own."

Neither did Vincent. "So, who helped him?"

The boy's eyes grew big. "That is just it, sir. Nobody knows."

"Could you not find out any other information?" Vincent demanded. "Who else was in the house? What visitors had there been? Are any employees or servants now missing?" With each booming question the boy sank further back. Vincent forced himself to quiet his tone. "Did you learn anything else?"

"Only that the door from the parlor leading outside had been left open all night. The footman insisted he locked it with all of the rest of the doors before he went to bed."

Vincent returned to the decanter and poured himself a drink. Somehow Percer had gotten into the house and killed Parham by forcing the laudanum down his throat. Even though he had no proof, Vincent would continue to remain diligent in his watch over Tess and the estate. He just hoped Trent was well. Not only did he not wish any harm on the man, but he now knew his daughter as well and did not want to see her suffer in any way.

"We have looked everywhere." Rosemary sighed and sank down onto the top step of the long, dark stairway.

"There has to be some place we have missed," Eliza insisted and paced along the hall.

"She is not on the very top floor," Sophia offered.

"Nor this one," Rosemary groaned. "We have looked in every room, closet, and armoire, anything big enough to hide a body."

Eliza stopped her pacing and stared at them. "Are you sure we did not miss any room on the main floor."

"No, I mean, yes," Sophia answered, exasperated. "She is not there and I wonder if she is even in this house, or alive for that matter."

Eliza knelt down and looked her in the eye. "I know what we saw, as does Rosemary. You cannot deny that he was carrying his wife in the hall."

Sophia sighed. "I suppose so."

"Then, it stands to reason he has hidden her away somewhere." Eliza stood and resumed her pacing.

Rosemary straightened and brightened. "We never looked in the cellar."

"Why would he put her in an old, dusty, moldy cellar?" Sophia asked. "This is his wife after all."

"How many cellars have windows?" Eliza asked pointedly.

Rosemary jumped to her feet, ready to continue the search. Eliza started down the stairs. Sophia groaned again and stood to follow.

Eliza peeked around the corner and into the kitchen, then turned back to her friends. "It is empty."

"At this time of day?" Sophia questioned.

"Dinner isn't for hours," Rosemary reminded her.

Sophia strained to look past her friends. She'd never known a kitchen to be deserted at any time of the day. "I just don't want to be caught," Sophia insisted.

"Are you going to be a ninny the entire time?" Eliza asked. "Maybe we should make you stay here."

Sophia's eyes grew wide. "No. I would rather go with you than be left alone here." She looked around the smaller dining room, which she assumed was the breakfast room as none of them had been in here before. The walls were papered in an ornate, yet dark pattern of gold and brown. The chocolate colored velvet curtains were pulled tight against the daylight. Not that there was any brightness today. Black, iron scones were spaced along the walls at even intervals, and must have come from before the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and the fireplace, on the opposite wall, was large enough to roast a boar. The floorboards were worn, and darkened, almost black in this poor lighting. Though a lovely cream, green and brown rug graced the floor beneath the table, it did not help deter from the positively gothic feel of this room.

"Sophia, come on," Rosemary hissed.

She turned to find her friends had moved through the kitchen without her, and Sophia hastened to catch up.

Eliza pulled open the door to the cellar, took one step down and stopped. Rosemary peeked over her shoulder. "It is very dark."

"I didn't bring a candle," Sophia reminded them. "We should come back when we have one."

Eliza rolled her eyes and moved past her friends and back into the kitchen. She stood in the center of the room and looked around then retreated back into the horrid dining room. Eliza returned a moment later with an ornate candelabrum and lit the three center candles.

Rosemary squealed with delight and clapped her hands. "It is perfect."

"Yes, perfect," Sophia offered in a dry tone. Perhaps Miss Crawford was right. They should stop reading horrid novels because right now, she felt like she had stepped right into the middle of one. And just like the stupid heroines in those books, she followed her friends into the dark abyss when everything inside her screamed to turn and run away.

A damp chill surrounded her ankles the further they descended into the darkness. This was a very bad idea, yet they continued on, with slow, careful steps until Eliza announced they had reached the bottom. Eliza raised the candles above her so they could look further into the room. Cobwebs hung from the rafters and Sophia suspected more than a few mice had taken up residence in this space.

"Come on," Eliza whispered and moved forward.

Rosemary was practically plastered to Eliza's back and Sophia wasn't all that far behind her. They turned the corner and Eliza gasped. "Look at all the wine."

Rosemary and Sophia stepped around her.

"Look how clean it is."

Sophia had to agree. The rows of wine bottles that lined the walls did not even have a speck of dust on them. How very odd.

Eliza spied the sconces on the wall and began lighting them to brighten the room. In the center was a chaise lounge covered in dark red upholstery. A cream and cranberry satin blanket had been tossed across the bottom and a pillow rested in the carved, dark, heavy wood chair. A table had been placed between the two items of furniture. An unlit lamp sat in the center and a glass, full of red liquid, sat beside it.

Rosemary walked over and peered down. "Do you think it is blood?"

Sophia sighed, marched forward and took it from the table. She was about to sniff it to determine the vintage of wine when someone, or something scraped along the inside of the wooden door centered on the opposite wall.

Rosemary and Eliza screamed. Sophia dropped the glass. It broke, splattering the contents on the floor among the shards of glass as she turned and ran after her two friends.

# Chapter 29

"Miss Crawford," Vincent yelled from the door to the library. He brought his palm to his head, immediately sorry for his volume. It was almost as bad as the earsplitting screams of three young ladies who just ran up his stairs.

She hurried down the hall from the parlor. "What is it?" Her eyes and tone were anxious.

"Did I not demand that the _children_ remain quiet?"

"You demanded they remain on this level of the house," she reminded him.

"Had I been asleep in my bed those screeches would have still awakened me," he barked and marched back into the library.

Tess followed. "If you would like, I will go see what has disturbed them."

Vincent shook his head and held up his hand. "No." He grabbed the bell pull and yanked.

Wesley materialized in a matter of seconds. "Yes, Lord Atwood?"

"Why were those girls running through the house screaming?" It had been such a peaceful few days without the pain in his head. Now it was back in full force. All because of _them_.

"I believe something must have scared them."

Vincent snorted and walked to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. "Obviously! What exactly frightened them _this_ time?" He pinched the bridge of his nose then took a long drink.

"I shall find out what I can and return," Wesley offered and quit the room.

"I can go ask," Tess suggested.

His eyes bore into hers over the rim of the glass. "You," he bit out, "will stay right here until we are at the bottom of this."

She slinked away from him.

He should not be coarse with her, but they were _her_ students.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Tess offered in a weak voice while she remained on the opposite side of the room.

Vincent glared at her. "Have you ever considered muzzling them?"

Tess bit her bottom lip and did not answer. Her eyes shifted to the door. She probably hoped Wesley would appear so she could escape.

Vincent downed the glass of brandy and poured another one. He knew it was the only thing that helped him through this pain.

Her head tilted and she studied him.

"What?" he barked out.

"Where does it pain you?"

"Here, here and here." He pointed to his forehead, temples and the top of his head. "Why?"

She moved forward. "Lie down."

His eyebrow shot up with intrigue. "Pardon?"

"I said, lie down," Tess ordered.

If his head hadn't pained him so much, Vincent would have found delight in being ordered about by Tess. Especially since she wanted him on his back. A place he wouldn't mind having her, if he were pain free.

He did as she suggested. "This doesn't help," he insisted.

"Just be quiet," she reprimanded and pulled a chair to the end of the couch. A moment later he felt her fingertips massaging his temples. Her hands soothed his brow. Occasionally she would stop in her ministrations to press a finger to a particularly sore spot on his scalp until the tenderness disappeared. Every muscle in his body began to relax and the pain dimmed. Vincent let a sigh escape.

Her hands moved away, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Not yet."

Her chuckle was low. "Just one moment and I will be right back."

He didn't open his eyes but could hear her move about the room and blow out the candles until no light shone on his closed eyelids. She returned to her seat and placed her hands back on his head. Another sigh escaped.

"Lord Atwood, I believe I have discovered the reason for. . ."

Tess looked up. She had just finished pulling the blanket up to Atwood's chin. He had fallen asleep a short time ago, but she continued to massage his temples until a snore escaped his lips.

Wesley stepped out into the hall and Tess followed, closing the door behind him.

"What were the girls up to?" She didn't try to mask the irritation in her tone.

"They were exploring the house and something scared them in the cellar."

She was going to kill them. No doubt they were still searching for Lady Atwood.

"I will see what I can do," Tess offered. "Though I fear another lecture will do very little," she muttered under her breath.

She began to walk up the steps but was stopped by Wesley.

"How did you get him to sleep like that?"

Tess didn't understand. Lord Atwood usually slept during the day.

"He is relaxed," Wesley continued.

"He is asleep, as you just pointed out."

"No, did you see his face?"

She shrugged. He looked like any normal person when they slept. Perhaps he was more handsome than most, but nothing else was out of the ordinary.

"It is relaxed. Even in his sleep, when the headaches are bad, his brow is wrinkled."

A smile pulled at her lips. "Oh, that is because his headache is gone. Or will be when he wakes up."

"It had to be her." Tess heard Eliza insist as she opened the door.

All three girls looked up at her entrance. Their faces where ashen, eyes wide.

"Who?" Tess demanded and closed the door behind her.

"Lady Atwood," Rosemary insisted.

Tess took a deep breath in order to try and calm herself. She was anything but calm at the moment. "Am I to understand that you went to the cellar in search of a non-existent vampire?"

"But she does exist," Eliza insisted.

"She does _not_ ," Tess yelled.

Each of the girls scooted back at her tone.

"I have had more than enough of this from the three of you." She paced as her anger rolled off her body. "Vampires do not exist. Lord Atwood is not a vampire and he has _not_ brought his wife back from the dead."

"But the noise..."

Tess turned on her. "Could have been anything, Eliza!" She stared down at the three of them. "I have had more than I can take of your foolishness. You will cease and desist now. You will stop with these crazy imaginations and use your energy to better your studies. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Miss Atwood," they each answered in unison and in docile tones.

She knew better than to trust they would give up on their beliefs, but perhaps they would behave, at least for one night.

Tess strode for the door. When she had her hand on the doorknob she turned to them. "If this continues, I will write to each one of your parents. If it still continues, each of you will be sent home." She exited the room and slammed the door behind her.

# Chapter 30

Vincent opened his eyes slowly and waited. Nothing. Thank goodness. He stretched his arms over his head then moved to sit up. The room was blanketed in darkness, except for the low fire. _What time is it_?

"How are you feeling?"

Her voice came from the area of his desk and he turned. "Better than I have in days," he answered as he stared, trying to make out her appearance.

The flint struck and Tess lit the lamp at his desk, illuminating her face. "I had a tray prepared for you." She stood and motioned to the covered dishes on his desk.

His stomach growled in response. "How long did I sleep?"

"It is just past nine now."

"You should have awakened me." He took her abandoned seat and lifted the covers. Though cold, the food still looked appetizing and his stomach growled.

"You had been awake a full twenty-four hours when you fell asleep. I thought it best to leave you to your slumber."

He picked up a piece of bread and sat back and studied her as he nibbled at the crust.

"Is there something I could get for you?"

"No," he smiled. "I believe I have everything I need."

She fussed with her skirt before she took a seat in the chair across from him. "I want to apologize for the girls."

Vincent reached forward and poured a cup of tea. He had forgotten about them. "What scared them?"

"A noise in your cellar."

His head jerked up and his eyes bore into hers. "What were they doing in the cellar?" he demanded in slow deliberation.

Tess scooted back. She hadn't expected this reaction. What was so important about that part of the house?

"I am sorry. It is just that . . ."

"You don't need to explain," Tess hastened to say. "They should not have been snooping and I have had a long talk with them."

Vincent arched an eyebrow and looked at her. "Do you think they will actually listen to you this time and behave?"

Tess bit her bottom lip and turned away. "I would hope that they do. I've threatened to write to their parents if they do not."

"I am not certain those three will ever listen to anyone," he chuckled and slipped his spoon into the bowl of cool soup. "At least not when they are together. I shudder to think what their husbands will have to put up with."

"I am sure they will eventually mature," Tess offered with hope.

Vincent lifted his eyes and looked at her. "You have much more faith than I do."

She chuckled and relaxed. "By the way, Rosemary found a piece of the map in a book today."

"How is that possible?" Vincent asked as he continued eating his meal.

"I am certain it is the piece Sophia copied. I thought we should give it to Percer."

The spoon clanged against the Wedgewood bowl. "Are you out of your mind, Miss Crawford?"

She stood and looked down at him. "Percer is going to return and demand a piece of the map. I don't see why we can't give him this one."

"Because as soon as he thinks he has it, he will kill you at worst, or have you arrested at best."

She sighed and turned away from him. Her normally erect spine curved due to her slumped shoulders. Surely Tess did not feel she was already defeated.

"Which is why I will be leaving."

"What?" he yelled and stood at the same time.

She whipped around and looked at him. "It is the only answer. I am not safe either way and it is better if I leave the country. I had not meant to tell you, but I could not leave without an explanation. Not after you have done so much for us."

Vincent moved around the desk so that he could stand directly in front of her. Her head lifted so she could look up at him. "You will not run from that madman. I will protect you."

"How?" she cried.

"I will find a way." He punctuated each word so she would understand.

Tess threw up her hands and turned away. She walked to the sidebar and poured her own glass of brandy. The woman must be truly disturbed to take such an action.

"Have either of your servants returned?" she asked, her back still to him.

Vincent grimaced. Now was not the time for such news but she had a right to know. "David has. He is the one I sent to Lord Perham."

Tess turned to look at him. "At least the man will now be able to guard against danger."

"Perham is dead." There was no better way to say it, so he didn't try to soften the impact of his words.

Tess swayed and grabbed the corner of his desk for support.

Vincent marched forward and assisted her to a chair.

"How?" Her eyes searched his for answers.

"It has been deemed an accident."

"But you don't believe so?" she persisted.

Vincent took a seat and ran his fingers through his hair. "No," he answered before he told her all that he had learned.

She stood to pace. Agitation flowed off of her in waves. "I can only hope Sophia's father is well."

"I am sure he is," Vincent offered in an attempt to comfort her, but couldn't deny he was concerned. Michael had yet to return.

She stopped before him and looked down. "Now you must realize the necessity of my leaving?"

He smiled at her and her ridiculous statement. "I understand no such thing."

"My being here can only bring danger to you, the household and the girls."

Vincent reached out and grabbed her hands. "You do not think I can protect you and them?"

She threw her head back and looked at the ceiling. "You could try, but Percer cannot be trusted."

"I believe I am rather insulted." Vincent stood to look down at her.

"You misunderstand." Her eyes met his.

Vincent lifted his hand to cradle her cheek. "No, I do understand," he offered in a soft quiet voice. "You have every right to fear, but I will protect you. I promise."

He leaned forward and brought his lips to hers, grateful when she did not pull away, but returned his affection. His arms snaked around her waist and pulled her to him. Tess' arms came up and around his neck. Her fingers caressed through his hair. Vincent groaned and delved further and Tess met him every step of the way.

His hands moved forward to clutch her bottom to pull her tight against his body. Tess reared back, broke the kiss and pulled away from him. "We should not have done that!"

"Why?" He knew his smile must have infuriated her because her spine stiffened as well as her soft lips.

"I told you I would not behave in such a manner again. We are to have a professional relationship, _only_."

He reached out to her but she maneuvered away from him.

"I am serious, Lord Atwood. I will not carry on a dalliance with you, especially with impressionable young ladies in this household."

"I am not seeking a dalliance."

"Further," she continued as if she hadn't heard, "I intend to have the fake piece of the map delivered to Percer and be gone in a very short time."

"Tess, you are not going anywhere," He ground out.

"You cannot stop me."

He arched an eyebrow and looked down at her. He knew the look to be a challenge.

"You have no hold on me," she insisted. "It is best that I disappear and safer for everyone."

"I can protect you," he insisted once again, his tone soft.

"How?" she cried in frustration.

"Marry me."

Tess could not believe he had just made such an outrageous suggestion. For a moment, all she could do was stare at him, stunned, and had to make a conscious effort to close her mouth.

"Are you going to say anything?" Vincent asked, an odd smile quirked on his lips.

"Are you insane?" she cried.

The smile fell and at that moment, Tess knew he had been serious. She would not weaken. Despite what he may have just said, Atwood certainly could not seriously consider marrying her. "Why?" she asked when he said nothing further.

"To protect you, of course,"

"That's no reason to marry," she dismissed and turned back to the door. She had every intention of retreating to her room, where she would stay for the night.

"I have others," he called from behind.

She turned to look at him. "Other what?"

"Reasons to be married." He grinned at her and shrugged.

"What could those possibly be?" Her frustration with this man increased by the moment.

"I can protect you,"

"You already offered that reason. I can protect myself," she argued and dismissed him.

"You have been the best secretary ever in my employ and I'm loathe to lose you." He took a step in her direction.

Tess retreated further. She would not allow him to be within reach. "If I recall, you have never had a secretary before."

"My headaches," he continued. "Nobody can soothe me the way that you do."

"I will be happy to train one of the servants."

He stopped his advance on her and tilted his head, a look of consternation on his face. "How did you accomplish that, by the way? Nothing has brought relief other than brandy or laudanum."

"It is an ancient Chinese remedy." She waived her hand in dismissal. "They called it acupuncture, though they use needles. I simply did the same with my fingers and hoped they would produce the same effect."

"You did. I haven't felt this wonderful in ages." His grin widened.

"It is still no reason to marry." Tess crossed her arms over her chest in determination. There was nothing he could say to sway her.

"Where did you learn about acupuncture?"

"I have a fascination with China," she sighed. "I would love to visit one day, but know that it is impossible. So, I learn all that I can."

"Did you ever want to learn how to do the treatment with needles?" He offered a teasing grin.

She cringed.

"I didn't think so." He laughed and stepped forward.

Tess knew she should step back and away but couldn't her make legs move. His fingers traced the cut across her forehead. "The coloring is quite remarkable. Did you know it is now a greenish brown?"

"I have a mirror," she offered in a dry tone. She knew, as well as anyone, how ghastly her injury looked. "Are we finished?"

"No," he sighed. "Another reason is because I need you."

"You don't need me. You have a house full of servants," she countered.

"I _want_ you." His face no longer held humor but reflected his intent to get what he wanted. His dark eyes bore into hers with an intensity that scared her and Tess turned away.

"That is a base desire that anyone can fill."

"I desire _you_." He reached out and clasped her elbow.

Tess pulled her arm away and moved to stand by the fireplace. "Again, it is fleeting and will pass."

Atwood had not given her one good reason to enter into marriage. Yes, her heart lurched at the possibility. He was handsome, kind, for the most part, and caring, but those were not good reasons to marry either.

She would probably hate herself in the future for saying no, but she just could not marry a man who did not love her. Even if he claimed that to be the reason, she could not trust his words. Percer had said the same thing to her and all he had wanted was her piece of the map. Look at how well that turned out.

No, despite wanting to be with Atwood, and wanting to be his wife, her answer would be no. She just needed to make him understand that. "How long have we known each other?"

"It seems like forever," he answered.

Tess rolled her eyes. "Less than a week."

"As I said, it seems much longer." He grinned.

Tess stood fast in her determination to make him see reason. "How long did you know your first wife?" she countered

The smile fell from his face. "What does that have to do with anything?"

She crossed her arms across her chest once again and tapped her toe. "Answer me."

Vincent shrugged. "At least a year, perhaps more."

