Miss Honeywell was a beauty. If she’d had a title or a fortune or a less vulgar mother, she might have been considered a diamond of the first water, but he hadn’t chosen her for her pretty face. She appealed to him because she wasn’t a demanding young lady, or a complicated one. Her disposition was as bright and sunny as her hair, and she had a sweet, guileless smile. She’d be an affectionate mother to his niece Isabella, and that was all Gideon cared about now.
So, at the end of the next fortnight, Miss Honeywell would become the Marchioness of Darlington, much to her mother’s delight. Mrs. Honeywell was happy enough to overlook a murder accusation if it meant acquiring a marquess asher son-in-law.
He and Miss Honeywell would wed in the chapel at Darlington Castle, just as every Marquess of Darlington before him had done. But first he had a vengeful ghost to exorcise, unless he wished to bring his new bride home to ahaunted castle.
Gideon drew in a deep breath of the frigid air as he passed through the formal gardens and approached the courtyard. The cold was sinking into his bones. The darkness was deep and penetrating, bleak in the way only wintertime in England could be, silent but for the murmur of water washing over the worn stones—
Plop.
What the devil? Gideon paused mid-stride, his eyebrow arching.
Plop.
Had he imagined the sound? He went still, listening.
Plop. Then again, a moment later, louder this time…
Splash.
He caught a movement in the darkness ahead, the arc of an arm, a flash of pale skin. A figure, too slight to be anything other than a woman, was poised at the edge of the stairway leading into the courtyard, tossing something into Darlington Lake.
She wasn’t one of his servants. Those who hadn’t abandoned him over the murder accusations had fled when a ghost descended on the castle. He’d recognize those who’d remained with him, and he didn’trecognizeher.
This lady was dressed in a plain, dark traveling cloak, not a white gown, and her hair…well, Gideon didn’t have the faintest idea about her hair because it was hidden under her hat, but he didn’t see any trailingwhite tresses.
Either he had a second ghost—the Dark Lady, perhaps—or else a strange woman had wandered onto his property to assault his lake. Given the choice, Gideon would have taken the ghost. He didn’t care for spirits, but he cared even less for strangers. “Who thedevil areyou?”
She whirled around to face him, a gasp on her lips. She’d been holding something in her hand, but in her fright she let go, and it scattered at her feet. “I-I beg your…” she began, but her words trailed off into a choked whimper when shesaw his face.
She wasn’t the first woman who’d shrunk from him in horror, but she was standing in front ofhiscastle, besidehislake, onhisgrounds. Was he not to be allowed any peace at all, even in his own home? “You may beg all you like, but do it somewhere else.”
His voice was as icy as the bitter wind blowing off the lake. It wasn’t the sort of gentlemanly greeting that befitted a marquess, but he wasn’t obliged to be courteous to dim-witted chits sneaking about his property. Given the hostility he’d experienced at the hands of the villagers, the girl was fortunate not to find herself on the other endof his pistol.
Her throat worked for some moments before she managed to produce anything coherent. “But I-I’m Cecilia Gilchrist.”
Coherent, yes, but not illuminating. “Very well, Cecilia Gilchrist. Get the hell off my property.”
Her eyes went wide, but to his surprise, instead of scurrying off like a frightened rabbit, Cecilia Gilchrist held her ground. “But I…I’m supposed to be here. Mrs. Briggs isexpecting me.”
He eyed her with suspicion. She wouldn’t know Mrs. Briggs’s name if his housekeeper wasn’t expecting her, but why was she creeping about his courtyard like a thief? “Am I meant to know who you are?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, not if you don’t choose to. That is, I suppose you may do whatever you please, being the marquess.” She offered him a tentative smile. “Unless of course there happens to bea duke about?”
Gideon didn’t smile back. Was sheteasinghim? No one teased him.
Not anymore.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why? Areyou a duchess?”
“Goodness, no. I’m just a housemaid.” She laughed, a light, tinkling sound, but then seemed to think better of it, and bit her lip. “Your housekeeper, Mrs. Briggs offered me a position as a housemaid. I’ve come on the stage from London today to take up the post.”
Gideon’s gaze moved over her as he considered this. She didn’t look much like a housemaid to him. She was taller than he’d first thought, but slight, with narrow shoulders, a long, delicate neck, and enormous dark eyes in a pale oval face. She was young, too. Too young to be teasing a murderous marquess. Didn’t the girl have anysense at all?
“If you came to Darlington Castle to take up a post as a housemaid, then why haven’t you made your presence known to Mrs. Briggs? I fail to see what you’re doing out here in the dark.” Gideon frowned as he recalled the splash he’d heard as he approached. “Whatareyou doing out here in the dark?”
Color rose in her pale cheeks. “Nothing of any import, my lord.”
Gideon’s lips tightened. She didn’tsoundmuch like a housemaid, either, unless they’d become a great deal more impertinent than they used to be. He glanced down, then bent to retrieve the handful of stones she’d dropped when he’d startled her. He rose and opened his hand to showher. “Nothing?”
