The Vanishing Viscountess. Diane Gaston

must have made a terrible mistake, must have mistaken the meaning of his almost-kiss. Surely he would give her some sign of wanting to make love to her after her brazen invitation. Not this silence.

      She felt the rebuff as keenly as she’d once felt those of her husband. Corland, however, had voiced his disgust at her wantonness. She’d believed him, too, thinking herself some unnatural sort of wife to desire the lovemaking, until she discovered that Corland had no such disgust of other women bedding him.

      Tanner’s reaction confused her all the more.

      Perhaps she was not a temptation to any man. She’d not really had the opportunity to find out while playing governess to Eliza’s children.

      “I—I ought to speak more plainly,” she prevaricated. “I meant we ought to share the bed, which is big enough. I was not suggesting more.”

      He swung away from her, so she could not tell how this idea—outrageous all on its own—had struck him.

      He finally turned back to her. “You wish only to share the bed.”

      She nodded, wishing she had merely insisted upon sleeping on the floor and been done with it.

      “I will turn my back while you undress, then.” He faced the chest where the water and bowl were.

      Marlena undressed as quickly as she could, although her fingers fumbled with the laces of her corset. She slipped the nightdress over her head and noticed the comforting smell of lavender lingering in the fabric. She laid her clothing over one of the chairs so that it would not wrinkle.

      She crawled beneath the covers. “I am done.”

      He’d been so still as she undressed, adding to her discomfort, but he moved now, removing his boots and the coat he’d donned over his nightshirt when they’d gone below stairs. She peeked through her lashes at him, watching him unfasten the fall of his trousers and step out of them, the nightshirt preserving his modesty.

      He walked towards the bed and climbed in beside her. The bed shifted with his weight. When he faced away from her, she wished it could have been as it had been that morning, his arms around her, bare skin touching bare skin. She was certain she would never sleep a wink the whole night, but soon after his breathing became even and rhythmic, she drifted off.

      The dream came. She’d not had the dream in ever so long, but now, with all the fear and danger, she dreamt it like it was happening all over again.

      She’d been restless, unable to sleep that terrible night. Corland and Wexin made plenty of noise when they returned from their night of debauchery. Wexin often slept off the effects of their entertainment in one of the bedchambers, so it did not surprise her that he stayed the night.

      When she finally dozed, a woman’s cry woke her. Earlier in the day the housekeeper had warned her that her husband had his eye on Fia Small, the new maid, a girl Marlena had hired mostly because she came from near Parronley and was so very young and desperate for employment. A light shone from beneath the door connecting her husband’s bedchamber to hers.

      Again in her dream, Marlena rose from her bed and walked to the door. She turned the key and opened it.

      A man who looked as if he were dressed in women’s clothes grappled with someone, something in his hand, trying to strike with it. Marlena ran and grabbed his arm. The weapon was a large pair of scissors and the person with whom he struggled was the new maid. He swung around to Marlena, slashing the weapon towards her.

      “No!” the girl cried, trying to pull him off Marlena.

      He flung the girl away.

      Marlena fought him, both her hands grasping his arm, holding off the lethal scissors. She finally saw the man’s face.

      In her dream the face loomed very large and menacing.

      It was Wexin. Her cousin.

      “Wexin, my God,” she cried. The dream turned him into the image of a demon. He drove her towards the bed and she fell against it, losing her grip on his arm. He brought the scissors down, but Marlena twisted away.

      She collided with her husband, her face almost ramming into his. Corland’s eyes were open and lifeless, blood spattered his face, pooling at the wound in his neck.

      Before she could scream, Wexin called out, “Help! Someone, help!” He tore off the woman’s robe and threw it at Marlena. He thrust the scissors into her hand.

      Footsteps sounded in the hallway.

      Wexin swung around to the maid. “I’ll see you dead, girl, if you speak a word of this. There will be nowhere you can hide. Your lady here has killed her husband. Do you understand?”

      Marlena threw aside the robe—her robe, she realised. The scissors in her hand was sticky with blood. Her nightdress was stained with it. Wexin pulled off his gloves and stuffed them in a pocket. He was clean while she was bloody.

      The maid glanced from Marlena to Wexin and back again. With a cry, she ran, scampering through the hidden door that led from Corland’s room to the servants’ staircase.

      Wexin laughed at the girl’s escape. “There goes your witness, cousin,” he sneered. “You have killed Corland and there is no one to say you have not.”

      Marlena jolted awake, her heart pounding.

      The nightmare had not ended, however. A man leaned over the bed and slammed his hand over her mouth.

      Tanner woke with a start.

      A man, no more than a black figure, had his hands on Miss Brown. Tanner grabbed for the man’s coat, knocking him off balance.

      The man released Miss Brown and pulled out of Tanner’s grip. Tanner sprang from the bed and lunged at him before he could reach her again. They both fell to the floor, rolling and grappling, until slamming against the mantel, the coals on the hearth hot on Tanner’s back. They illuminated the man’s face.

      Davies, the son come back to finish what he’d started on the beach.

      “No!” Miss Brown ran towards them, pulling the back of Davies’s collar.

      “Stay back!” Tanner yelled, although he was perilously close to having his nightshirt catch fire.

      Davies released him and scrambled to his feet. Miss Brown backed away from him, but he came at her, clamping one big beefy hand around her neck. Tanner stood and advanced on him.

      “Keep away or I’ll kill her,” Davies warned, squeezing her throat for emphasis, and dragging her towards the door.

      “Leave her,” Tanner commanded. “The purse you want is in the bed.”

      The man glanced to the bed, but shook his head, squeezing Miss Brown’s neck tighter. “She’ll be worth more, I’ll wager.” The man swallowed. “I saw your ring. Only a rich man wears a ring with pictures on it. You’ll pay me more than what’s in that purse for her.”