A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(36)

“Not as much as I enjoy you.” His mouth lowered to my neck again, and he began slowly but inexorably to back me toward the nearest wall.

I was torn between laughter at his determinedly amorous state and the heated pull of desire. Gage was astonishingly good at making me forget myself, pulling me into a haze that encompassed only the planes where our bodies met. But he was normally rather punctilious about making certain it was in places where we had privacy. The long gallery at a country house party where anyone might happen upon us, even if the space was dark and the hour was late, was hardly that.

“If that’s so, then maybe we should retire to our own chamber,” I suggested between quickened breaths.

His hands found my bottom even as my back met the wall between two paintings, and I found myself being lifted. The feel of his body pressed against my length, and the evidence of his desire for me, sent a sudden thrill through me. And when his voice murmured huskily in my ear, “Oh, Kiera, my love,” it drove me out of my senses. So much so that I ceased resisting and simply wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders and gave myself over to his kiss as his mouth opened against mine.

It could only have been a matter of a minute or two, for Gage had just begun hitching up my skirts when I heard a strangled gasp and then a shriek.

I pushed against Gage, thinking at first that someone had stumbled across us in our embrace. But he was slow to come to his senses and lower me to the floor, allowing me time to process the sounds we’d heard even as my heart still pounded in my ears. Something about the shriek seemed amiss. It had been less an exclamation of shock and more one of horror or fear.

As soon as I felt steady on my feet, I strode toward the opposite side of the gallery, while Gage followed more slowly. It was several steps before I could distinguish the shape of another person in the cloud-shrouded moonlight. Which meant it was unlikely they’d known that Gage and I had been engrossed in a passionate encounter on the far end of the room. A suspicion which was confirmed when their shadow jolted in fright and began to scramble backward.

“Please, don’t be alarmed,” I called out to them. “We heard your shriek and came to see what had distressed you.”

As I drew nearer, I was able to distinguish more details of the figure and recognized it was Miss Ferguson, the governess. She stood stiffly, her hand pressed to her mouth as she gazed back at me with wide eyes.

“Are you well?” I queried in concern. “What made you shriek?” When she didn’t immediately respond but instead dropped her gaze, I began to wonder whether she had merely let the darkness play tricks with her. “Did you think you saw . . . ?” I broke off as my eyes better adjusted to the gloom, and I was able to discern a small mound on the floor near the wall. I realized then that Miss Ferguson had not been lowering her gaze in embarrassment but rather looking at the object lying there.

And as I strode closer, I discovered the reason for her fright. For the mound wasn’t an object at all. It was a woman. And unless I was very much mistaken, she was dead.





Chapter 11




I hurried forward the last few feet, kneeling beside the woman. Her wide eyes stared unseeing toward the shadowed ceiling.

“What happened?” I gasped.

“I . . . I dinna ken?” Miss Ferguson stammered. “I just found her.”

Alarmingly, blood trailed from the woman’s nose and the corners of her eyes and mouth, leaving gory streaks and blotches across her face. Though it was obvious she was dead, I still reached for her wrist, checking for a pulse. Finding none, I lowered her hand back to her side. My heart hitched in sadness for the poor woman.

“Who is she?” Gage asked, coming to a halt behind me.

From her clothing, it was obvious she was a maid of some sort. And a relatively young one.

“I . . . I dinna ken that either,” Miss Ferguson said. “But she’s no’ one o’ the maids here. Least, no’ one I’ve ever seen.”

Then what was she doing here?

The question flittered across my mind before I redirected my thoughts to more pressing matters. “Are you recovered?” I turned to ask the governess. “Can you go and fetch Wheaton for us?” The butler would be the first among many people who would need to be told. “Have him inform Lord Barbreck.” He would know whether the marquess was in a state to hear such news or too inebriated from the Punch to understand clearly. “And tell him we’ll need candles, blankets, and a footman or two.”

She nodded and hastened back the way she must have come. I spared a moment to ponder why she’d been crossing the long gallery at such a late hour and then filed it away to be addressed later.

“What would cause her to bleed from her orifices like that?” Gage asked, lowering himself to one knee beside me. I noted that his speech was still less precise than usual, but he seemed to be mostly in control of his faculties even if he was a trifle disguised. So perhaps two sheets to the wind rather than three.

“Well . . .” I sighed. “Several things, actually. But I’ll need to examine her in better light to be able to tell you more.”

He nodded and then stumbled to his feet. “I’ll find you a brace of candles.” I turned to watch him cross the gallery, walking in more or less a straight line. So perhaps he was three sheets to the wind, but thank heavens he wasn’t spoony drunk and useless at four. Regardless, had he been in full possession of his senses, I knew that he would never have left me alone. Not without knowing whether the maid had met with foul play, and if she had that the killer was not still lurking nearby. It didn’t matter that I suspected they were long gone.