"Exactly!" Tess threw up her hands in validation.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Vincent countered with irritation.

"At least you gave yourself a chance to get to know her, to fall in love. This proposal is for _you_ , because _you_ need to protect, _you_ need a secretary, and _you_ want someone to soothe _your_ brow when the headaches get too bad. It has nothing to do with _me_."

"That is not true," he argued.

Tess marched to the door and threw it open. "Then I suggest you come up with a more reasonable explanation if you wish me to be your wife because your current explanations have no merit." She stalked out the door.

"Tess, wait," he called after her.

She ignored him and continued up the stairs, down the hall and into her room where she slammed the door behind her.

# Chapter 31

Vincent was shocked the moment the words left his mouth. Whatever possessed him to ask Tess to be his wife? Yet, once the impact wore off, he knew it was the right decision. But, how did he make her understand?

He fell into the leather chair beside the fireplace. His reasoning was sound, so why had she objected? She needed someone to protect her. In truth, Tess was alone in the world. A lady should never be alone. It was far too dangerous.

However, he had to admit that his other reasons were selfish. Still, it would not be a bad arrangement for her. He was an earl, after all. There were very few ranks above him and most ladies would be thrilled with the title of Countess.

Not Tess.

Frustrated, he stood and made his way to the sideboard and poured a glass of whiskey. Not his usual choice, but Wesley had chosen well and Vincent enjoyed the taste at times like these, when he was utterly and completely frustrated.

How to convince her?

Vincent __ walked to the window and looked out. He could declare undying love, but she would not believe him. Besides, he wasn't certain he did love her. Want her, yes. Desire her, definitely. Want to claim her as his own? Beyond a doubt!

So, what was he to do?

He knew he could make her happy. Tess would want for nothing, including his attention and affection. Women of the _ton_ often went without both once the vows were repeated. He was not like the rest of society and intended on making sure she was a part of his life every single day and night. But would those reasons be enough?

No, Tess would want more than his affection. She deserved more. But how could he promise a deep love? He had only known her a few days.

Frustrated, he turned from the window. She was right. He was insane for considering the idea. Yet, regardless, he knew, deep down, that he wanted to marry her.

Veronica would know what to say or do. He threw his head back and shook it. If Veronica were here, he would not be considering marrying Tess. Still, she would have the answers and help him see the situation with a clear head, as she always had in the past.

For a moment Vincent considered going to the cemetery to visit her grave. Perhaps there he could find some clarity. But there was no longer any reason to.

He placed his empty glass on the desk and exited the library. He knew exactly where he needed to be.

"I know it was her," Eliza insisted as she crawled into bed.

"It could have been anything," Sophia argued as she pulled her nightgown over her head.

"What could possibly make a sound that loud?" Eliza countered.

Sophia shrugged and buttoned her gown. "Perhaps it was a mouse?"

Eliza arched her brows at the unbelievable statement. "Rats?"

Rosemary jumped up on the bed. "Don't even mention such horrible creatures."

"Not even a large rat, from the worst part of London, could make that loud of a sound," Eliza insisted.

"Regardless, I am sure it was _not_ Lady Atwood," Sophia argued as she crawled into bed with the other two. She reached over to turn the lamp down.

"Leave it," Rosemary insisted and snuggled down between the two of them. By the time she was settled only a bit of her chestnut hair was visible.

Sophia sighed and turned on her side so that the light was not in her eyes and tried to sleep.

"I've got it," Eliza announced and sat up in bed, startling the two girls.

"You've thought of something more plausible than a vampire?" Sophia asked in a dry tone.

"Don't be silly, it was her, but I refuse to argue about it further," she dismissed.

"Then what do you have?" Rosemary asked from beneath the covers.

"Tomorrow night is All Hallows Eve."

"Oh, no." Sophia flopped on her back.

"Do you remember what I read to you?" Eliza's tone grew excited.

"You want to find her and put her in a wicker basket?" Rosemary peeked out and asked.

"No, that would be too dangerous," Eliza insisted. "But, we can lead her from the house. Dress up like a ghost, just like the pagans did, and she will follow us away. Then we will lose her in the forest."

Sophia gave her a pointed look. "I note, they were _pagans_."

"So," Eliza countered.

"Never mind," Sophia sighed and pulled the blanket up over her head. She was exhausted. She was worried about her father, about Miss Crawford and that man who wanted to harm them. She really did not have the energy for such nonsense tonight.

Tess tried to sleep, but all she did was toss and turn. It was madness, pure madness. Why did he have to change their professional relationship by offering marriage? Cruel! That's what it was.

For the longest time, she had dreamed of being married to a wonderful man, running his household and giving him children. That was impossible now. Not only was she considered on the shelf, but there was no way even Vincent could protect her.

She flopped on her back and stared at the ceiling. What would it be like to be married to him?

Her body warmed at the thought. She would finally learn what occurred between a husband and a wife and somehow she thought the act would not be unpleasant with Vincent. Not that she had anything to go on, other than his kisses. But, if kisses were any indication, he would certainly be better at that than Percer, who always left her, well, uninspired, for lack of a better word.

Should she take him up on his offer?

_No_. She rolled over and punched her pillow. Vincent did not love her and maybe never would. The man had been deeply in love with his wife. One cannot simply decide to love another. Besides, he had already lost one wife and it stood to reason he would lose Tess too. But this time to the gallows. It would be unfair to him, even if she was able to experience a bit of comfort and security for a short time.

With new resolve to avoid him when possible, or maintain a strictly professional relationship while in his presence, Tess snuggled down beneath the blankets and willed herself to sleep.

Five minutes later her eyes popped open again. With a frustrated sigh, she rose from the bed. She had been looking forward to a peaceful slumber and Vincent had ruined it for her with his ridiculous proposal.

She pulled her robe tight around her body to ward off the damp chill of the room and moved to stir the fire and add another log. The flames burned brighter and cast a glow about the room. It was rather eerie, the way her shadow stretched along the way. With a shake of her head, Tess wandered toward the window. When would Percer contact her? Not that she was looking forward to seeing him again, but she was anxious with the waiting

As if in answer to her silent thought, a light moved in the woods beyond the yard.

He was back.

Tess bit her bottom lip to try and determine what she should do. Give him the wrong piece of the map or stay here and pretend she couldn't see him.

The light moved to the edge of the forest and he stepped out. Percer looked up and stared directly at her.

She had no choice now. He knew she had seen him and it was better to get it over with.

Tess turned from the window and grabbed her cloak. Without bothering with stockings, she slipped on her shoes and picked up the forged piece of paper. She could only hope he believed it was real, and wouldn't have her arrested the moment it was in his possession. Or worse kill her.

The thought sent a chill down her spine. If only she had her father's gun. But it was buried somewhere in the remains of her room, if that room still existed. However, she would not meet him without some type of weapon.

Tess looked around her room but there was nothing of use except for a letter opener so she slipped it into her sleeve. While it offered some comfort, she knew it would be useless against him. No, she needed something better, more threatening.

Tess glanced at the door connecting her room to Atwood's. She had not heard him retire and if he remained in the same habit, it would be hours before he came to bed. She crossed the chamber and cracked open the door. No sound came from inside and she opened the door further and stuck her head in. As the chamber was quite empty, she entered.

The fire still burned bright enough to light the room and she went about rummaging through his desk, closet and dresser drawers, but there was nothing here that could help her.

She didn't risk going to Vincent's library, where he probably kept his gun. Undoubtedly he was still there. Not only did she not want to face him yet, she didn't want him questioning her. He would never give her a gun without an explanation and Tess couldn't embroil Vincent any further into her troubles. He would insist on accompanying her when she met with Percer.

No, it was best that she did this on her own and disappear tonight, if she wasn't killed first.

# Chapter 32

Vincent lifted a candle from the sconce and proceeded down to the basement. "Darling?" he called softly.

There was no response. He continued into the wine cellar. She usually lay on the chaise, waiting for him, but tonight it was empty. "Where are you? Why do you hide?"

The scratching came from the closed door across the room. Vincent grinned. He walked forward, then reached out and turned the handle. "Are you in here?"

She brushed his sleeve and Vincent glanced over. "Ah, there you are. You gave the girls quite a fright today." He stroked the soft hair on her head. "They are lucky you didn't bite one of them. I know how much you dislike strangers."

She leaned closer from her spot on the stool, brushing against his chest.

"I am sorry for being neglectful."

Her green eyes looked up at him, always forgiving, and he picked her up and carried her from the dark storage room.

Tess made her way to the woods and hoped the girls were asleep in their room for a change. Halfway across the lawn, she had second thoughts. This was foolish. She should have alerted Vincent, but she didn't know how Percer would react to seeing his former friend. What if Percer had a gun and shot Vincent?

After a quick prayer, Tess stepped onto the wooded path. Clouds moved over the moon, leaving no light to illuminate her way. A chill skated down her spine. Not only did the wind pick up and whip the dying leaves from the branches but she knew he was in here, somewhere. Her hands shook and she shoved them into her pockets and vowed not to let Percer see her fear.

"Theresa, it is so nice to see you again, and so soon."

His voice, thick with charm, came from her right and she turned just as Percer stepped out of the shadows. She wished she could see him better. Did he carry a gun? Was it pointed at her now?

She backed away. He followed.

"Do you have what I need?"

For a moment she considered lying to him. She was not ready to die. Especially for an imaginary treasure.

"I was not aware of the intimacy you and Atwood shared until I saw it with my own eyes."

Heat scorched her face. So he had been watching them that night.

"You never so much as warmed to my kiss, yet you allowed him to seduce you."

Tess refrained from responding and continued to back away. The only thoughts on the tip of her tongue were insulting and she had no desire to invite his anger at the moment.

"It used to be I could have any woman I wished and Atwood was often left alone." Percer stalked toward her. "Then again, you have always been different."

Tess made sure she remained out of arm's reach.

"Or, did you think to use your body to get the piece of the map? I suppose the loss of one's virtue is minor when compared to the gallows."

She continued until she stepped into the clearing. The clouds moved on, but Percer remained in the shadow of the trees.

"Stop. Don't go any further."

Tess took another step back.

The sound of a gun being cocked splintered the silence of the night. She froze. Surely he would not shoot her now. Not this close to the house where anyone could hear. She continued to walk backwards.

"I mean it, Theresa. I will not hesitate to kill you and be gone before anyone gets out here to help you."

She wasn't willing to call his bluff and ceased moving. "I am going to walk over to that seating area." She pointed to a set of stone benches set beside a small statue. "I will leave the map piece there." Her heart pounded with enough force to beat right out of her chest.

"Why don't you just hand it to me?" His voice was as smooth as silk. "Do you not trust me? I would never truly harm you, Theresa. Remember, we were to be married once."

A short, nervous laugh burst out and she covered her mouth. He stepped out of the woods. His face hardened in anger.

"It was all a lie. Had we married, I am sure you would have found a way to kill me as soon as you had what you wanted."

He had the audacity to shrug and her anger grew. "Perhaps in time, after I tired of you. A wife does serve a purpose." He grinned and focused on her breasts. "They are as lovely as I imagined. I wonder if Atwood appreciated them as much as I would."

Bile rose in her throat with the thought of sharing a bed with that man. She had to erase the image of what he insinuated or she would vomit.

"Hand me the piece of paper," he demanded.

"No. I will place it on the bench and go back to the house."

Percer walked parallel to her as Tess approached the seating area. She needed to deposit the map piece and retreat before he could grab her. There was no guarantee he would not shoot her once it was out of her hands, but she had no other choice. When she reached the bench, she bent and placed the piece of paper on the seat, her eyes focused on Percer. The she placed a small stone on the corner of the parchment.

He continued to approach. Tess straightened and moved back.

The wind gusted and ripped the document from beneath the rock. It flew through the air. Tess turned and sprinted back to the house. Percer shouted curses and ran for the map, ignoring her. She made it to the safety of the library, slammed the door and locked it behind her.

Percer chased along the tree line after the piece of paper. He caught it only when it became wedged against the tree. When he bent to pick it up, a cat lurched at him from the branch above. It clawed his face and bit his ear before Percer threw it off and bounded into the woods, the paper clutched in his hand.

"For an intelligent teacher, you are one of the most idiotic women I have ever met."

Tess whipped around and stared at Vincent. "How long have you been there?"

He pulled away from where he leaned against a table. He'd had a very good view of what occurred outside from where he had stood and his blood had run cold when he came up from the cellar and saw Tess with Percer on the back lawn. The man had a gun pointed at her the entire time. Vincent had pulled his own gun from his desk drawer and waited. As long as Tess remained in control of the situation, which she did as long as she held onto the map piece, he knew he could remain hidden. However, his own gun had remained ready and aimed at Percer the entire time.

It took every ounce of his will not to simply shoot the man. It would have been easy just to put an end to Percer's life and to the disaster he brought but now was not the time. Tess' name needed to be cleared and he wanted proof that Percer was behind the other murders. That would be impossible if the man was dead himself. Besides, it had been so long since Vincent had fired a gun that he wasn't confident his aim would be true. If he missed, would Percer then shoot Tess or come after him?

No, as much as he wanted Percer dead, Vincent would not risk Tess' life to see it done.

"I've been watching since you stepped out of the woods." He walked over and set his gun on the desk.

Her eyes widened with surprise.

"Did you think I would simply stand here without a means to protect you?"

"I am surprised you did not come out and confront him." Tess stepped further into the room, sank into a chair and smoothed her gown with shaky hands.

"I wanted to, but I knew whatever plan you had in that head of yours had to play out."

"Thank you."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He stood, feet braced, arms crossed over his chest.

"I was afraid you would stop me."

"How long have you known when you were to meet him?"

Her frightened eyes looked up into his. "I didn't. I saw him from my room when I retired."

"You acted on impulse?" His anger mounted. The thought that she had planned this meeting angered him but to know she acted without thought made him livid.

Tess pulled back at his harsh voice. "I want it over with."

"You could have been killed," Vincent yelled.

"He could kill me at any time." Her pitch rose to meet his.

"Not while you had the map."

"What was to stop him from simply doing away with me and then searching the house himself?"

"He would never have gotten in. My servants are always alert."

"Even in the dead of night?" she stood and countered. "This needed to be done now. That man cannot have a need to come here. Especially with the girls living under this roof. It is far too dangerous."

Vincent did not want to admit that she had a point, and refused to acknowledge her reasoning. He let his arms drop and took a step forward. "Nothing could have happened to your students. He would have never made it that far before being stopped."

"How are you so certain?" Tess cried, her face flushed in anger.

"Percer wanted the map piece and knew none of them would have it."

"It no longer matters. He has what he came for and has no need to come here again."

"Not until he learns you tricked him."

Tess paused in the middle of the room. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "At least I bought us some time. He still has one more piece to get. Only then will he realize he has been duped."

"What if he has pieces that already match the one you gave him? He could know of your trick before the sun rises. Did you think of that?"

Tess turned to look at him. Her eyes wide and face pale with fright.

"No, you obviously didn't."

"I've got to go." She turned and headed for the door.

Vincent hurried after her. "Go where?"

"Edinburgh. I plan to take a ship somewhere."

"You are _not_ going anywhere. This is the second time you have tried to run away from me. Do you not think I can keep you safe?"

"I am not running from you," she insisted. "It is Percer, he is dangerous. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants. When he realizes what I have done, he will undoubtedly have me arrested. I cannot risk that."

Vincent pulled her into his arms. "I will not let anything happen to you, Tess," he whispered into her hair.

She tilted her head and she looked up at him. "How can you prevent it?" Tears glistened in her eyes and it tore at his heart.

Vincent brought his lips to hers and Tess melted into him as he tightened his hold and delved deeper. After a moment, he broke away and looked down at her. He raised his hand and brushed a tear off her cheek with his thumb. "Trust me."

# Chapter 33

Tess flopped on her back in the bed. Why was she staying? Percer would learn of the deception and come back. What if he brought the magistrate? What if he was so angry he didn't bother with the magistrate and found a way to kill her instead?

A knock at the door brought her upright in bed. Had Percer figured it out already? She clasped the blankets up to her chin. She heard the handle turn on her door and watched as it slowly opened. Tess held her breath, her pulse raced.

"Miss Crawford?" Mrs. Zobard stuck her head in the door and called.

The breath audibly exited Tess' lungs. "Come in, Mrs. Zobard."

She pushed the door open and entered carrying a tray. A smile creased her face. "Wesley and I thought you might have difficulty sleeping."

Tess pushed the covers back and stood. "That I am."

"Well, here is some warm chocolate. That should do the trick." She placed the tray on the table next to the fireplace and poured a cup.

"Oh, that sounds perfect." Tess walked across the thick rug to accept the cup she offered. Poor Mrs. Zobard was in her nightgown and robe. "I am sorry he disturbed your slumber on account of me."

"It isn't a bother." She dismissed with a wave of her hand. "You will have to let me know how good it is. The McClarys down the road sent it over this afternoon. A young man who is courting their daughter, Katie, bought the store out when Katie proclaimed it was the best chocolate she had ever drank. It was far more than they needed and sent some over to the house for the girls to enjoy."

Tess blew on the hot liquid and smiled over the rim of her cup. "That was very kind of them."

"They are the sweetest of souls," Mrs. Zobard agreed. "Now, I will leave you to your chocolate and may you have a good night's rest."

"Thank you," Tess called as Mrs. Zobard exited the room and closed the door behind her.

Tess settled into the overstuffed chair next to the fireplace. She curled her feet beneath her and took a sip of the liquid. It was delicious. Though not any more delicious than other chocolate she had tasted. However, it was sure to do the trick, for she sorely needed a good night's sleep. She could not recall the last time she had gone to bed at a decent hour and slept through the night.

Vincent rubbed his eyes and turned down the lamp by his bed. He couldn't recall the last time he had actually retired when the rest of the world also slept. It shouldn't be unexpected. He stayed awake most of today. He'd been ready to retire earlier, after he's sipped wine in the cellar in the company of Darling. Nobody calmed him the way she did and he had been prepared to fall into bed asleep once he quit the cellar. However, his agitation returned the moment he spied Tess backing out of the woods.

He rolled over and punched the pillow. What to do about Percer and when would he make his next move? Even if he didn't learn immediately of their trick, Vincent knew in his gut Percer would not be finished until he had dealt with Tess. That is what worried Vincent more than anything else. He needed to find a way to protect her and her idea of leaving by ship from Edinburgh was out of the question.

"Come," Vincent called to the knock on his door.

"Lord Atwood, Mrs. Zobard sent up chocolate to Miss Crawford and thought you might enjoy a cup as well," Wesley announced as he entered the room.

Vincent had to chuckle. He couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed a warm cup.

"She thought it was high time you tried something other than brandy," Wesley sniffed.

"You sound as if you disapprove, Wesley." Vincent didn't try to hide the humor in his voice.

"I simply wish it had been I who thought of the solution, sir," Wesley admitted.

After he was gone, Vincent drained the cup and crawled back into bed. Yes, it was very good chocolate.

Eliza ducked into a doorway when she noticed Mrs. Zobard and Wesley talking outside of Miss Crawford's door. Mrs. Wiggons opened her own door and stepped into the hallway.

"I think you should let her sleep tomorrow," Wesley suggested.

"Why, is something amiss?" Mrs. Wiggons asked, pulling the belt on her robe tight.

"I don't believe she has gotten more than a few hours sleep at a time since she arrived here," Wesley said.

"True." Mrs. Wiggons nodded her head.

"Then tonight, she was out again," Mrs. Zobard offered.

Mrs. Wiggons gasped and turned. "Did she meet Percer?"

Wesley glanced around then leaned in toward Mrs. Wiggons. "Lord Atwood says she passed on the piece of the map."

"Oh, dear. I do hope he will let us alone." Mrs. Wiggons wrung her hands together. "If only we can make the other problem go away. I don't know what we can do about that."

"I am sure Lord Atwood will think of something."

Mrs. Wiggons returned to her room and shut the door. Mrs. Zobard and Wesley continued down the hall. Their voices disappeared as they descended the stairs.

Eliza strained to hear what else they were saying but couldn't make out any of the words. What other problem were they talking about?

It could only be Lady Atwood and she would be taken care of tomorrow tonight.

# Chapter 34

Tess opened her eyes and stretched her arms above her head. For the first time in weeks she felt well rested. She glanced about the room and noticed it was brighter than most mornings. Not that any sunlight penetrated this side of the house, but still, there was more light, which led her to believe they would have a cloudless sky this morning. Perhaps a walk around the grounds, as _a large group_ , was in order. It wouldn't be long before winter set in and it was too cold for such activity.

She dressed in a pale blue day gown and pulled her hair up on top of her head. Today she added a matching ribbon and allowed a few of her curls to fall loose, all the while humming a pleasant tune of a song she did not know the name of. Her stomach grumbled and she made her way down to the large dining room. Instead of plates and platters of food, the room was empty. Surely she wasn't so early to have beaten everyone to breakfast.

Tess turned and made her way to the library and glanced at the old clock as she passed. Three steps later she stopped and looked back. It couldn't be ten-thirty, in the morning. She hastened to the front parlor and cracked the door open and listened. Claudia was starting her French lessons.

Her students! Tess rushed to the library to find the younger girls seated in various chairs, on the floor and the couch and each had a book open and were reading silently. Wesley sat in the chair behind Atwood's desk. He smiled and stood when she entered.

"Miss Crawford, I take it you finally slept well."

Heat infused her cheeks. "Yes, thank you. However, I find it rather embarrassing that I slept the morning away."

"I would not worry," he smiled warmly. "Why don't you go into the informal dining room? I am sure Cook held something back for your breakfast."

Tess was about to insist she could wait until lunch but her stomach growled, rather loudly, in contradiction to her thoughts. A few of the girls giggled. "But my class," she gestured to the young students.

"As you can see, they are reading and quiet."

"Pardon me, Wesley," a young maid announced when she entered the room. "His Lordship has requested you attend him."

"Thank you for staying with the girls, Wesley." Her stomach growled in protest once again.

"Anne, could you please stay with the students while Miss Crawford has her breakfast?"

"It would be my pleasure." The young maid bobbed a curtsey.

Wesley escorted Tess from the room. "You go on and I will see what my master needs." Wesley turned and marched up the stairs.

While Tess had a duty to her students, she knew she would be worthless since her loud stomach would constantly interrupt her lessons.

The smaller dining room had its' curtains pulled against the bright sun and was lit by several candles in the sconces along the wall. A moment later Mrs. Zobard burst through the door.

"There you are. We heard you were awake. Cook will have something for you in just a moment."

"Thank you." Tess settled into the chair where plates and utensils had been placed. What else was there to do?

In but a few moments a bowl of fruit and loaf of bread were placed on the table. Preserves and butter were added. Tess picked up her knife to slice off a piece of bread and reached for the raspberry preserves when the door to the kitchen opened again. A maid bustled in with more platters loaded with kippers, eggs, and potatoes. Surely they did not make all of this for her. After the platters were put in the middle of the table, another place was set at the end, beside her, and Tess wondered who would be joining her.

She finished spreading the preserves on her bread when Atwood entered the room.

"Ah, so I am not the only slugabug." He grinned and took his seat.

"You _are_ usually asleep at this time," Tess retorted.

"Yes, I am, but I have decided to try and live as the rest of the world." He reached forward and lifted the platter of kippers and placed some on his plate. "However, I didn't expect to sleep this late into the day."

"Nor did I," Tess admitted. "I can't remember the last time I slept past seven."

"You have been keeping late hours. It was bound to happen that you would eventually exhaust yourself." He spooned eggs onto his plate.

"I suppose," Tess reluctantly agreed. That is the only reason she could muster.

"Eat." Vincent gestured to the food on the table.

Tess did as he suggested, though it was uncomfortable. She was used to eating with a room full of girls and the other teachers, not alone with a man.

"The blue looks lovely on you."

Tess whipped her head to look at him. He was not eating, but sitting back in his chair, cradling a cup of coffee.

"And I like how you have left some of your hair loose. It is a lovely color and should not be bound and tied behind your back."

Warmth flooded her face and she glanced down at her plate. "Thank you." She reached for her knife but instead knocked it off of the corner of the plate and onto the table.

Vincent chuckled, but she did not turn to acknowledge him.

"Why don't you give your students a break? Take the day off?"

She looked up and stared at him as if he were mad. "That's not possible."

"Why? You have already missed the morning lessons. Why not miss the entire day?"

"It simply is not done. Their parents pay a high tuition and I simply cannot abandon my duties," Tess insisted.

"Very well," he acknowledged with a nod of his head. "What class is next?"

"History."

"And what are you teaching?"

"The girls are to present their papers on the countries they researched."

He nodded as if he were actually interested. "I look forward to hearing their reports."

She gaped at him. "You?"

"You must realize that I have no intention of letting you out of my sight."

Her fork clattered against the plate. "I assure you that is not necessary."

He leaned forward, his face having lost all humor. "It is very necessary. You are in danger. By now I am sure Percer has learned you tried to trick him and as you have not hesitated to meet him in the past, alone, I've decided you need a guard. Thus, I will be at your side every waking moment."

Vincent tried to concentrate on his meal, but found it difficult with Tess seated to his right and no other distractions in the room, such as three dozen students. In truth, he was not all that hungry and would be perfectly content to sit and simply watch her, but each time she caught him looking at her, a lovely blush spread across her cheeks and her eyes would dart away. In time Tess would become more comfortable being alone with him. Hadn't they already spent several hours together, just the two of them? Why was she uncomfortable now?

Perhaps it was the compliment, but he couldn't help himself. She looked beautiful this morning. There was color in her cheeks from what he supposed was the result of a good night's sleep, and her hair for once was in a soft, feminine arrangement, instead of those curls being pulled back in a tight, efficient knot at the back of her head.

And for a moment he pondered if he preferred her in this lighter shade of blue, or the darker one she had worn a day or so ago. Both complimented her grey eyes. Hopefully he would see her in both colors more often so he could finally come to a decision on the matter.

Vincent took another sip. When had he formed such a strong attachment to the young woman seated next to him? They'd known each other barely a week, yet he couldn't imagine her out of his life, ever. Though she refused his marriage proposal, he was determined to make her his wife. He needed to marry her, though he could not begin to explain why. At least they still had months together. With the school needing to be torn down and then rebuilt, she would be forced to live with him for the duration. If all went well, such as a bitter winter, then the building would take all the much longer to complete. Certainly by spring, if not before, she would capitulate to his desires.

Rosemary clutched the parchment in her hands. The paper shook. She glanced from Tess to Atwood then back to Tess. "I chose Italy," she began.

When she said nothing further, Tess prompted. "What did you learn about Italy that makes the people unique?"

"They, um . . ." Her eyes strayed to Lord Atwood again. Her face went deathly pale.

This was impossible. Rosemary was the fourth student who had attempted to present her paper, but they were all too intimidated with Atwood sitting behind his desk, watching and listening. Not that she could blame them. He could be very unnerving at times. Half of them probably still believed he was a vampire. Right now she wasn't certain Rosemary could tell her where Italy was on a map, and she was her best geography student. "That is enough for today girls. You are free until your afternoon lessons."

"Might we go outside, Miss Crawford?" Eliza asked.

Tess glanced in Vincent's direction. He simply shrugged his shoulders.

The air would do them good. "Stay by the house. Do not wander to the gardens, woods, lake or gazebo. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Miss Crawford," they answered in unison before they were out the door.

Tess sank into a chair in front of Vincent's desk. "I don't know why you can't be somewhere else. This class time was useless with you present."

He grinned unabashedly and it only inflamed her. "I take my position as a teacher very seriously. We accomplished nothing today, which will put me further behind. You cannot continue to be a constant presence, not if I am going to teach the girls anything."

"Until Percer is caught, you don't have a choice."

"Are you sure no one saw us come out here?" Eliza asked.

Both Sophia and Rosemary looked around and behind them. "No," Rosemary answered and took a seat next to Eliza.

Sophia paused in the doorway and looked around once more, concentrated on the woods behind the gazebo.

"Would you come along, you ninny," Eliza admonished.

Sophia sighed and entered the gazebo, settling into a chair beside the chaise the other two girls sat on.

"When I couldn't sleep last night, I decided to keep watch," Eliza announced.

"Did you see Lady Atwood?" Rosemary asked with excitement.

"No," she answered in all seriousness. "But, I did overhear a conversation between Mrs. Wiggons and Wesley."

This caught Sophia's attention and she pulled her eyes from the surrounding woods and focused on Eliza.

"Apparently Miss Crawford gave Lord Percer the piece of the map last night."

Sophia gasped.

"Which one?" Rosemary prompted. "The real one or the fake one?"

Sophia clutched her skirts. They played a dangerous game and she feared for Miss Crawford's life, her father's, and Lord Atwood's as well as her own.

"The fake one, of course. Miss Crawford is much too intelligent to give up the real one. Percer probably won't even realize it is a fake," she laughed.

Sophia wasn't so confident and feared he already knew he had been duped. They needed to get back to the house right now and she should have never allowed them to come out here, where nobody could see them.

No wonder Miss Crawford was insistent they remain close. At the time Sophia assumed Percer had not returned and believed that as long as he was waiting for the piece of the map they would remain safe.

"We need to go back." She stood and straightened her skirts.

"Sit down," Eliza insisted. "We still need to plan for tonight."

Sophia couldn't sit. Those two would not leave until the evening was set. She paced and listened, ready to run at a moment's notice.

"At eleven tonight we will all dress as spirits," Eliza began.

"How will we accomplish that?" Rosemary asked.

Sophia didn't pay attention to the explanation. She knew they would not be leaving the house tonight. She would say nothing now, but if, when the time came, she could not convince Eliza to remain inside, she would alert Lord Atwood and Miss Crawford. Right now, Eliza would just dismiss her fear as she had more urgent concerns on her mind, like how close was Percer right now?

"Once we have led her away from the grounds and town, we will run back here," Eliza concluded.

"Won't that leave her out there preying on other innocent victims? Wouldn't it be better if she remained here, where Atwood could control her thirst?"

For once, a reasonable question from Rosemary. "I agree," Sophia offered. Perhaps this folly could end now if she and Rosemary convinced Eliza it was more dangerous to allow Lady Atwood to run wild.

"That won't happen. Once she is away from her home and once it is the midnight hour and the veil between the living and the dead thins, she will return to the spirit world and no longer bother anyone."

Sophia sighed. Eliza was determined to do this and she didn't have the energy to argue at the moment. "Fine. Now that it is decided, we need to return. We promised Miss Crawford we would remain close."

Eliza rolled her eyes and stood. "Very well, we will go back."

It took all that Sophia possessed not to run all the way back to the house, but she did not want to have to explain her agitation to her friends. They would think her silly anyway, or worse, plan how to get rid of Percer.

Relief poured through her when they came into view of the house.

"I am not ready to go back in yet," Rosemary whined.

"Then we shall walk the grounds." Eliza looked pointedly at Sophia, as if irritated with her. "Where everyone and anyone can keep an eye on us."

The three girls rounded the manor and came to a stop at the front. A large traveling carriage was parked in the drive. Curious, they approached to see who the visitor was. Recognition began to dawn and Sophia hastened forward. The crest on the door confirmed her suspicions and she ran toward the house.

Eliza and Rosemary took off after her and followed her into the foyer.

"Papa," Sophia cried and rushed past Atwood. "You are alive."

The man chuckled and grabbed Sophia to him.

"Of course he is alive," Eliza snorted. "Sometimes you are so dramatic, Sophia."

"I am very much alive and well, Sophia, but I am glad for your concern." He kissed the top of his daughter's head.

Sophia pulled away and grinned up at her father.

"Shall we adjourn to the parlor for tea and refreshments?" Miss Crawford offered.

Atwood stood back and motioned in the direction of the room. Miss Crawford went first. Lord Hopkins followed, though he leaned heavily on a cane.

"What happened, papa?" Sophia asked.

"Nothing to concern yourself with."

Eliza and Rosemary followed the group and Miss Crawford turned to look at them. "I am certain there are other matters that require your attendance, girls."

The two held back and watched the door close.

Oh dear, they weren't going to let her rest until they got all their answers as to why they'd been shut out. Sophia just hoped she came up with a reasonable explanation, as the truth would never do.

# Chapter 35

Sophia remained glued to her father's side and sat next to him on the settee. "What happened? How were you injured?"

She would not let the matter drop, and Tess could not blame her. "Do you take anything in your tea, Lord Hopkins?"

"No, thank you." He reached forward and took the cup, then focused back on his daughter. "You know how I like to prattle around in the barn," he began and took a sip of the tea.

Prattle seemed like a word an elderly person would use and Lord Hopkins was anything but an old man. He appeared strong and virile for a man of approximately forty or forty-five years, by her estimation.

"Yes." Sophia hung on his every word.

"I was climbing the ladder to the loft and the rungs broke under my weight."

Sophia took a quick intake of breath. Vincent raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

"No, it was not an accident. Someone had sawed through the ones at the top. I held on, but did sprain my ankle."

Sophia hugged her father and tears glistened in her eyes. "Oh, papa, I don't know what I would have done had anything happened to you."

"I am fine." He patted her shoulder. "When I received Atwood's message I knew my suspicions were confirmed and decided to come here to see what we could do about Percer, as well as protect my daughter, instead of staying home and waiting for him to make another attempt on my life."

"Where is mama and everyone else?"

"I've sent your mother, the boys and Olivia to visit your aunt and uncle. There is no place safer than the ducal estate of Crestview and Tristan is safe at Eton, though I have sent a few of my men to watch over him." Hopkins smiled indulgently at his daughter before he focused on the adults. "Have you learned anything further?"

"Miss Crawford delivered a false piece of the map to Percer last night," Vincent explained.

"That was very dangerous, Miss Crawford," Lord Hopkins admonished.

"I agree," Vincent added. "I have already told her as much, especially since he is still a danger to her with or without her piece of the map."

Tess shot him a warning glare. The less people who knew of her past and the fact she shot her uncle the better. How could she trust Lord Hopkins, or Sophia for that matter, to remain quiet when this was done? Wouldn't they feel it their duty to report her to the authorities? At the very least, she would lose her position at the school. Lord Hopkins certainly wouldn't want his daughter taught by a murderess.

Lord Hopkins sat forward. "I don't understand. If he has her piece, why is Miss Crawford still in danger?"

Vincent opened his mouth to answer but Tess cleared her throat. "Would you like to try the lemon cakes? They are delicious." She picked up a plate and held it out to Sophia.

"Thank you." Sophia picked up one of the delicacies but her eyes remained on Tess, curious for more information.

"I suspect that as soon as Percer realizes he has been given false information, he will try and return for the original piece of the map," Vincent offered.

"I agree," Hopkins said. "Another reason why I thought I should be here, as he will not miss my carriage and it is better he remained focused in one area, where we can catch him, instead of going between our two estates in his quest for the remaining pieces."

"Does that not leave your own home vulnerable?" Tess asked. Percer could have left last night and traveled to Sophia's home for the remaining parchment. Who knew what damage he would do at the estate, or to the servants, in his search?

"I've posted guards among my staff. If he attempts to break in, he will be caught and dealt with. In fact, I am hoping he has gone there so the students remain safe here."

"I doubt we will be so lucky," Vincent grumbled.

"Which is why we need to come up with another plan." Hopkins' ominous tone settled on the group with trepidation. He glanced down at his daughter, who still nibbled on her lemon cake, then addressed Atwood. "I went to Parham's estate before coming here." His eyes bore into Vincent's.

"Yes, my servant has already reported back to me."

Tess hoped they would not discuss the death. Sophia looked at her father with expectation.

"Good, then all is taken care of." Hopkins smiled down at his daughter and did not elaborate.

Inwardly Tess sighed. Sophia was already dealing with too much at her young age. She did not need to know another man had been murdered.

Sophia made her way back to her chamber with slow, deliberate steps. She knew Eliza and Rosemary waited for her and would pounce on her with dozens of questions once she entered the room. What could she tell them? She loathed lying, but what else was she to do? The hunt for Percer would be a game to them and they would never realize how dangerous it was until it was far too late. Not that a plan had been formed. None of the adults knew the best way to proceed and had decided to wait until he showed himself again.

Maybe Percer had gone to her home. It would be safer for everyone if he had, not that she liked the idea of that horrible man being in her house. But better there than here, especially since her family was protected elsewhere.

One question still plagued her. Why was Percer still a danger to Miss Crawford? Was it because he believed she was a murderess?

Sophia couldn't imagine Miss Crawford killing anyone, but that is the only thing she could think of. Did Atwood know? She wanted to ask and almost had, but Miss Crawford changed the subject and Atwood allowed her to do so.

That must be it. But who had Miss Crawford murdered and why? Oh, she hoped she was wrong because she didn't think Mrs. Wiggons would allow a murderess to remain as a teacher.

"Well, is he taking you home?" Eliza asked the moment she closed the door.

"No, why would he?"

"Then he doesn't know?" Rosemary asked.

"Know what?" What were they talking about?

"That Atwood is a vampire," Eliza informed her with irritation.

Sophia sagged against the door and dropped her head to try and find some control. She wanted to laugh with relief but the two would find it odd. She had forgotten what they believed. But the ludicrous was much easier to deal with than the truth. She lifted her head and hoped she appeared serious, if not dire. "No, not yet, and we must keep it from him."

"Then why is he here?" Eliza flopped on the bed.

"Yes, why?"

"The same reason as your father, Rosemary. He was concerned with my well-being." It wasn't exactly a lie, but if they assumed it was because of the tempest, all the better for everyone.

Natalie stood in the center of her room, hands on her hips, and looked around. "I believe that is everything."

"I would have preferred to have Hopkins take a room at the other end of the hall, but didn't know what excuse I could give for having to move three of our students into here," Tess groaned.

"I would have been more comfortable with Hopkins at that end since Atwood is at this one," Mrs. Wiggons agreed and turned to Natalie. "Thank you for agreeing to move."

"It is no problem," she smiled. "As long as Claudia does not snore, I am sure we will get along fine."

Claudia snorted. "I was thinking the same about you."

"I could have moved," Tess insisted.

Claudia laughed.

Natalie smiled and shook her head.

"Dear, you, above anyone else, need to be as close to Atwood as possible and the door connecting the two rooms gives me much comfort," Mrs. Wiggons insisted. "Who knows when Percer will strike again."

"If only we knew," Tess sighed.

# Chapter 36

"That was a lovely performance, ladies," Hopkins applauded at the end of the impromptu music recital by the students.

Mrs. Wiggons smiled proudly. "It is getting late, girls." She stood and clapped her hands. "It is time we retired for the night."

Tess glanced at the clock. It was ten already. How had it gotten to be so late?

Mrs. Zobard entered the room, followed by two other servants. All of them wheeled in carts loaded with cups, pots and cakes. "Since everyone is still up, I thought some chocolate would be a fitting end to the evening," she announced.

The girls looked expectantly at Mrs. Wiggons.

She smiled indulgently at them. "Just one cup and one slice of cake, and then it is off to bed with all of you."

The girls rushed to the servants and waited patiently for their treat. Tess settled back into her chair by the fire. They were all so innocent. They had no idea the danger surrounding them.

She remembered being that way, when she, Claudia and Natalie had attended the school. So young and with so many dreams. They were all going to marry tall, handsome men. They would have estates of their own, visit each other regularly and raise their children together. Of course, if they had daughters, which they were certain they would, the daughters would attend the same school as they, and become the best of friends.

None of those dreams had come to fruition and each of the former students were forced, by circumstances out of their control, to return to the place they first met. While their dreams faded, their friendship had grown stronger. Still, she hoped the young girls before her did attain their dreams.

"Is something on your mind, Miss Crawford?"

Atwood's voice intruded on her thoughts and Tess turned to find Vincent studying her. "I was simply woolgathering, that is all." She didn't dare admit her true thoughts.

"You seemed far away." His voice was low so that no one else could hear him.

Tess did not have the energy to try and make something up. Besides, Atwood already knew the worst of her sins. "I was simply remembering when Claudia, Natalie and I were that age."

A smile pulled at his lips. "For some reason I imagine you three were no different than those three." He pointed to Eliza, Rosemary and Sophia.

"Mrs. Wiggons has said the same," Tess chuckled. "Though I do believe she is exaggerating."

"Remind me to ask her what mischief the three of you caused and I will make that determination myself."

Tess looked up into his warm, dark eyes. It would be so easy to fall in love with the man beside her. Especially on an evening such as this, when he was pleasant and kind, even if he teased her. How could anyone in this town think the man before her was a monster?

Two older girls sat not far away, and were talking about their future debut in society next spring. Each described the perfect man, a title they wished to hold, but how they were determined to hold out for love.

Tess knew Atwood could hear them as well, but he was polite not to look in their direction. If they knew he could hear, she could just imagine the mortification they would feel. A smile pulled at her lips.

"Did you and your friends have similar discussions," Vincent asked quietly.

"Yes. It all seems so silly now."

"Why?" The smile fell from his lips as if saddened.

"One does not know the future."

"But one can dream," he insisted. "Did you dream of a perfect season, perfect husband?"

Tess grew uncomfortable under his censure. "That was long ago, but yes, I did."

"It is not too late." His dark pools bore into hers.

"I am far past the age to be presented to society, or have a season," Tess argued.

"If you insist," Vincent chuckled. "However, a husband, home, companionship and title are still within reach."

Tess turned away. Was he still offering to marry her? They barely knew one another. Besides, he never mentioned love.

"Girls," Mrs. Wiggons announced and clapped her hands. "Now that you are finished, you must turn in." Tess sighed with relief and stood, glad to end this particular conversation with Vincent.

A few of the girls groaned and stood. It had been a very pleasant evening and a nice change. But the hour did grow late and there were still classes tomorrow.

Eliza made a great show of stretching and announcing to the entire room how tired she was. Rosemary followed suit. Those two were up to something, especially since Sophia looked sheepish and kept her head lowered. Tess would definitely need to keep an eye on them until they were asleep.

"Stay, Tess," Claudia insisted as she bore down on her carrying two cups. "Neither you or Lord Atwood have drunk any chocolate. We will see that the girls are settled."

Tess looked at her friend. There was a mischievous gleam in her eye.

"Yes, stay and join me, Miss Crawford," Vincent insisted. He took the offered cup.

"Very well," she said at last and took the other chocolate.

"Good night, and sleep well," Claudia called over her shoulder as she ushered the remaining girls out the room. She and Lord Atwood were now virtually alone. Why was she uncomfortable? It wasn't as if she hadn't shared an evening alone with him before.

Vincent gestured toward the abandoned couch in front of the fire. He would have to thank Miss Morris at a later date for suggesting Tess remain. He had noticed the way Miss Morris looked at them and wondered if she weren't playing matchmaker and hoped that was the case because it wouldn't hurt to have one of Miss Crawford's best friends on his side.

Ever since he first proposed, the desire to make Tess his wife had grown stronger by the moment. She was correct, however. It made no sense. They barely knew one another. But, each moment he spent alone with her, such as now, allowed them to learn more.

Tess sat on the couch beside him, but as far away as she could without sitting on the arm. Her back rigid, eyes on the fire before her and she held the cup of chocolate in her hands.

"Relax, I am not going to bite."

She gave him an impatient look. "That is hardly funny considering what everyone thinks of you." She brought the cup to her lips and Vincent watched, wishing he were the rim.

"Don't look at me in that manner."

He brought his eyes back to hers and grinned. "What manner?"

"As if . . . well. . ." Her face grew hot.

"As if I wish to devour you?" His smile grew.

She turned away. "Yes, I suppose that is what I meant." Her hands shook as she placed the cup back in the saucer.

"But what if I do? Any vampire in his right mind would."

"Oh, do stop," she admonished and looked at him again. "I will not carry on in such an immoral manner with you."

"Ah, but if we were married, it would be perfectly moral, normal and expected." He brought his face close to hers, intending to place his lips against hers.

Tess reared back and stood. "Lord Atwood, you must cease making such ill-advised proposals." She picked her cup up off the table and drained the contents.

Vincent stood and took the empty cup from her hand. "I don't consider it ill-advised, but rather well thought out."

She looked up at him with her large grey, charcoal-lashed eyes. Vincent snaked an arm around her waist and brought her flush against his body as his lips lowered. After a fraction of a moment, she melted into him and sighed. Her fingers laced through his hair and she participated in the kiss as much as he. It took all his control not to scoop her up in his arms and carry Tess to his chamber. If he seduced her, she would have to marry him. But he didn't want to enter into the union on such negative terms. No, he would woo her until she capitulated. Then, he would seduce her.

Tess pushed against his chest and took a step back. "You must _never_ do that again."

He adored the lovely pink hue to her face and her plump, kiss-swollen lips. As he refused to agree to her demand, he simply smiled.

"You are impossible. I shall not allow myself to be alone with you again." Tess turned and strode from the room.

Vincent chuckled and reached down for his cup of chocolate. Would she start insisting on a chaperone the next time she attended her secretarial duties? He certainly hoped not.

"Less than an hour," Eliza announced.

Sophia looked at her two friends. They were dressed in their warmest clothes, but had also doused themselves in flour, as had she.

"We look just like ghosts. You are so ingenious, Eliza," Rosemary gushed.

"We look like fools and how are we ever going to get this flour out of our hair without making a sticky mess in the tub?""Now, all we have to do is wait." Eliza ignored the question and grinned.

# Chapter 37

"Miss Crawford, wake up, please."

Pounding and the panicked voice of Rosemary brought Tess from her sleep. She jumped from the bed and ran to the door. She gasped at the sight of Rosemary and Eliza partially covered in flour.

"What is wrong with you two?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

"She took her and we have to get her back before it is too late," Rosemary cried.

"Who took who?" Vincent demanded as he strode from his room. Tess snatched the girls into her chamber and Vincent followed. It would do no good to have the entire household in a panic for nothing. Or at least what she hoped was nothing.

"Honest, I thought it was a dream, I truly did."

"What? Slow down and explain everything." Tess hoped her voice sounded calm so the girls would follow suit. Behind them Vincent leaned against the door, his arms folded across his chest. Oh dear, he wore that robe again, the one that revealed far too much of his chest. She returned her focus to the students and tried to put his image from her mind. They had not looked in his direction and she doubted they knew Vincent had followed them into the room.

Eliza took a deep breath. "Last night was All Hallows Eve."

"Yes," Tess responded and wondered what that had to do with anything.

Rosemary stepped forward and explained their plan. Tess glanced up at Vincent and prayed he wasn't angry, insulted or hurt by what the girls had just told her. His head was down and his shoulders shook. Thank goodness he found humor in their antics.

"We fell asleep before midnight, so we were not successful," Rosemary finished in a defeated tone.

"That still does not explain to me what is wrong now," Tess reminded them.

"When we were asleep, Lady Atwood took Sophia," Eliza announced with irritation, as if she thought Tess should have understood already.

"That is impossible, girls," Tess insisted. "Perhaps Sophia is with her father."

"No, you don't understand," Rosemary cried. "We saw Lady Atwood come into the room and carry Sophia out."

"What?" Vincent stiffened and marched toward the girls. They turned and looked at him. Tess moved around to put herself between the girls and Atwood. They were scared enough already without having to face his anger. Gone were any signs of his earlier humor.

"I thought it was a dream. I woke and saw her come in. I tried to talk, but couldn't make my mouth move," Rosemary insisted.

"The same thing happened to me. She was there one moment and gone the next. But I couldn't make my body do anything. The next thing I knew it was morning and Sophia was gone."

Tess looked up to meet Vincent's eyes. "It wasn't Lady Atwood," Tess insisted once again.

"But it was," Eliza argued. "She wore a long white gown and blond hair flowed down her back."

Vincent turned and stomped from the room. Tess could hear him pounding on the door where Lord Hopkins slept.

Tess followed, as did the girls.

"How can I help you, Atwood?" the man asked. He too had been asleep.

"Is your daughter with you?" he barked.

Hopkins took a step back. "No," he answered after a moment.

Vincent turned and marched down the hall to the girl's room. Hopkins hurried after him, hastily tying his robe. Tess trailed them, with Eliza and Rosemary not far behind.

He stood in the center of the room, a hand over his eyes to block the bright glare from the sun. Pain was evident on his face, if his grimace and narrowed eyes were any indication. Tess hurried to close the drapers.

"Thank you," he muttered, but did not look at her. He searched the room and came to a stop by the small desk in the corner. "Who knew of your plans last night?" he asked the girls.

"Nobody. Just the three of us," Eliza answered.

"Somebody else must have known because I know my wife did not take her."

"Honest, Lord Atwood, we told no one else," Rosemary cried, a tear slipped down her cheek.

"Did you discuss your plans anywhere besides this room?"

Tess knew he suspected Percer. But, the man had to have known what the girls were about if he was going to dress as Vincent's dead wife.

"The gazebo," Rosemary answered in a quiet tone.

"When was this?" Vincent demanded.

"Yesterday." A sob escaped from Eliza.

"I told you girls to stay close to the house. Once again you defied me. When this is all over, you will be separated and confined to your rooms when not in class and until I believe you have learned your lesson." Tess wanted to wring their necks.

"Yes, Miss Crawford." The two girls moved to each other, clasped hands and looked at the floor.

"He must have overheard them," Vincent assumed. "But where has he taken her?"

"If he harms a hair on her head, I will see him to hell," Hopkins announced from where he stood in the doorway. The man was as pale as a ghost with worry over his daughter.

"Who?" Eliza asked again.

"Percer," Tess ground out.

The girls blanched. "But he has what he came for. Why would he remain here?"

Tess glared at them, much too angry to explain, nor did they deserve any consideration at the moment. Had they done as they were told, Percer would never have known when or how to get Sophia.

"Come." Vincent touched her elbow. "Let's dress and try to figure out where Percer has taken Sophia. We already know what he wants."

Tess allowed him to lead her from the room. He spoke over her head to the girls. "I'll send your headmistress down to explain. Do _not_ leave this room."

The three adults met in the library, more appropriately dressed for the day. Wesley greeted them first. "I apologize, Lord Atwood, that I wasn't available to attend you this morning. I don't know what came over me."

Vincent dismissed the man. "No worry." This was the first time in memory Wesley hadn't been awake or at least available when he rang for him.

Mrs. Zobard hurried in after him. "Breakfast will be served shortly, sir. It appears the entire household overslept this morning. How very odd. The likes of such has never happened."

Vincent glanced up at the clock. It was seven-thirty in the morning. Unfortunately, given his recent sleep and wake hours, he was not accustomed to the sleeping and work habits of his staff. However, the fact that everyone had slept late gave him pause.

"Excuse me." Tess quit the room before he could ask her anything further and he turned to his valet. "What time does the household usually awaken?"

"No later than six, sir. I don't know what has gotten into everyone today."

He wondered the same thing and dismissed his servants.

"Where do you think he has taken my Sophia?"

"I wish I knew, Hopkins. However, I am sure she is fine."

"Until we give into his demands." Hopkins paced.

"Do you think he has made the connection between you and your daughter?"

"It would be too much of a coincidence if he hadn't. No. The man knew he could demand the remaining pieces of the map when he took her from _this_ house."

Vincent had to agree. Had Percer not known Sophia's relation, he could have taken anyone. But, even when he spoke with Tess, he had made a point of naming Hopkins' daughter.

Tess rushed back into the room. "Mrs. Wiggons and the other teachers are just waking. They have never slept this late."

"We did all retire rather late last evening," Hopkins offered.

"No, it is more than that." Vincent marched to the wall and tugged on the bell pull. Wesley appeared in a matter of moments. "Please find Mrs. Zobard and bring her here."

"Do you think they know something of Sophia?" Hopkins asked.

"No, but they may have clues as to how Percer was able to come in here and take her."

The two servants returned a moment later. "How can I help you, Lord Atwood?" Mrs. Zobard bobbed a curtsey, a frown marred her brow.

"You said _every_ staff member overslept this morning?"

"I assure you, it will not happen again. I don't know what came over us all, but I promise, in the future, that they will be at their duties on time." She wrung her hands in agitation.

Vincent held up a hand to stop her. "Nobody is in trouble, Mrs. Zobard. I am more concerned over the oddity of it all."

The housekeeper's hands stilled. "It is rightly odd."

"I am just trying to determine why."

"Did everyone eat the same dinner?" Hopkins asked.

"Yes, more or less."

"Is there something we ate in the dining room that was also eaten by all of the staff?"

She thought for a moment and went back to wringing her hands. "No, not everyone ate the same things."

Vincent raked his fingers through his hair. There had to be a commonality between the staff and his guests.

"Do you think we were all drugged?" Lines of concern were etched about her intriguing eyes.

"Yes, it is the only thing that makes sense."

"Is there anything we all ate or drank last night?" He directed the question to the housekeeper once again.

"I don't know Lord Atwood. The question is best put to the cook."

"I already know," Tess answered, her face pale. "It was the chocolate."

"Yes, I do believe everyone had chocolate last night. The McClarys sent so much over."

The truth dawned on him. He and Tess had drank chocolate two nights before and slept like the dead. Or, at least he had, he never asked her. Last night his slumber had been the same. "Mrs. Zobard, please ask cook if everyone did drink the chocolate."

"But the chocolate came from the McClarys. Why would you suspect it of being poisoned by such a nice family?" Wesley asked.

Vincent resumed his pacing. "Send a message and ask Mr. McClary to attend me at once. There must be a reasonable explanation."

She hustled out of the room and Atwood turned toward Wesley. "I want every male employee, inside and out, to begin searching the grounds for any sign of where Percer could have taken or hidden Lady Sophia."

Mr. McClary arrived within thirty minutes of the summons. He clutched his hat in his hands and looked at the occupants in the room. Vincent knew little of the man. His family had moved here after he left for the Continent.

"Please have a seat," he indicated to the chair in front of his desk. Tess was seated behind the man, in an overstuffed chair by the fireplace and Hopkins leaned negligently against the desk. Vincent admired his calm appearance. Before McClary arrived, Hopkins had been a pacing mess.

"May I ask what this is about?" The man's tone shook, though he remained erect in his seat.

"I need to know how you came by the chocolate and what brought about its arrival in my household?"

The man's eyebrows creased in confusion. "My daughter's beau purchased the store out. He is quite taken with her." The man grinned. "Being a titled man, we couldn't hope to do better for our little girl."

Tess looked up at Vincent. She narrowed her eyes. They both had the same suspicion. She mouthed Percer and frowned again.

"Go on." Vincent nodded to McClary.

"Well, my wife said it was far too much. It was then the gentleman suggested sending most of it here. He was present when the tempest hit and knew you had taken in the students. Lord Percer thought it would be a nice treat for them."

Tess stiffened at the name, as did Hopkins. Vincent tried to remain calm when he wanted to pound his fist on the desk. "Is Lord Percer at your home now? I would like to thank him myself. It has been an age since I spoke with my former classmate."

The man looked at him with confusion. "Lord Percer said he had been to see you yesterday, and the day before." McClary scratched his head. "Perhaps I am mistaken."

"No, Percer has not called on me," Vincent confirmed. "Would he be at your home now?"

"Oh, no, he left last evening. He said he had some business to attend to but would return in a fortnight or so."

Vincent leaned back in his chair. He thought to advise the man that Percer would not return, but did not want to reveal anything in case Percer had confided his plans, though Vincent doubted it. Instead, he asked the other question that plagued him.

"How did you make Percer's acquaintance?"

"My wife and daughter met him in Bath, while she was visiting her brother and his family. He was quite taken with my Juliet, but I already told you that, I apologize."

Vincent forced a smile. "Is that when he made plans to visit you?"

The man brightened. "He and my Juliet got on quite well that very first night, especially when they talked about our humble town, since he knew it so well, having visited you often."

No doubt when Percer learned where Juliet McClary lived, he formed an attachment to see how he could use her. He glanced over at Tess. She still frowned and mouthed the words "poor girl."

"And, is Miss Juliet as taken with my old friend as he is with her?"

The man frowned and shook his head. "We don't understand it. At first, she seemed to like him but by the time he left, she almost couldn't wait for him to be gone." He glanced up. "Oh, he hasn't done anything improper, she has assured us of that. Juliet said he makes her uncomfortable." He brightened. "I am sure she will feel differently once they are apart and she grows to miss him."

Tess sagged with relief and Vincent felt the same. Too many young women had been hurt by that man.

Vincent stood. He had learned what he needed. "Thank you, again, Mr. McClary. And thank your wife for the chocolate. The children have enjoyed it."

The man stood as well. "I am glad, Lord Atwood. My wife cannot say enough about it. She has a cup every night and insists that's why she has such a restful sleep."

Vincent toyed with the idea of telling the man it was drugged, but refrained. He doubted a cup a night would harm anyone. And, she had probably been drinking the stuff for a week and was still well. As they did not know where Percer was at the moment, it was best not to alert anyone to his evil. When this passed, he would write a note to Mrs. McClary and she could decide if she wished to continue drinking her evening chocolate.

# Chapter 38

Tess turned to Vincent as soon as the door closed behind Mr. McClary. "Percer is even more evil and methodical than I even anticipated."

"What do we do now?" Hopkins resumed his pacing.

"We can only wait," Vincent sighed.

Mrs. Zobard entered a moment later with a tea service with three cups and two pots. She left it on the table and turned one handle toward Atwood before she quit the room. He settled into the chair and poured dark liquid into his cup.

"Would you care for tea or coffee, Lord Hopkins?" Tess asked.

"Neither." He marched across the room and peeked out through the curtain.

Tess lifted the remaining pot and poured the lighter colored tea into her own before she took a sip. She wished there was something she could do, but what? They had no idea where Sophia could have gone, or when she was taken for that matter. How far could they have gotten, or were they just beyond the house, hiding in the woods.

"Come," Vincent called when a knock sounded at the door a moment later.

The footman stepped into the room. The silver platter in his hand held a piece of paper. "An urgent message has arrived, Lord Atwood."

Vincent took the parchment and dismissed the servant. Hopkins approached and stood at Vincent's elbow, ready to read what it contained. None of them doubted it was anything other than a message from Percer. Vincent tore open the envelope and pulled the piece of paper from its confines.

Tess knew immediately it was the forged piece of the map she had given Percer because she could see the lines on the back of the page and feared what was written on the other side.

"He has Sophia," Vincent confirmed and looked up at Hopkins.

"Good Lord. What are his demands and how do we fulfill them?" The man tugged the paper away from Vincent's fingers.

Tess' stomach turned and her heart sped. Vincent looked out the window. Tess followed his line of vision. Sunlight bathed the portion of the patio not blocked by the house. It promised to be a beautiful, clear day. At least as far as the weather and sky were concerned. With regard to the occupants in the room, a cloud of apprehension hung over each one of them.

"When and where does he want to meet?" Tess asked after a moment.

"In a place and at a time when I will be unable to help you," Vincent answered.

Vincent slammed his fist against the desk. How was he to protect her now? Percer had thought of everything and managed to put Tess in the most vulnerable position possible.

Hopkins took his piece of map from his pocket and held it out to Tess. His hand trembled.

"I am to bring them?" Her voice sounded small, frightened.

"We will be there also, I am sure there are places to hide," Hopkins assured her.

Vincent let out a bitter laugh. "There is no place to hide."

"I don't understand." Hopkins turned to him, a question in his eyes.

Vincent was impotent to help Tess, whom he had known all of a week. He couldn't imagine Hopkins' worry for his own daughter.

"Where am I to meet Percer?" Tess stepped forward and asked.

Vincent looked up and took in her grey frightened eyes. "At my wife's grave."

"The man is a rather morbid bastard, isn't he?" Hopkins walked to the sideboard and refilled his glass. "But surely there is somewhere we can wait to save my daughter, kill him and protect Miss Crawford."

Vincent sighed and sank into his chair. There was a possibility Hopkins and those he trusted on his staff could hide somewhere in the cemetery, but what was _he_ to do? Wait here and hope Tess returned unharmed? Not bloody likely _._

He glanced out the window once again. The sun had moved and his entire patio was in the shade. It was too much to hope for but he rose and walked outside to check the sky. Not a cloud in sight.

He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to concentrate. There had to be some way he could be there, to protect Tess if nothing else, without the crippling pain.

Vincent studied the area, closed his eyes and viewed the landscape in his mind. He opened them again and looked straight ahead. It was his only option.

"Percer demands that Tess meet him at my wife's grave at four this afternoon," he said as soon as he returned inside. "The area is open so he will know if anyone accompanies her."

Tess sank down into a chair and grasped her hands together.

"You are to walk from here, not take a carriage, so he knows you are alone."

He could see Tess swallow as her face paled further.

"You and I both know it is near impossible to get from here to the cemetery without being seen."

"You will have to stay here, won't you?" Her eyes grew damp and she blinked a few times to clear them.

"Why? I don't understand," Hopkins interrupted.

Vincent had almost forgotten the man was in the room in his concern for Tess.

"I can't go in the sun. Percer knows this, which is why I am certain he picked the place he did. There are few trees in the cemetery, and none near my wife's grave."

"Then how are we to rescue my daughter and protect Miss Crawford?" the man demanded. "I will gladly go on my own, but I don't believe one of us is enough, not if we want to protect them both." He glanced at Tess and offered a sad, yet apologetic small smile.

She nodded her head in understanding.

Of course Hopkins would see to his daughter first, as would any father. "We will simply take a separate route."

# Chapter 39

Tess pulled her cloak tight and attempted to button it. Her hands shook too much to accomplish the task and Natalie had to take over for her. When she was finished, she hugged Tess to her.

"It will be alright. I know it in my heart," Natalie assured her friend.

Tess offered up a weak smile. She was not so certain. Was this what walking to the gallows felt like? Though Vincent tried to assure her that he would protect her, Tess could not understand how that was possible. The man could not even be in a room with the curtain open on a bright day. How could he protect her in an open cemetery with the sun beating down on her?

"I'll say a prayer, but I am sure this will end as it is supposed to." Claudia pulled her into her arms and squeezed her tight before relinquishing Tess to Mrs. Wiggons.

"Now, you don't be frightened." She pressed a small gun into Tess' hands. "My husband gave this to me long ago. I have kept it in working order and it is loaded." She looked Tess directly in the eye. "Do not be afraid to use it."

Tess glanced down at the small pistol and her stomach clenched. She hadn't held a gun since that fateful night she had killed her uncle. Could she pull the trigger again? She still hadn't fully recovered from the last time she took a man's life.

As if reading her mind, Mrs. Wiggons continued. "If not for yourself, then use it to save Sophia, if necessary."

Tess looked up at her and found a new determination. Yes, she could kill Percer if it meant saving Sophia, Hopkins or Vincent. She just wasn't so sure she could use it to save herself. This she would not share with her employer. But, if she did have to shoot, this time she would _not_ miss.

"We will be right here, waiting for you to come back. The tea will be hot and Cook promised more of those lemon cakes you love."

Tess allowed them to escort her to the door. One would think with Mrs. Wiggons' words and tone she was simply going into town to shop.

At the door she turned to look at the three of them once again. Their brows were etched with worry, but they smiled encouragement. With a weak smile, she turned and began her walk down the drive. Though Percer said he would meet her by the tombstone, she didn't trust that he wouldn't try to stop her along the way.

Her hand slipped into her pocket and she lifted the gun. The weight felt good in her hand and offered her courage. Tess stepped onto the road. Head up, she looked in all directions. She could do this. Lives depended on her accomplishing this task and she could never live with herself if something horrible happened to Sophia because of her own fear.

Vincent ran from the back of the house and into the trees. As soon as he was in the shade he collapsed against a tree. Though he had kept his head down, sunlight had still reached his eyes and sent searing pain through his head. He wiped the sweat from his brow and steadied his breath. He could do this. He _must_ do this. He could not fail Tess, even if it killed him in the process.

Hopkins eyed him with concern. Wesley stepped forward and handed him a canteen. Vincent assumed it was water and took a deep drink. He coughed as brandy scorched his throat then rested with his hands on his knees a few more minutes, until his breathing was regular once more before he looked up.

"Can you do this, Lord Atwood?" Wesley asked as he studied Vincent.

"I _have_ to do this." He pushed away from the tree and began his trek through the woods. The same tree line that bordered his property also bordered the cemetery. He could only hope nothing had been cut down in between or he wasn't sure he could make it to his destination.

# Chapter 40

Tess took a deep breath and willed her heart to calm as she approached the bend in the lane. This was the only blind spot on her walk and she could not see what awaited her up ahead. Once again she tested the weight of the gun. Yes, she would use it if necessary.

With slow, deliberate steps she rounded the corner. A man walked toward her. She tightened her hold. She could not make out his face due to the glare of the sun.

"Good afternoon, Miss Crawford," Mr. Connor called out.

Tess almost collapsed with relief. "Good day, Mr. Connor," she returned.

The man came up to her and paused. Now was not a time for pleasantries among neighbors. She couldn't be late for her destination.

"It is a lovely day for a walk." He smiled at her.

"Yes, it is." _Please move on, I can't chitchat right now_.

"I was going to ride over to the school, but decided a stroll would do me good."

On any other occasion Tess would have inquired about the horses or why he was going to their school. There was really nothing to see and he wasn't working on the building. The only connection this man had was that he currently stabled their horses, and his infatuation with Mrs. Wiggons. That must be his purpose.

"Mrs. Wiggons is not at the school. She is at Lord Atwood's estate."

The man blushed and looked away. "Thank you for that information." He tipped his hat to her. "Have a pleasant afternoon."

He moved on and Tess sighed with relief. Had he known why she was about, she was fairly certain he would _not_ be wishing her a pleasant afternoon.

Vincent arrived at the back of the cemetery and looked out at the sea of tombstones. Percer was nowhere in sight. That didn't mean he wasn't hiding somewhere. But, Vincent had arrived an hour early, so perhaps Percer was not here yet.

From this position he was too far to be of any use to Tess. Even if he shot at Percer, he doubted his ability to strike his target. No, he had to move closer.

Vincent looked over at the family crypt. It was only a few yards from Veronica's grave. Could he make it there without being seen? Could he make it there without collapsing in pain? Did he really have a choice?

He glanced around. Hopkins emerged a few yards away and ran to the back of another crypt. This also put him close to Veronica's grave. Wesley did the same to his right. This left Vincent as the only one who still cowered in the woods. The crypt lay two yards ahead and the earth between was blanketed in sunlight.

Vincent took a deep breath and brought his cloak over his head. It was now or never. With his head down, trying to shield the light, he dashed from the trees to the side of the family crypt. The task practically brought him to his knees. No matter how much he tried to shield his eyes, it was impossible with the angle of the sun from the direction he was running. Percer must have counted on this.

Sweat broke out on his brow and Vincent sank to the ground. He took deep breaths and willed the pain away. Once again he took a drink from the canteen Wesley had forced into his hands when they left the estate.

The cool shade on this side of the crypt helped lessen his pain, but not enough that he didn't want to vomit. These headaches always made him ill.

After a few minutes, he pulled himself from the ground. All he had to do was round the corner and duck inside. He knew the door had not been fixed and he counted on easy access into the structure.

Vincent took another deep drink, followed by a deep breath and bolted to the front and inside the door. He collapsed once again against the wall, slid to the floor and cradled his head in his hands and breathed deep and exhaled slowly as he willed the pain away. The dark dampness of the room calmed his heart and eventually the tension eased. When he determined he was as recovered as possible, he looked up and took in the room, shocked at the discovery.

Sophia sat against the sarcophagus, her eyes wide, frightened and watching him. A gag was tied around her head. He crawled forward and pulled the offensive item from her mouth. A tear trickled down her cheek.

"Hush. We will save you," he assured the poor girl.

"Percer said he was going to seal me in here once he had the map. He tied me up so I couldn't escape." More tears followed her statement.

Vincent wished he had a clean handkerchief to wipe her face.

"Don't worry, that is not going to happen." He leaned down and untied the rope from her ankles. He then smoothed her skirts over her feet so Percer wouldn't know she had been freed, if he bothered to check. Next, he did the same with her hands. "Keep your hands behind you and your feet covered."

She nodded her head.

"I hate to do this, but I don't want Percer to know I am here."

"I understand." Relief and gratitude shone in her eyes and Vincent pulled the gag up but did not put it back in her mouth, then sat back on his heels and studied the poor girl. Unless Percer looked closely, he would never know Sophia was free.

"If there is trouble, move out of the way."

She nodded her head to show she understood.

Vincent moved to the opposite end of the sarcophagus and ducked down out of sight. He angled his head around the stone box and had a direct view of Veronica's grave and the gate beyond. Percer was still nowhere to be seen, but Tess had just entered the cemetery. His heart nearly stopped at the sight of her. He hoped Percer was true to his word, for once, and would not harm either lady. But he knew it was too good to be true. Tess was only safe as long as she had the map pieces.

# Chapter 41

Tess looked around. The cemetery was empty but for the stones and crypts along the back border. With careful yet determined steps, she made her way to Lady Atwood's headstone. Once again her hand weighed the gun in her pocket. It offered a small comfort.

"Prompt as usual."

Tess whipped around to find Percer approaching from the front of the church. A gun leveled on her. Tess grasped her own tighter.

He drew closer, studied her, and then looked around.

Had he always had the look of a madman? No, the Percer she recalled was always put to rights, his hair neatly trimmed and combed and waistcoats of the latest fashion. The man before her was disheveled, pale and his eyes shot in every direction in fear.

"This way." He motioned with the gun for her to walk to the Atwood crypt. Why there? Did he know Vincent was waiting within? What if Vincent hadn't arrived yet?

Her steps were slow and steady. She tripped on a root and stumbled to her knees.

Percer grabbed her elbow and yanked her up. "Stop dawdling," he ground out and pushed her forward.

Tess stumbled once again but did not fall. With each step toward the opening of the crypt her heart pounded harder. She didn't want to go in there. It was safer out in the open. What did he plan to do?

She shook the stupid question from her mind. He intended to take the map pieces and kill her. Did he think her body would not be discovered if left inside?

The opening loomed and she stopped in the doorway. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she saw Sophia sitting on the floor. Tears streamed down the poor girl's face. Tess made to go to the girl. The moment she stepped away, Percer yanked the back of her hair and jerked her back. "Stay."

Vincent waited for Percer to show. As the man approached Tess, he leveled his gun on him. He was still too far away. A smile broke on his lips when he saw Percer and Tess turn in his direction. The closer they got, the better chance he had of shooting the man. The chance never came as Percer kept Tess in front of him the entire time. Where was Wesley? Or Hopkins? Why hadn't they shot the man? Were they too far away?

As soon as he realized they were coming to this crypt, he knew it would only be a matter of time before he had his chance. His heart lodged in his throat when he heard Percer tell Tess to stop, and she whimpered. If he harmed her in any way, Percer's death would be slow and without mercy.

"Show yourself, Atwood. I know you are in here," Percer called into the crypt.

How could he possibly know, unless he had been watching? But Atwood had not seen him. Maybe Percer was guessing.

"I am rather impressed. I didn't want to make this too easy for you, but I knew nothing would be impossible. Have you recovered, or are you still crippled in the darkness, withering in pain, waiting to recover?"

Vincent couldn't believe this man had once been a close friend. How had he never seen the madness, the cruelty, before?

He moved to look around the bottom of the casket. Percer and Tess stood in the doorway. He used her as a shield, like the coward he was. His gun pointed forward. Vincent knew the moment he showed himself he would be shot and Percer also knew he would not risk firing for fear of hitting Tess.

"Let Miss Crawford go, Percer. She will give you the pieces of the map and you can be on your way."

Percer laughed. "And allow you to shoot me? I think not. Besides, Miss Ford-Creigh is coming with me. Once she is no longer useful, I will turn her over to the authorities to be tried for murder."

"You know it wasn't murder, but an accident," Vincent called out.

The longer they talked the more time he had to come up with a plan to save Tess. Where were Wesley and Hopkins? Why hadn't they moved in from behind?

"I will grant you that. She didn't mean to shoot her uncle, she meant to shoot _me_. But that won't matter to the authorities."

"It will when they learn it was self-defense."

Once again Percer's bitter laugh rang out. "Nobody will be left alive to tell them."

He could hear Sophia whimper and hoped the girl remained strong.

Vincent glanced at the two in the door again, and tried to judge if there was an opening to shoot Percer without harming Tess. He caught the movement of Tess' right hand and watched as she slowly pulled a pistol from her pocket. His heart nearly stopped. Where had she gotten a gun?

She lifted her arm and bent it across her body. He remained paralyzed as she pointed the gun behind her at the left side of her body. Tess took a small step, bent to the right and pulled the trigger.

Percer howled in pain and shot aimlessly into the dark tomb. Tess dropped down and Vincent stood. Shots came from his gun and from outside. Percer's body jerked with each bullet before he fell forward.

Sophia screamed and Vincent rushed forward to check on Tess who held a hysterical Sophia against her bosom and cooed soft words to calm the girl. Hopkins jumped over Percer's body, ran to his daughter and snatched her away from Tess. The two embraced for a moment and he smoothed her hair as her tears calmed. Vincent looked up to find Wesley standing in the doorway. He looked down at Percer with disgust then knelt down to retrieve the man's gun.

Tess looked at him, her face deathly pale, but she offered a small smile. Vincent reached out and she placed her small, trembling hand in his. He moved to assist her until they both stood. The pounding of his heart began to slow. They were safe and Percer was dead. The nightmare was over.

Sophia turned from her father and stepped toward Tess. Her steps faltered and her eyes grew wide. "Miss Crawford, you are covered in blood."

Vincent looked down. Her entire left arm was saturated with red and it spread with each second. Tess looked up at Vincent. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed in his arms.

# Chapter 42

Vincent cradled Tess and lowered her to the ground. A glance at the filthy floor and he adjusted so that she rested on his lap. Sophia and her father rushed forward. Wesley remained in the doorway.

"Get the doctor," Vincent barked to his valet before he returned his attention to Tess.

He lay her back further with Sophia cradling Miss Crawford's head in her lap so Vincent could take a closer look at her wound.

So much blood!

A hole marred the upper arm of her dress and he lifted her forward once more. A similar hole appeared at the back, and the material was saturated. At least the bullet went through. However, that didn't mean all would be well. Not only was infection dangerous, but they were sitting in a dusty, cobweb-encrusted crypt. The last thing she needed was dirt in her wound.

Vincent once again pulled her to his chest and held her close. He glanced at the door. How were they to get Tess to the house? A few neighbors owned carriages and perhaps they could borrow one. However, it was negotiating the cemetery, with Tess in his arms, under the bright sky that concerned him. He knew he could ask Lord Hopkins to carry her while he retreated to the woods and met them back at the manor. But Vincent loathed letting her out of his sight, let alone his arms. What if she died while he was away from her?

No, he mustn't think that way. It was a shot to the arm, not the heart. Surely people survived this type of injury all the time, if not most of the time. He had seen it often enough on the Continent, when infection hadn't set in that is.

Blood continued to saturate her dress. "Sophia, tear off some of Miss Crawford's petticoat."

The girl hastened to Tess's feet and began tearing strips of material. Vincent took them and began to wrap them around Tess' upper body. The white linen quickly turned red, but he continued to add material then pressed the palm of each hand against the entrance and the exit of the bullet as Sophia cradled Tess' head.

"There is so much blood," the young girl's voice intruded on his thoughts.

Vincent glanced into her worried eyes. "She will recover."

"Where is the doctor?" Tears streamed down Sophia's face.

Her father stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"He will be here shortly," Vincent assured her, though he was wondering the same thing.

"I wish she would wake so we know that she will be okay." Sophia brushed the hair from the side of Tess' face.

"The pain would be agony. It is best she is unconscious for now."

A shadow fell across the room and Vincent glanced up.

"I've found the doctor and brought a carriage."

A young man stepped around Wesley and approached Vincent before he knelt down to examine Tess' wounds. "We can move her to your manor in my carriage, Lord Atwood."

Vincent stood and balanced Tess in his arms. He tried not to jostle her more than necessary. With slow, steady steps he approached the entrance. The moment the sun was on his face, pain sliced through his head. Behind his eyes, black dots interrupted his vision. He took a deep breath to control the nausea and with his head down, stepped out into the sun.

"Sir, let someone else do this. You cannot make it to the carriage."

Vincent ignored Wesley. He would be the one to take care of Tess. He would be the one to carry her to the carriage. He would be the one to see her home. Even if it killed him.

Had he been a man and faced Percer in the beginning, this would not have happened. Tess would be whole, happy, smiling. She would have never been put in the position to shoot her uncle and forced to return to the school, change her name and hide her identity. He may not have been able to save Veronica but by God, he would save Tess and he would do everything in his power to keep Percer from taking another woman he loved from him.

When had he fallen in love with Tess?

Vincent stopped and paused under one of the few trees in the cemetery. It was a younger maple with a trunk that didn't allow for anyone but a small child to hide behind, but the limbs and leaves above offered welcome shade at the moment.

His breathing calmed and he looked down at the woman in his arms. Yes, he was in love with Tess Crawford, or Theresa Ford-Creigh, or whoever she chose to call herself in the future. He hoped the next last name was Latimer. Tess Latimer, Lady Atwood suited her well.

With a deep breath, Vincent moved from the shade. Again, he kept his head down and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. He could make it. He would not crumble to the ground. He would not be sick from the pain. He would not pass out.

Sweat dripped off his brow and his jaw hurt from the clenching of his teeth. Vincent glanced up for a moment to gauge the distance and groaned. He was only halfway there. Once more he dipped his head to block as much of the glare of the sun as he could and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

Wesley walked beside him and Vincent could sense his valet's concerned eyes watching his every move, step and reaction. He knew that if he did go down, Wesley would be there to see to Tess, but that was not going to happen. He would see this through.

The ground below him was no longer clear and began to blur. Vincent tried to focus and clear his vision, but it was impossible. A wave of dizziness washed over him and he stopped for a moment and closed his eyes to clear his mind. Once again he concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other and with each step, the pounding in his brain increased.

He looked up. The carriage was but a few feet away now. He would make it. He had to make it. They had gone this far.

A servant raced to open the door and Vincent stepped into the cool, dark confines and sighed with relief. He lay Tess on the back seat and sank down on the bench across from her. He lowered his face into his trembling hands and took deep breaths. The pain did not lessen, nor did his stomach calm.

Unable to warn anyone, he pushed the doctor and Wesley unceremoniously out of the way as he bolted from the carriage and ran behind to the shade and wretched up the entire contents of his stomach.

Wesley stood by his side and offered a handkerchief and canteen. Vincent wiped his face then took a swig of the brandy. He swished it around his mouth before spitting it on the ground and taking a drink. A moment later he was back in the carriage, Tess on his lap and the others in the vacant seats as they set off for the estate.

Mrs. Wiggons and Mrs. Zobard were waiting at the entrance when they arrived. Teachers and older students filled the doorways and watched as Lord Atwood entered with Miss Crawford in his arms and took the stairs two at a time. Dr. Conrad followed close behind as did Wesley, Mrs. Zobard and Mrs. Wiggons. Sophia remained at the foot of the stairs watching them carry her teacher afraid that was the last time she would see her alive.

"Come, dear." Her father squeezed her shoulder and led her to the parlor. "The others need an explanation and you could use a bit of tea."

Sophia allowed him to lead her into the room and the girls made room for them on the settee. Miss Pritchard poured a cup of tea and with a nod of approval from her father, added a bit of brandy to it. Sophia reached for the cup but her hands shook so much she spilled a bit on her lap. Her father reached forward and steadied her hands and helped her hold the cup to drink. The liquid burned the back of her throat, but she didn't care. After she drained the contents, she looked up at the faces of her friends and teachers. They watched her with expectation. Sophia promptly burst into tears and was pulled against her father's chest while he explained what happened at the crypt.

Vincent was pushed from the room so the ladies could divest Tess of her dress and cover her modestly for the doctor's examination. He strode down the hall and entered his own room and cracked the door connecting their two chambers. No, he would not look, but he would listen in the event he was needed.

He could hear material rip.

"Leave the rest. I need to see her arm," Vincent heard Dr. Conrad insist.

"I suppose her chemise offers enough modesty," Mrs. Wiggons sighed.

"I am a doctor, Mrs. Wiggons and am only concerned with the hole in her arm."

Nothing else was said, but Vincent could hear people move about the room.

"The bleeding has stopped. Go ahead and get her comfortable before I finish treating the wound. I will need Atwood's help."

"Why?" Mrs. Zobard asked.

"Once I begin digging into the wound and cleaning it, she may wake and I will need someone strong to hold her still."

Vincent waited to be called. He did not relish the thought of seeing Tess in any pain, but he would be there for her.

"How is your head, Lord Atwood?"

Vincent turned to find Wesley hovering behind him. "It is lessening," he lied. Normally this pain would have him in bed, the draperies closed and a glass of brandy in his hand. But, concern for Tess overrode any of his discomfort.

"Please call Lord Atwood," Dr. Conrad instructed one of the ladies. He did not wait, but marched into the room.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Hold her still while I finish cleaning the wound."

Vincent settled onto the right side of the bed and placed a hand on her shoulder, opposite the injured arm. Dr. Conrad began to probe the wound and pulled out a few pieces of material. Blood gushed anew and the doctor blotted it away as he continued to clean.

Tess moaned and opened her eyes.

"Be calm, love. Dr. Conrad will be done shortly."

She blinked but said nothing. Her eyes squeezed shut and her face contorted with pain at the doctor's ministrations. A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye.

"It will be over soon, I promise," Vincent insisted.

She swallowed and nodded her head to show she understood.

Dr. Conrad blotted more blood then picked up a bottle of spirits. He poured the liquid into the wound. Tess hissed and arched off the bed. Vincent held her down. More tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

After a moment, her breathing calmed and she once again rested against the pillows. "Is he done?"

"Almost." Vincent attempted a smile when he answered.

"All I need to do is stitch you up, Miss Crawford and then I will give you something to help you rest."

Tess turned to look at the doctor. Her eyes grew wide when he held up the needle and thread. If possible, her face grew paler before her eyes once again rolled back in her head and she fainted.

"You shouldn't have shown her. Tess said she would rather risk a scar than be stitched." He glanced at the gash on her forehead that had still not completely healed. It was scabbed, but at least the discoloration from the bruises had begun to fade.

The doctor offered a grim smile. "I know. I had to stitch a cut on her hand shortly after I moved here. She fainted then too. This will be painful enough so she might as well be unconscious."

# Chapter 43

"Lord Atwood," Sophia called after she peeked her head into the room. Miss Crawford lay on the bed, asleep. If one didn't know better, they would think she simply slumbered, for her white night rail covered any sign of bandages on her arm.

"Yes, Sophia, please come in." He motioned her to the side of the bed.

With small steps she approached the bed. "How is she?"

"Sleeping peacefully."

"Mrs. Wiggons said she had a fever."

Atwood turned his attention back to Miss Crawford. "Yes, this morning it developed, but I believe it is under control for the moment."

"Is there anything I can do?"

He looked up. "Keep your friends occupied. If I've learned anything, those two are liable to get into mischief and your teachers do not need to worry about what they are up to."

A weak smile pulled at her lips.

"I can see by your expression they are making plans."

Sophia opened her mouth to speak.

Vincent shook his head and held up his hand. "I am certain I don't want to know."

A rosy hue blanketed her cheeks and Sophia dipped to a curtsey. "I'll do the best that I can."

Vincent focused on Tess when Sophia left and closed the door. He put the back of his hand against her forehead. The fever had not returned, for which he was grateful. It had not been high this morning, but any fever was dangerous and he refused to leave her side until she awoke and he was assured of her recovery.

In just a few hours, it would be a full day since Tess had been shot. He wished she would awaken but Dr. Conrad insisted that due to the traumatic injury and loss of blood, she could sleep for another day. While he didn't want her to suffer any further pain, he wanted assurance she was well.

He also had a very important question to ask her and this time he would not take no or a dismissal for an answer. There was nothing to hold her back, now that her name had been cleared. The only reason Tess could possibly reject his proposal was if she didn't love him.

No, Vincent did not want to consider the possibility. But what if she didn't? What would he do then?

He reached over and grasped her hand in his and squeezed it. Well, he would simply find a way to make her love him.

Tess groaned but did not open her eyes. She could not recall hurting this badly before. What had she done to invite these aches? She opened her eyes and moved to sit. Only to fall back against her pillow and hot searing pain tore through her arm and shoulder.

"You shouldn't move. What can I get you?"

Her eyes opened and she focused on the concerned features of Vincent's face that hovered above hers. She wanted to speak, but her throat was parched. Tess attempted to lick her lips and utter a few words, but they were dry as well.

"Just a moment."

Vincent disappeared from her sight. It took all of her effort to move her head and follow his movements. He poured a glass of water from the pitcher at the side of the room and returned. He placed it on the nightstand then moved toward her. Tess gritted her teeth as she didn't relish the idea of moving.

His arms were gentle as he slipped one behind her shoulder and raised her to a sitting position. Tears sprung to her eyes when pain knifed through her upper arm. He held her suspended while someone to the left of her moved pillows. She could only assume that was what they were doing because she didn't have the strength to turn her head and look. After a moment, he laid her back, as carefully as he had lifted her, and Tess sighed into the cushion of the several pillows now behind her.

Vincent turned, picked up the glass and brought it to her lips. "Sip slowly," he instructed.

Tess was so thirsty she wanted to guzzle it all, but did as he instructed, still not sure what was wrong with her. Everything in her mind was fuzzy with bits and pieces of memories. The cemetery, Vincent in the sun, carrying her, which she knew must be a dream. Sophia. Nothing made any sense.

"Thank you," she uttered once she was finished.

He set the glass back on the nightstand and looked at her. The concern had still not left his face. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I have been trampled by a carriage."

A smile pulled at his lips but did not reach his eyes. "I imagine so."

"What happened?"

His brow wrinkled. "Don't you remember? The crypt?"

Horror struck as her mind began to clear and the memories came to the forefront. Yes, she had shot Percer. Had he shot her? She tried to recall what happened after she pulled the trigger but those memories remained fleeting. "Did I kill him?"

Vincent's expression softened. "No. Your bullet barely scratched him, but it did stun him enough that you got away."

"How was I shot then?"

He frowned again. "We are not sure. There were so many guns. Percer's, mine, Wesley's and Lord Hopkins'. We don't know and we are all sick knowing you were caught in the middle."

Tess attempted to lift her hand to his face, but her arm was too weak and her hand dropped back to the bed. "Percer put me there. Nobody else."

"That doesn't offer comfort."

Tess studied his face. His eyes were tired, and there was bruising beneath as if he hadn't slept enough and almost a full beard along his jaw. Atwood looked as if he had aged ten years.

"Am I going to die?"

There was a hint of a smile on his lips. "No, though a few days ago I was not so optimistic."

"We all knew she would not perish, Lord Atwood," Mrs. Wiggons chastised. "You just worried over much."

Tess tried to offer a smile but feared she failed. "How long?"

"It has been only two days. I always knew you would pull through, even with the fever, and I was right."

She turned back to Vincent. "Sophia?"

"Is perfectly fine, with the exception of being worried about you."

Once again Tess tried to smile, relieved, but could not.

Vincent placed a cup against her lips. "Drink this. It will help with the pain."

Tess sipped and tried to swallow the vile stuff. She turned her head away, but Vincent grasped her chin to hold it in place. "Drink it all, and I will let you sleep."

The pain in her arm was stronger than her dislike for the medicine and soon she complied.

# Chapter 44

Vincent raked his fingers through his hair. Never had he been as relieved as when Tess finally woke. Though pale, she did seem to be on the mend. The fever had been short lived and not all that high, but he feared its return.

"You need to rest, Lord Atwood. I will look over her."

He glanced up to Mrs. Wiggons. The woman had never lost faith that Tess would survive. She may have tisked often, but she never doubted her teacher's survival.

"I would rather stay. I want to be here when she awakens again."

"If you don't get some rest soon, you are liable to topple from that chair and injure yourself."

He laughed at the ridiculous thought.

"Besides, she will sleep for hours given the medicine you just made her drink."

Vincent glanced back at Tess. She did appear to be sleeping peacefully and the laudanum would provide her with several hours' rest.

He stood and stretched. "I will be in my room. The door will be open. Get me if anything changes."

The woman smiled and nodded her head.

"I swear, Lord Atwood is _not_ a vampire," Sophia insisted.

"What proof do you have?" Eliza cried, unwilling to accept the truth.

"I watched him carry Miss Crawford through the cemetery, in the full sun, and he did not die, or burn up, or whatever a vampire is supposed to do."

Eliza fell back in the chair, a stubborn frown on her face.

"That does not mean that he has not brought Lady Atwood back from the dead," Rosemary offered.

Eliza turned toward her with a smile and a gleam in her eye. "Exactly!"

"Oh, please, Lady Atwood is not a vampire."

"Then what caused that noise in the cellar?" Eliza countered.

Sophia had about as much as she could take. She would return to that dark, scary cellar just to prove to the two that vampires did not exist. One would think that after the horror Miss Crawford and herself had gone through from a very real monster, her friends would give up this quest for vampires.

She stood and marched to the door.

"Where are you going?" Rosemary asked.

"To prove to the two of you there is nothing below this house." She turned the handle and marched out of the room and didn't look back to see if they followed because she knew they would.

Once they reached the dining room, Sophia picked up the candelabra from the center of the table. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it right. After she found a flint in the kitchen and lit each of the eight candles, Sophia started for the cellar.

"Wait," Rosemary cried out. "Perhaps this is not a good idea."

Sophia turned on her. "You wanted to find Lady Atwood, so let's find her." She didn't wait for a response from either of her friends before she started down the stairs.

The room holding the wine was empty, as she suspected it would be. Even the glass that had been there before was gone and nothing looked out of place.

Without hesitation she marched toward the door on the opposite side of the room. As her hand reached for the handle, she glanced back at her friends. They stood by the chaise, holding hands. Eliza and Rosemary may be brave in the daylight or when they really didn't expect to find anything, but when faced with the possibility of actually encountering a villain, they were petrified. After being kidnapped by Percer, Sophia wasn't sure anything could scare her as much again.

She grasped the handle, turned it and opened the door. It led to darkness. She glanced back one more time. Eliza and Rosemary now clung to each other, not coming near, and Sophia stepped into the darkness, the candelabra held high.

The room held nothing but boxes. To leave nothing unsearched, she walked the depths of the darkness to discover that it was nothing but a storage room. Sophia returned to her friends and shrugged. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

The girls visibly relaxed if their slumping shoulders and heavy sighs were any indication. They disengaged their arms and moved apart.

"Well, that is it then," Sophia announced.

Eliza spared one more glance past Sophia into the dark room.

"Nothing is in there. Do you want to look yourself?" Sophia held the candelabra out to Eliza.

"No, I believe you."

"Can we please return upstairs?"

"Yes, let's do," Rosemary chimed in and raced for the stairway.

"How are you feeling?" Vincent asked from the doorway three days later.

"I am fine and want out of this bed."

He grinned and sauntered toward her. "That is not going to happen until Dr. Conrad says you can move about."

"But it is my arm, not my legs," Tess knew she whined but didn't care. She had been in this bed for days and was about to go mad if she wasn't allowed to move about soon.

Vincent's eyes at least held some sympathy.

"Could I go down to the terrace at least? Just for a short bit of time?"

"No. The temperature has gotten a good deal colder and I will not risk you becoming ill on top of being injured."

"I will lose my mind if I must lay here for one more minute with nothing to occupy it."

"I could have the contents of my library delivered up here," he suggested as he took a seat.

Tess gestured to the books already on the bed with her good arm. "Even reading does not hold my attention at the moment. Which is very rare indeed."

"Then perhaps some company." He grinned at her.

"Who?" She hoped he was offering, but feared he would send in one of the teachers or girls. They visited often, and she loved talking with them, but the subjects were thin at the moment. It wasn't as if they were in London where gossip could entertain her. No, the entire school was within the household and even the three troublemakers had been behaving.

Things had gotten remarkably dull in the last few days. Not that she wished for anyone to be kidnapped again, or a tempest, or to be shot for that matter, but it was rather dull after enduring such excitement.

"As the teachers are all doing their jobs and the students are occupied with their lessons, I have only myself to offer." He spread out his arms and shrugged.

Tess didn't bother to hide her smile. "Very well, then. You shall have to entertain me."

"What shall we converse on? The progress of the building of the school, the students' activities, town gossip?" He laughed.

Tess studied him for a moment. Now was the time to ask the question that plagued her. "Why can't you go in the sun? And, why do you have trouble reading?"

The smile fell from his lips. Vincent stood and raked his fingers through his hair. "We are not sure."

"We, as in you and Wesley, or doctors, or who?"

"Everyone." He shrugged.

"What happened?" Tess dearly hoped she was not asking too personal of a question, but it bothered her ever since she heard about the lord who did not leave the house in the daylight and visited his wife's grave at night.

Vincent began to pace. "I was injured from artillery during the Battle of Bergen. Besides a wound to my right thigh, I was knocked unconscious from a blast. When I awoke, I found I experienced the worst headaches imaginable. I hoped they would go away, and they did, for the most part. The only thing that brings them on is when I try to read, or go into the bright sun."

"Yet you carried me through the cemetery with the sun beating down on you?"

He grimaced at the reminder. "Did they also tell you how I cast up my accounts afterwards?"

A small smile pulled at her lips. "Yes, they did."

"With the pain comes sickness and there is nothing anyone can do."

"That is why you drank so much brandy when we arrived," she confirmed.

"It helps dull the pain and helps me sleep."

"What of laudanum?"

His jaw tightened at the suggestion and Tess could not understand why. The man forced the vile stuff on her for three days following her injury.

Vincent took a deep breath and settled into the chair across from her. Tess listened as he told of the night of his return and finding Percer with his wife and her death. She swiped away the tears when he explained how the town came to view him when he did not attend her funeral.

"You must have loved her so very much." It tore at her heart to see him in such pain. It also made her face the fact that Vincent had found his one, true love and it had been taken from him. He would never love like that again.

He lifted his face and looked her deep in the eyes. "Yes, I did."

"I'm so sorry."

"As am I."

She couldn't bear the pain on his face, or the ache in her heart. A man who loved like that, loved once in a lifetime. Even had she agreed to be his wife on one of those occasions he had asked, she now knew he would never love her. It was a marriage of duty, protection, and she was glad she had declined the offer. Living without him was surely easier than being his wife, and loving him the way she did, when he did not return the same emotion. "You should return to your work. I have kept you away too long."

"I can't work right now."

"Why?"

"I am without a secretary, and my library is presently occupied."

"Claudia, Natalie?"

"Don't have time for me," he laughed.

"Perhaps you should advertise. I am certain someone who is qualified can be found," Tess encouraged.

"I don't want anyone else. I want you."

Tess turned away. She would love nothing more than to be his assistant, but it would only cause heartache in the future. "I don't think I will have time either, once I am recovered."

"Tess?" He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I need you."

She turned to look at him. "No, you don't." She attempted a smile. "Anyone can do what I did." She forced a yawn. "I think I need a nap. You don't mind do you?"

Confusion marred his brow. "No. I don't. Rest easy." He bent down and kissed her brow.

"Lord Atwood," she called when he reached the door.

He turned to look at her.

"I am very sorry for your loss."

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it. He opened the door and stepped out, then turned back to her. "Ring if you need anything."

Once the door closed, Tess let her tears fall. Perhaps she needed to reconsider traveling. How long could she remain here, or at the school, with him so near, knowing she could never have him?

No, she could have him, just not his love. Without that, she would rather have nothing.

# Chapter 45

"He still could have brought Lady Atwood back from the dead. Just because she wasn't in the cellar doesn't mean she doesn't exist," Eliza broached the subject once again.

"Enough!" Sophia threw her arms up and stomped across the gazebo before she flopped onto a cushioned seat. "Lady Atwood is deceased and will remain that way. Her grave wasn't even disturbed. _Wake Not the Dead_ is a _fictional_ novel and there is no such thing as vampires."

Eliza stared at Sophia for a good long minute as if she wished to argue the possibility. Finally she sighed and let her hands fall to her lap.

"And Miss Crawford is not a murderess either," Rosemary chimed in.

"Thank goodness," Eliza sighed. "Though it is rather tragic how she killed her uncle. I wouldn't want to live with the knowledge of having taken another's life."

"Nor will we ever mention it to her," Sophia insisted. "She was willing to kill Percer to save me and I will be forever grateful."

The girls sat in silence for a few more moments. Wind blew the last remaining leaves from the now naked trees, and a deep blue sky peeked through the limbs. Sophia pulled her cloak tight. It would soon be too cold to be outside for any length of time.

"There is still one more mystery to solve," Eliza interrupted the silence.

Both Sophia and Eliza looked at her with expectation.

"The map! All we need are the remaining pieces and we can put it together to find out where the treasure has been hidden."

Rosemary's eyes lit with excitement.

"I don't think that is a good idea," Sophia cautioned. "Too many lives have been lost due to that map."

Eliza dismissed her with a wave of her hand. "It isn't like we are going to murder someone for it. I'm just curious."

"As am I," Rosemary agreed.

"Fine, I will speak to my father. Perhaps he knows where the rest of the pieces are."

Vincent tapped on her door. When she didn't answer, he tapped a second and third time. He knew Tess was in there because she still did not have the strength to move about. He pushed the door open and looked toward the bed. Tess lay sound asleep. For a moment he stood in the doorway simply watching her. He should leave her in peace, but his feet took him to the side of the bed.

Midnight hair fanned out on the pillow, velvet lashes brushed her cheeks, now with a rosy tint. Her health was returning, but he placed the back of his hand against her face to assure himself the pink hue was not from a fever. No, her skin was warm, but not overly so.

Instead of leaving her as he should, Vincent settled into the chair beside the bed. He could watch her for hours. Just the sight of her made his heart ache. He could not remember feeling such strong emotion for another person before. There was no doubt in his mind that he had loved Veronica, but they were so young back then. Though it had been just two years, with all that had happened, it might as well be twenty. He was a different man now. Had Veronica not died, he was certain they would have still been happy, but she was gone and he needed to move forward. She would have wanted him to.

Until Tess came into his life, he had never realized that he'd stopped living the day Veronica died. Oh, he had gone about doing what was necessary for the estate and employees, but had not thought much of the future. How could he? The pain that plagued him was constant and it was all he could do to get through correspondence, let alone look for a new wife.

Then there was revenge. Nobody knew which bullet finally took Percer's life and it could have been a combination of all three guns. Regardless, he had the satisfaction of avenging Veronica. The book to his past was now closed and for the first time, he looked toward the future. He wanted a future. He wanted a life with Tess.

He didn't even mind his house being overrun with students and teachers. There was life here once more. But they would be gone in the spring. Would Tess go with them? No, he wouldn't allow it. He needed her. He wanted her. He loved her. He just needed to make her understand that her place was with him.

Tess yawned and tried to stretch, but the pull in her arm stopped all physical movement. She had forgotten. The discomfort had all but disappeared, except when she attempted any movement.

She opened her eyes to look around the room and was brought up short by the sight of Vincent in the chair. Was something wrong? "Why are you here?"

"I came to check on you."

With her good arm, she pushed herself to a sitting position. Vincent moved to stack the pillows behind her head and back once more.

"Surely there is something that requires your attention." It was rather disconcerting to wake and find him staring at her, each and every time she awoke. Had she drooled in her sleep, snored, talked? Her face heated with all of the possible ways she could have embarrassed herself.

"I find it difficult to be away from you for any length of time."

Tess laughed and looked away. His smile was warm, kind, and his eyes held love.

No, that wasn't possible. She only wished to see the emotion in the dark depths and wouldn't fool herself into imagining he cared for her so deeply.

The warmth of his hand surrounded hers and she glanced back to him. What was he about?

"I thought my own heart would stop when you collapsed."

"As you can see, I am on the mend," she assured him.

"Then, you lay here for two days, not waking. I thought I would lose my mind."

"Have you been spending time with Eliza?" She grinned. "It isn't like you to exaggerate." And it made her very uncomfortable. It was hard enough to be in love with him, she didn't need encouragement when his former wife would always hold his heart.

He chuckled. "I suppose I did sound a bit dramatic. But you have no idea what it was like to be the one waiting for you to awaken." He squeezed her hand again.

"As I said, I am fine now and you can cease worrying."

"That isn't all." He leaned forward. "I learned something else."

"What?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"It is no secret that I care for you, offered you marriage, desire you."

Her heart picked up its pace. "You only felt the need to protect me. I am no longer in danger."

"I also fell in love with you."

Her heart ceased, as did her breath. No, he didn't mean it.

"Say something." His brow creased with concern.

"I think you are confusing the excitement of the past week with love. It is not possible that you could be in love with me."

A smiled pulled at his lips. "Why not?"

Tess swallowed and looked away. "You loved your wife too deeply to fall in love with me." There, she had said it. As soon as he acknowledged that he would always love her more, then she would make a break.

Vincent sat back and studied her. He did not speak for a few moments. "It is true. I did love Veronica very much. And, because of that, she will always hold a piece of my heart."

It was the confirmation she had been waiting for.

"But, who says a man can't love two women in one lifetime?"

Her eyes shot up at him. He couldn't mean what he was saying, it was too much to hope for.

"I love you in a way I never thought possible. I don't want to live without you. I need you to be my wife. I want to fill this house with children, if that is your wish. I want to start living again and I can only do that with you."

His face blurred through her tears. He loved her.

He lifted his hand and brushed away her tears. "Tess, you make me whole. If you leave me, I will be nothing but an empty shell once more."

The tears streamed down and she didn't bother to try and wipe them away. Her brain was too busy trying to accept his words while her heart raced.

"Would you please say something?" he asked after a moment.

She opened her mouth twice, to try and form words. How could she explain the depth of her feelings? "I love you so much," she finally blurted out, followed by a sob.

Vincent was next to her on the bed in a heartbeat and cradled her against his chest, careful not to disturb her shoulder.

"This should make you happy. I don't understand why this distresses you so."

She cleared her throat and looked up at him. "I am not sure when I fell in love with you but I never dreamed, that you, that we, that . . ."

Vincent laughed and gently hugged her.

She sniffed and wiped her face on his shirt. "I was afraid that if you felt anything for me, regardless, I would always be second," she whispered, not sure if he heard her.

Vincent sat back and looked down at her. His face serious, his eyes full of love. "Second wife, perhaps, but never second in my heart."

A fresh wave of tears formed and he lowered his lips to hers.

# Chapter 46

"You wanted to see us, Miss Crawford," Sophia asked as she entered the chamber, followed by Eliza and Rosemary.

"Yes, please retrieve the books on China from Lord Atwood's library and bring them to me."

Rosemary groaned.

Miss Crawford grinned. "It is not for a lesson, but something much more important."

Hopkins passed by the door and stopped for a moment. "You are looking well, Miss Crawford."

"Thank you, Lord Hopkins." The smile never left her face. In fact, she almost glowed and Sophia wanted to know why. However, it would probably be impolite to ask and she should just be happy to know her teacher was going to survive that horrible ordeal.

"Papa, do you know what happened to all of the map pieces?"

The smile fell from his face. "Why?"

Her chin dropped a notch. She had never feared her father, but sometimes when he became serious she thought it best not to pursue the subject.

"Go on," Eliza nudged her.

"We were just curious what it looked like, put together, and to see if we could figure out where the treasure is."

He lifted an eyebrow and stared down at her and waited a moment before he answered. "I have them all. I've already discussed this with Atwood. When Miss Crawford is up to it, we will all put the pieces together."

"Where were they?" Eliza blurted out.

"In Percer's pocket. He probably kept them with him all the time."

Sophia shivered at the thought of her father going through a dead man's pockets, but decided it was probably necessary.

"Girls," Miss Crawford called from her bed.

They turned to look at her.

"The books."

With quick curtseys, the three darted from the room and giggled down the hall.

They gathered around the small dining room table and Vincent kept a close eye on Tess. It had been two weeks since the shooting, but he still was not convinced she should be up and about. The doctor had put her arm in a sling and without the obvious reminder of her injury, she appeared to be the picture of health. Still, he wished they would have waited. But, Hopkins intended to leave in the morning and the man had the same right as any of them to figure out the puzzle.

A large calico jumped on the table from nowhere.

Rosemary screeched and jumped back.

Vincent chuckled and picked up the cat. "Darling, where have you been? You know you are not supposed to be on the table."

"Darling?" Tess asked.

Vincent grinned over at her. "Yes, my cat. I've had her for years. She usually stays in the cellar, hunting mice." He scratched the underside of her chin with his index finger. The purring could be heard throughout the room. "She usually doesn't take to people either and has been known to bite and scratch strangers." He looked up at the three girls. "She is probably what frightened you that night."

A blush formed on all of their faces.

"She was trapped behind the door and was scratching at it to get out when I went down there."

He watched all three. Their faces were now bright red and they redirected their focus to the table. He didn't expect them to admit where they had been, and he didn't really mind. As long as they didn't help themselves to the wine.

"Sophia, why don't you and your friends put the pieces together?" Hopkins suggested. The three went about their task and Vincent looked back at Tess again. Their eyes met. A small smile came to her lips. They had yet to share their plans with anyone because Tess felt there had been enough excitement and wanted to ponder the future in peace before she was assaulted with questions from the teachers and students. Vincent agreed and enjoyed sharing this secret with her.

"It does look familiar, but I can't place it." Mrs. Wiggons leaned closer.

"I know this place and it isn't far." Atwood smiled. "I wasn't sure where the map would lead, but I certainly didn't expect it to be so close to home."

"Can we go now?" Eliza fairly jumped with excitement.

"I am not sure it is safe at the moment," Mrs. Wiggons warned.

"When will it be safe?" Tess hoped it was soon, for she doubted the girls would wait long before they attempted to explore on their own and someone got hurt.

"I think if you leave at eleven that should be sufficient enough time to get there, explore and return."

How very odd. "And why isn't this place safe any other time?"

Mrs. Wiggons rubbed her hands together and grinned. "Because it is under water."

Tess' stomach clenched. "I am not so certain it is safe for the girls."

"Of course it is, if they don't linger overlong." Vincent insisted, much to Tess' surprise.

"Please, Miss Crawford," Eliza begged. "We promise to do as Lord Atwood tells us and leave while it's still safe."

"Me too," Rosemary bounced with excitement. "I have no wish to drown, even for a treasure."

Tess looked over at Sophia, who shrugged. She wondered if the child would ever recover from her experience. Perhaps it was just too soon.

Vincent glanced out the window. "I won't be going, but I am certain Wesley and Mrs. Wiggons can lead the way."

The day was clear, a beautiful blue sky. It would be a perfect day for a stroll, if the winds weren't too strong along the cliff. She gazed back at Vincent and met his eyes.

"But, I will anxiously await your discovery." He smiled down at her.

"What about after dinner? If tides are a concern, there should be ample time in the evening as well," Hopkins suggested.

"It will be too dark and the path down the cliff is precarious in the light of day. I would even suggest the students stay behind but know I waste my breath." Vincent shook his head. "I wouldn't want anyone injured on my account."

"Then you must come with us now," Sophia grinned.

Vincent stared at her dumbfounded.

"Yes, you must join us," Tess chimed in.

He whipped his head around to look at her.

Tess chuckled. He must think they had all gone mad or wished to punish him for some reason.

"Rosemary, go get the box," she instructed.

The girl did as she was told and returned a few moments later, with a small box in her hands.

"Before you open it," Tess slapped at his right hand, "the girls need to give a history lesson."

She watched the curiosity in his eyes as he turned toward her students.

Eliza cleared her throat and stepped forward. "In the fifteenth century, the judges in China wore smoke-tinted glass so people could not read their eyes."

Rosemary went next. "In the eighteenth century, blue and green tinted glass from Italy was taken to China. But these were used to help correct the vision, not hide the eyes."

Last, Sophia stepped forward. "So, given how you need to keep the sun off your eyes, Miss Crawford had us go into town and order a pair of spectacles, with the darkest colored glass, but not to correct how you see, just to block the light."

A smile pulled at Vincent's lips.

"You may open the box now," Tess instructed.

Her hands shook and she clutched them together. While she loved him, she was not certain of his acceptance of something that would make his life easier. He tore at the wrapping and her heartbeat increased. Vincent was a proud man, but hopefully not too proud to accept assistance.

He lifted the wire rims and studied the glasses. "I've heard of colored lenses, and I've known people who wore spectacles, but I never considered. . ." He put them on his face and hooked the arms over his ears. They were larger than any spectacles she had ever seen, but the intention had been to block out as much light as possible, not allow him to read a book. "I can barely see anything in this room."

"Would you like to try them outside?" she asked, now giddy with excitement. If Vincent could be out in the sun, his world would open up once again.

His grin matched hers and he strode to the door, threw it open and stepped onto the portico. He stood there for a few moments, almost afraid to step out into the light. Tess came up from behind and clasped his hand in hers. He smiled down at her and together they took a step into the sunshine.

Vincent tilted his head one way, then winced.

"They didn't work?" Tess cried.

"They work, but some light still seeps in at the side." Vincent turned. "Wesley, my hat please."

The valet returned a few moments later with the widest brimmed hat Tess had ever seen.

"I purchased this thinking that it would help, but there was no escaping the light." He placed the hat on his head. "However, with the spectacles and the hat, I might just be able to be in the sun."

With a deep breath, he stepped back out in the light and instead of keeping his face low, looking at the ground, Vincent lifted his chin, straightening his spine and stared straight ahead as a smile slowly formed.

"You like them?" Tess asked.

He looked down at her. Instead of offering an answer, he pulled her against him and kissed her with a passion she had grown accustomed to.

Gasps interrupted them and Tess jerked back. Her face was on fire as she turned toward her students.

Vincent wouldn't let her escape and snaked an arm around her waist to keep her anchored to his side. "I suppose now is as good a a time as any to tell them."

Tess bit her lip and looked up at him.

"Your teacher, Miss Crawford, and I, plan to be wed in the spring."

He had wanted to marry immediately but she didn't feel it was right when the entire school lived in the manor and Mrs. Wiggons wouldn't be able to hire a replacement until the school was finished being built.

Squeals and giggles accompanied the three girls as they rushed forward and pulled Tess from Vincent and took turns hugging her.

Tess glanced over their heads and rolled her eyes. Her short time of peaceful enjoyment had come to an end. Hopkins sauntered forward and held his hand out to Vincent. "Congratulations."

"Thank you."

Mrs. Wiggons soon appeared on the porch, followed by Natalie and Claudia. "What is the meaning of this?" Mrs. Wiggons demanded.

"Miss Crawford and Lord Atwood are to be wed," Eliza cried.

The teachers grinned, but approached with more decorum than the students, and took turns hugging Tess.

"I told you, didn't I?" Natalie held out her hand.

Claudia pursed her lips. "I don't have my reticule with me now."

Tess couldn't believe what she was seeing. "You made a bet in regard to Lord Atwood and me?"

"Claudia thought it wouldn't be until we moved, then Atwood would be lost without you. I knew it would be much sooner."

Tess wanted to die of mortification. She glanced over at Vincent. He only laughed and shook his head.

"Do the spectacles work," Tess asked after a moment.

Vincent nodded. "I need to watch the angle of the sun, but they seem to work." He turned around and looked up. "I honestly never thought I would walk in the sun again."

Tears stung Tess' eyes. If she did nothing else with her life, at least she was able to give Vincent this.

"Well, shall we make our way to the cliffs?" Hopkins called out and headed away from the house.

# Chapter 47

Vincent held back. He knew he walked slower than the rest, but he wasn't as anxious to reach the cliffs. The sun warmed his body, despite the cool wind, and with the glasses and hat, he could stay in the sun for hours. He also knew that he grinned like an idiot but couldn't remove it from his face if he had to.

A few times he turned his head incorrectly and the sun was able to penetrate the side of the spectacles and hit his eyes. The pain was sharp, but he simply moved his head away. While they were not perfect for his problem, which he would never confess to Tess, they were exactly what he needed. Now he could truly face the world again.

And he had the perfect woman to stand by his side.

"We are here. Who goes first?" Sophia asked. She held back while Rosemary and Eliza peered over the edge.

"I will lead you down," Wesley announced and walked further away before he took a step down. Tess gasped.

If one did not know the path was there, one would think Wesley had stepped off the edge.

"I am not sure it is wise the girls venture any further," Tess said.

Vincent lifted an eyebrow and looked down at her. "If we don't allow them to accompany us they will investigate on their own, which is far more dangerous."

Tess worried her bottom lip but said nothing further.

"I think the girls should be separated by the adults in case there is a misstep." Vincent addressed the only three students who were allowed on this adventure because they were the only ones who ever truly knew what was going on, even if they couldn't distinguish between fact and fiction. "You will go slowly, stay close to the wall of the cliff. Watch every single step you take. I don't know when this path was used last or how safe it is." He glanced over at Wesley, who remained on the stop step. "Wesley will go first because he knows the path better than I. Once he has determined it is sound, only then will we proceed."

They approached the steps with slow, deliberate caution.

Tess looked over the edge once, her face paled and she took a step away. Vincent wondered how afraid of heights Tess was because they had a very steep decent ahead of them.

He bent over and whispered in her ear. "Are you going to be alright? You can remain up here if it would be more comfortable for you."

"While I would prefer to keep my feet far away from the cliff's edge, I refuse to appear the ninny in front of my students, nor leave them with one less adult to watch out for them."

It was now time for Tess to begin her way down the path. Vincent gave her hand a squeeze before he relinquished it. She grabbed her skirts with the hand of her one good arm to keep from tripping and moved toward the beach below. Once she descended enough that the cliff wall was to her shoulder, she put her right hand against it. Vincent wasn't sure if it was for balance or if she was hoping for a rock or sturdy root to hold onto in the event she slipped.

Tess was much slower in her descent than the others, but they waited patiently in the sand below. He would rather she proceed slowly with caution than to risk falling and injuring herself. After some time, she reached the bottom and walked over to meet the rest of the group.

"Now where do we go?" Eliza asked with excitement.

Vincent pointed. "Right around the curve in the cliff."

The girls didn't wait for the others and took off toward the east, kicking up sand behind them as they ran. The adults followed at a more leisurely pace. Tess only appeared to be alarmed when the girls were out of sight. "They can't get into any trouble on the other side, can they?"

"Not unless they decide to enter the cave without us."

The adults shared an alarmed look and hastened their steps. Once they rounded the bend, they saw the three girls standing outside the opening to a cave.

"Is this it?" Rosemary called.

"Yes, it is." Vincent walked forward and peered into the darkness. He wished he would have thought to bring a light, but knew further in there were some torches, if they still existed. "I will go first." He moved deeper into the cave and removed his glasses, putting them into his pocket. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but soon he could make out the outlines of rocks and steps. Once they traveled far enough, they wouldn't even have the outside sunlight shining into the cavern to help.

The students turned and looked at him. "You don't want us to actually go any further into _there_ do you?" Eliza pointed into the pitch black cavern that loomed ahead. It was impossible to determine how deep the cave went.

"Isn't that part of this adventure?" Vincent grinned. "If I were seeking a treasure, I wouldn't let anything scare _me_ away."

He glanced up at Hopkins. "Ready?"

"I will follow behind," Lord Hopkins called.

"And I will remain behind so that we don't lose any of the ladies," Wesley assured him.

Vincent looked back to make sure everyone was accounted for. Eliza and Rosemary clung to each other though their eyes were wide with excitement. Sophia had slipped back and grasped her father's hand. Tess offered an encouraging smile and nodded for him to continue. With that, he began the assent into the damp cave. His feet soon left sand and met stone. The path continued up, curving away from the entrance and all light. Once he had ascended about twenty feet, he began to feel along the wall and was eventually rewarded when his hand hit the metal of an old lantern. Fishing in his greatcoat, he brought out the flint and lit the first one he found.

Light pierced the darkness and he looked around for torches that had once been inside. They were placed further ahead and he continued on, lighting them as he walked deeper and deeper into the cave.

Five feet further Vincent stopped when his foot hit a step. He had never gone this far into the cave before. As a child, he always stopped at the torches, too afraid of what he would find deeper in the abyss. Now he would find out.

The steps were steep and he continued to climb until they stopped abruptly at a door. Vincent fumbled around for a handle. When one was not located, he stepped back and moved his lantern to shine on the door. He gave the handle a good twist. It barely turned. He lowered the lamp to study it. _Rust_! Even if there was a key it probably wouldn't turn the lock. He jiggled the handle a few more times. It felt loose. Perhaps it was still possible to get into the room.

He slammed his shoulder against the door, eliciting frightened shrieks from the girls. Two more blows and the seal broke and he stumbled into the room.

Lord Hopkins moved to the front of the line and followed Vincent into the room. The two men lifted their lights high and turned circles, taking in the old room of stone walls and a damp wood floor. Crates lined every wall, stacked onto each other. Most were open and lids lay to the side.

The girls filed into the room with Tess and Wesley close behind.

"This is surely the treasure," Eliza exclaimed as the girls rushed forward to rifle through the crates. They went from one to the next, their enthusiasm diminishing with each failed search.

"They are all empty," Eliza cried with disappointment as she joined Sophia and Rosemary in the center of the cavern.

"Did you really expect to find a treasure?" Tess asked.

"Yes. If there is a map there should be a treasure," Eliza insisted.

Lord Hopkins turned once again and laughed. "I am not surprised. Whatever was here is gone. Our ancestors would not have left it behind. Maybe for a short time to avoid being caught, but certainly not forever."

Vincent turned to look at him. "Exactly who were our ancestors?"

Lord Hopkins chuckled again. "Haven't you heard the stories?"

Vincent shook his head.

"Pirates, Smugglers and Spies."

"Really?" The excitement in Eliza's voice worried Atwood.

"They were a small group of young men, all within a day's ride of here, and attended school together. All of the families had estates along the coast so they would spend time at each other's estates when not in school. Eventually they found favor with the king and were sent to the Continent and other places to spy. They soon learned that pirating and smuggling was more profitable and while going about the king's business, they lined their own pockets on the side," Hopkins explained.

Tess turned and took in the room, sadness in her eyes. "So many people dead, for nothing." She focused back on Vincent. "How did Percer even learn of the map?"

It was a day Vincent wished he could forget, or wished had never happened. If that had been the case, nobody would have died needlessly. "Percer had come home from school to visit me. My father and uncle were joking about the map piece. I had always known about it, but not the origins." He glanced around to find interested faces watching him. "They quit talking as soon as Percer and I entered the room, but we had both heard. When he questioned me later, I assured him it was nothing and just an old family oddity."

"But he didn't believe you," Tess guessed.

"I thought he had until years later when his family cut him off. He asked me a few times about the map and if I had bothered trying to find if it led to a treasure. Soon he became obsessed with the idea. I thought it was only the idea of a treasure hunt and not the dangerous greed to find the treasure until it was too late."

Tess reached over and clasped her hand in his. "It is not your fault. You tried to discourage him."

Vincent looked down at her. He knew what she was saying was true, but had he not dismissed Percer and his interest long ago, things could be so much different now.

Eliza sighed and slumped her shoulders. "Not even one gold bullion," she grumbled.

Vincent laughed. "Feel free to explore. You never know. Something may have been left behind the crates or dropped and forgotten." Not that he expected that to be the case since all of the crates were empty.

The girls grinned at each other and set off in different directions. "What of you, Tess? Don't you wish to explore?"

A gleam came to her eyes. "Perhaps I will." She joined the girls as they moved crates and casks aside. A moment later she gasped and reached down. Vincent walked over to where she stood to examine her find. In the center of her hand was an uncut emerald. Too large for a ring, but not a broach.

"See, there was treasure here at one time."

Tess looked up at him, eyes wide with excitement. "What do we do with it?"

"Keep it, of course." He laughed and put an arm around her shoulder. "It wouldn't be possible to return it to the original owner, even if we knew who it was."

The girls renewed the exploration with more diligence.

A fortune was not found, but Sophia wasn't disappointed. It was a fun adventure, even though the circumstances leading up to it would probably haunt her for a very long time. And, she did find a pretty gold locket, which now hung around her neck. Best of all, her father had joined them in this search. Rarely was she able to spend time with just him, at least when they were with her family.

Rosemary slipped a slight gold chain around her wrist and stepped out into the sun. Sophia followed, her slippers sinking in to the sand.

Eliza stopped and Sophia almost ran into her. "Why did we stop?"

"Did you see that door on the other side?"

"Yes, I did." Rosemary fairly bounced with excitement.

Eliza put her hand to her chin. "I am just wondering where it may lead."

Sophia groaned. "I am sure no place good, now come on."

"Girls?" Miss Crawford had turned around and looked at them.

Eliza grinned and walked toward their teacher. Sophia knew this was not the last she would see or hear of that door.

# Epilogue

Tess wandered through the grand ball room, her hand on Vincent's arm. Music played from a small orchestra in the far corner. She and Vincent had broken from tradition and allowed the students to remain following the Wedding Breakfast. It seemed unfair of her to allow them to see her wed, but send them away after they had eaten.

Besides the students and teachers, most of the town was present and overheard conversations being carried on in English and in German and smiled to herself. It was because of the German population the book had become infamous in their community and Tess doubted anyone else in England had read it. That same book, _Wake Not the Dead_ had caused them to fear the man who was now her husband. But, that was a long time ago. Once Vincent returned to visiting town in the daylight hours, the townspeople feared him less and actually renewed their former acquaintances.

Vincent turned her and pulled her out onto the terrace. She looked up at him and a thrill ran down her spine. Once the guests left, they would be alone in this house for the very first time. With the exception of servants, of course. The school was complete and the students and teachers, when not preparing for the wedding, had moved their belongings to the new building. They would all sleep there tonight for the first time. All except Tess. She would be with her husband. Another thrill shot through her.

He put his hand on her cheek and brought his lips to hers. "You're beautiful," he whispered when he pulled back.

"You should tell Wesley," she smiled. "He designed the dress, chose the material and suggested how I should arrange my hair."

"My love, if you wore sackcloth, you wouldn't be any less stunning than you are at this minute."

Tess sighed. He said the sweetest things to her. How could she not love him?

"Excuse me, Lord Atwood," Wesley's voice intruded on their privacy. "But the guests are beginning to leave."

Vincent turned Tess toward the house so they could bid the crowd goodbye. The last to go were Natalie, Claudia, Sophia, Eliza and Rosemary.

"We need to hurry," Eliza insisted from the door. "It is going to be dark soon."

Everyone turned to look at her.

"Didn't you hear?" Her eyes were wide with concern.

"Remember, we were not going to put stock in such rumors," Sophia warned in a low voice.

"But what if they are true?" Rosemary whispered.

"What has the three of you worried?" Tess finally asked. She would miss living with them on a daily basis and hearing what their vivid imaginations conjured up.

"The ghost," Eliza announced.

"Ghost?" Vincent laughed.

"I am serious, Lord Atwood." Eliza planted her hands on her hips, affronted that he would make light of her concern. "The Ghost, they are calling him. He comes out after dark and stops the unsuspecting. He takes nothing, but looks inside the carriages. If there are ladies present, he chooses the prettiest and kisses her."

"A kissing ghost?" Vincent's shoulders shook with laughter.

"This isn't something to be made light of," Rosemary defended.

"I am sorry. You are correct. If there is a highwayman in the area, then we should all be alert, whether he be alive or dead."

Tess glanced over to Natalie. As she feared, her friend's face had gone deathly pale. Tess approached and drew her to the side so no one could hear their conversation. "I am sure it is just a coincidence," she offered.

Natalie gave her a weak smile. "You are right. What are the chances of there being another kissing ghost? Besides, the one I knew died long ago."

Dear Readers,

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Thank you for reading TO WALK IN THE SON, the first book of the Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies series.

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# EXCERPT – GHOSTS FROM THE PAST

**CHAPTER ONE**

_Cornwall, England, April, 1803_

The hair stood up on the back of Natalie Pritchard's neck. Wind howled and rocked the carriage. She pulled the collar of her pelisse tight. A feeling of foreboding had stayed with her since she and her three students left Lord Hopkins' estate and she wished it would go away.

Miss Rosemary Fairview and Miss Eliza Weston sat across from her, snuggled against each other and sound asleep. Lady Sophia Trent, whose home had just served as the location for a short holiday, rested next to Natalie. The troublesome trio seemed to be without a care in the world and oblivious to the tension that engulfed their teacher even though she had no real cause to be on edge.

It was the travel. Ever since her escape from Russia, she was never comfortable venturing too far from the school, especially if the journey required them to be anywhere near the ocean. It was silly, of course, since one could hear waves crash against the Cornish coast and view the expanse of water from her chamber at Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies.

Natalie just wanted to arrive at the school without incident. They were already hours behind schedule, having been delayed this morning. And she hated to travel at night with the girls, but there was little choice. She certainly wasn't going to stop at an inn. Not only did they travel without a man for protection, other than their driver, but those three would attract too much attention and who knew what kind of mischief they would get up to in an inn.

She held her small pocket watch up to the lantern inside the carriage. In less than an hour they would arrive home.

"Halt!" The sound of a deep male voice rang out and the carriage slowed.

Natalie startled and sat forward to peek out the window. It was so dark she couldn't see a thing.

"Stand and deliver."

This could not be happening. Her stomach clenched in panic. Was this why she was on edge? Had she sensed the danger?

The girls stirred. Natalie held up a hand, hoping to keep them calm. "Please, be very, very quiet and do not make a fuss," she whispered in a voice, which bordered on a plea. She never knew when they would behave docile or foolish, and right now she prayed for docile.

Eliza strained to look out toward the front of the carriage. Rosemary yanked her back. "What are you doing?" she demanded in a hushed tone.

"What do you think?" Eliza countered. "I am trying to see if it is the Ghost."

Natalie's heart seized at the mere mention of the rumored apparition, yet she couldn't help but think of a different Ghost or a different time and place. While _her_ Ghost, a Russian working as a spy for England, stole into diplomats' houses for documents in Sankt Peterburg, this one stopped carriages in the English countryside and relieved gentlemen of their important papers.

Besides taking documents, the two shared another trait. They both stole a kiss before disappearing into the night. The Ghost haunting the roads in England never harmed anyone, which caused the three girls in the carriage to romanticize him.

Yet, why would the English Ghost stop this carriage? They weren't carrying any important papers as Natalie was certain Eliza's journal would not qualify.

Natalie stiffened. What if it as a different highwayman, one who would demand jewels, funds, or worse? Her heartbeat increased with mounting fear. The fact she had three innocent young women in her care put her all the more on edge.

Boots crunched against gravel as the man approached the carriage door. She slipped a hand into her pocket and grasped the small pistol she carried. None of the students knew she possessed such a weapon, and she hoped she did not need to use it, yet it brought her comfort all the same.

The door swung open. The stranger grabbed the lantern and thrust it into the confines of the carriage. The occupants gasped. Sophia clung to Natalie's arm while Rosemary cowered against the squabs. Eliza, ever the bravest of them all, leaned forward and tried to peer around the light. Natalie stared at the intruder to see if she could determine any visible features, but it was impossible. Not only did having the light being so close to her face almost blind her, a dark hat was pulled over the highwayman's head and a scarf covered all but his eyes.

He slowly moved the lantern around the carriage, starting with Rosemary, then Eliza and finally Sophia, as if studying the girls' faces. When the light stopped before her, Natalie could have sworn she heard a small gasp from the man, but she couldn't be sure. He held the light before her for several moments, much longer than his study of the three girls combined.

She raised a hand up to block the heat of the flame when she could not take any more. "Would you mind removing that from my eyes?"

The man stepped back. "Come."

Natalie gaped at his outstretched arm before snapping her gaze back to his shielded face. "I will _not_ leave this carriage."

Without a word, the man placed the lantern back on the hook just inside the door, then reached in and grabbed Natalie's wrist.

Panic seized her throat, but she tried to remain calm for the sake of the girls. "Unhand me!" Her demand came out more of a croak than with the air of authority she was hoping for.

He laughed and gently pulled her arm. He did not hurt her, but his strength was evident when he drew her from the seat. She attempted to jerk her arm back, but he would not give. Natalie planted her feet against the floor and refused to budge. The click of a gun resonated through the silence.

She wished she could see his eyes, or even a patch of skin for that matter.

However, she had to remind herself that as far as she knew, the Ghost never hurt anyone. Then again, how could she be so certain this was the Ghost? Was she being foolish in not obeying him? If he were _the_ Ghost, all he wanted was a kiss and would be on his way. A kiss was hardly consequential compared to the safety of the girls.

Her hand tightened around the gun in her pocket and she slipped her index finger around the trigger. The weight of the weapon offered comfort and calmed her nerves as Natalie rose from her seat and allowed the highwayman to assist her to the ground. She took a step away from the carriage, and he pocketed his gun then stuck his head back inside. She could not hear if he said anything, but he pointed to each one of her students. She could only see Eliza from this vantage point. The girl's eyes grew large and she shrank away from him.

Natalie did not hear a single sound from the girls when the stranger gently grasped her elbow and led her into the darkness. She glanced back to note that a second man sat poised on a horse facing the driver, a pistol in his hand. She always suspected the Ghost didn't work alone since any wise person would take off the moment the assailant dismounted.

Her pulse increased the farther they walked. He didn't stop until they were under a copse of trees and any light from the slight sliver of the moon was obliterated by the lush foliage above.

"Close your eyes." The tone of his low command sounded somewhat familiar. If she could only see his face, or if he would speak a little louder she might recognize him. As it was, she barely heard him.

"I will not." She had no idea where the nerve came from. This strange man had a gun, though she saw no evidence of it at the moment, but she refused to do his bidding. He just stood there, as if waiting for her to do as ordered.

Since they were at a standstill and she had no desire to be out in the dampness all night, Natalie turned on her heel, ready to march away. She managed one step before he grabbed her elbow and whipped her around. She gasped at the sudden jerk that pulled her arm up and hand out of her pocket. Her finger involuntarily pulled the trigger.

She stifled a scream and looked to see if the man was injured. His right hand covered his upper arm, but it was too dark to see if there was any blood. She forced herself to breathe past the constriction in her throat and slowly backed away. What would he do now? Her gun carried only one shot so she had nothing else with which to defend herself, or the girls.

The highwayman stood there, not moving, nor did he raise his weapon against her. Maybe he was too stunned.

Natalie continued to walk backward, her heart beating an erratic rhythm. When she was halfway between the highwayman and the carriage she turned and sprinted toward the girls. With each step she expected to hear the sound of his gun and feel the burning sensation of a ball in her back, but it never came.

The man on horseback raced past her toward her assailant with another steed in tow. Natalie lifted her skirt and ran, thankful the rider was more concerned with the Ghost than punishing them.

The girls were in the doorway, their faces pale. They backed away and Natalie launched herself inside, closed the door, and banged on the roof to alert the driver. In the breath of a moment the horses were racing to take them away from this area.

Anton Kazakov grinned into the darkness and watched the carriage pull away. He still could not believe she'd shot him. Though his arm throbbed from the initial impact, he expected the injury was nothing serious. He should be insulted, but Natasha could not have known it was him. Heaven knew, she had never objected to his kisses before. However, how could he be sure any of their past was true? Perhaps he should be glad for the disguise, because had she known it was him, she may have aimed for his heart.

"Did I hear gunshot?" Vanko Michalovic asked as he reached Anton, ever the loyal companion. Vanko had spent nearly a year in a Russian prison cell with Anton and when the opportunity for escape came, Anton took his friend and brought him to England. The man was younger, but they bonded, nearly as close as brothers in that hellhole.

He grimaced. "You did, my friend."

"This is dangerous. Is it worth being killed over?"

Anton laughed. "I will no longer be stopping carriages."

Vanko sighed, probably with relief and dismounted. "I'm glad to hear. I'm sure you will come up with plan."

Anton grabbed the reins and mounted his horse. He clenched his jaw against the pain that shot through his arm. "No need."

"You found her?" the other man asked with astonishment.

"Tonight," he answered with a grin. "She shot me."

Vanko's laughter followed him as Anton turned his horse back toward the road and set off after the carriage. He couldn't believe he'd finally found Natasha and he'd almost given himself away when her grey eyes had met his.

He shifted in his seat and adjusted the reins. His left hand grew numb and he glanced down at his arm, now drenched in blood. Had Natasha done more harm than he initially suspected? One would think he would be able to tell if he were seriously injured. Then again, perhaps not. How many times had he been convinced he was about to take his last breath while in prison only to live another day? Had the torture he endured numbed to him the pain of a life-threatening injury? He didn't think it was possible. Still, Anton would check his arm once he returned to his new home. But first, he would follow Natasha. He needed to know where she lived and determine if Dimitri Petrov, her brother, was with her. He couldn't imagine Dimitri would be far, but he never expected it to take almost a year to find Natasha either.

Did she and her brother still spy for the government? If so, why was she hiding here when she could have a comfortable life in Sankt Peterburg?

On reflection, he doubted either of them retained ties to Russia. The ruler _they_ supported was now dead. Paul I had been assassinated shortly after Anton's arrest. Natasha and Dimitri probably decided to return to England, comfortable and away from anyone who would ask questions. Not that it mattered to Anton. He wasn't out to find Natasha for the pleasure of it. He was out for revenge. After nearly a year of searching the English countryside, he finally found her. The woman who betrayed him. His wife.

# About Jane Charles

Jane Charles is a USA Today Bestselling Author and has lived in the Midwest her entire life. As a child she would more likely be found outside with a baseball than a book in her hand. In fact, Jane hated reading until she was sixteen. Out of boredom on a long road trip she borrowed her older sister's historical romance and fell in love with reading. She long ago lost count of how many novels she has read over the years and her love for them never died. Along with romance she has a passion for history and the two soon combined when she penned her first historical romance, and she has been writing since with the loving support from her husband, three children and three cats. She writes both historical (set in the Regency period) and Coming of Age contemporary.

* * *

_Connect With Jane_

www.janecharlesauthor.com

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# Also by Jane Charles

**HISTORICAL**

### Wiggon's School For Elegant Young Ladies

To Walk in the Sun

Ghosts From the Past

The Witching Hour

### The Tenacious Trents

Compromised For Christmas

Landing a Laird

A Misguided Lord

A Perfect Gentlemen

Devil in Her Dreams

A Lass For Christmas

A Reluctant Rake

Lady Revealed

Lady Disguised

Lady Concealed

A Tenacious Trent's Wedding

Lady Admired

### The Spirited Storms

Christmas Spirits

Ruined by a Lady

Weathering Captain Storm

### A Gentleman's Guide to Once Upon a Time

His Impetuous Debutante

His Contrary Bride

His Not So Sensible Miss

His Christmas Match

### Muses

Her Muse, Lord Patrick

Her Muse, Her Magic

Her Muse, Her David

Her Muse, His Grace

### Magic & Mayhem

Her Gypsy Lord

His Mistletoe Miss

### Scot to the Heart

Courting the Scot

Kissing the Lass

### The Heart of a Governess

Sacked

Handfasted

Ruined

* * *

**CONTEMPORARY**

**_Baxter Boys_**

Rattled: Rattled #1 (Baxter Boys Series ~ Rattled)

Still Rattled: Rattled #2 (Baxter Boys Series ~ Rattled)

The Rattle Box: Rattled #3 (Baxter Boys Series ~ Rattled)

Rattle His Cage: Rattled #4 (Baxter Boys Series ~ Rattled)

All Horns and Rattles: Rattled #5 (Baxter Boys Series ~ Rattled)

**_Baxter Academy_**

Valentine Wishes: The Legacy #1 (Baxter Academy Series ~ The Legacy)

Colors of You: The Academy #1 (Baxter Academy Series ~ The Academy)

Shadows of Memory: The Academy #2 (Baxter Academy Series ~ The Academy)

Casting Doubt: The Academy #3 (Baxter Academy Series ~ The Academy)

Between the Lines: The Academy #4 (Baxter Academy Series ~ The Academy)
