Page 90 of Married to the Icy Duke
He could hear the crash and rustle of somebody following him, plowing through the forest in his wake. He knew that it was Charlotte. Of course, it was Charlotte. She would never have stayed behind, not unless he’d chained her to a tree.
If you must follow,he thought grimly,keep up.
He had no intention of risking speaking aloud, not yet. Sound traveled easily in a forest, more easily than people thought.
Abruptly, he stumbled out of the dense undergrowth into a circle of long grasses and tangled weeds, the shrubs and trees long since cleared away. The tower sat in the middle of the circle.
When it was built, it was designed to look old and lopsided, not unlike a tower from a book of fairy stories, the sort of building which might have an imprisoned princess or a wicked witch waiting at the top. Perhaps both.
Charlotte came stumbling out of the undergrowth behind him, out of breath.
“Isaac,” she gasped, the moonlight glinting off her pale face. “The light.”
He nodded, glancing up at the window high above them. The light still glowed there. The last time Isaac had been to the tower, he recalled that there were a few bits and pieces left there—a half-rotted chaise, a few tools, and a candlestick with a stub of a candle inside it. Perhaps it was still there.
He pressed a finger to his lips, and Charlotte fell silent.
Together, they slipped silently through the long grass. As he’d known, it would be, the door at the base of the tower stood open. There’d been a lock once, long since rusted into oblivion. It had been smashed off, the door hanging crazily off its hinges. Insidewas darkness, the moonlight only just illuminating a few stone steps, sagging with age.
“I’d rather you wait down here,” Isaac whispered, risking breaking the silence.
Charlotte drew in a breath. “I think you know I can’t do that.”
He glanced down at her, taking in her expression. She was grim, her gaze steely. A twig was caught in her hair, and she felt the most powerful impulse to take it away.
Now wasn’t the time.
Turning away, Isaac placed his foot on the first step.
“If you must come,” he murmured, “stay behind me.”
She said nothing, which he took as agreement.
They climbed the steep steps together, twisting round and round in the dark, airless space. At times, Isaac felt almost as if he were going up on his hands and knees, terrified to lose his footing in case he came crashing back down onto Charlotte, hurting her and giving away their element of surprise at the same time.
As he approached the top of the stairs, the light grew, a flickering, buttery glow. The stink of tallow hung in the air, too. The staircase opened up onto a single, circular room, the floorlittered with leaves and long-forgotten rubbish. Isaac hovered, not sure what to do next. Should he rush out into the room and take him by surprise?
The question vanished when a voice spoke to him.
“I know you’re there, Isaac. Come on out.”
Breathing out slowly, Isaac got to his feet and climbed into the room at last.
There was nowhere to sit in the room, save the decayingchaise longue,which gave off the sickly-sweet aroma of rot, its velvet coverings hanging off its bones in ribbons.
Sure enough, a rusted candlestick held about an inch of candle, its wick fluttering and smoking, but filling the room with enough light to see by.
Enough light to see the man sitting in the windowsill, with Tommy in his lap.
Isaac tightened his jaw until he heard his teeth squeak. Behind him, Charlotte stepped into the room next, giving a soft gasp. She made as if to step past him, no doubt to rush over to Tommy. Isaac put out his hand to stop her at the same time that the man spoke.
“I shouldn’t do that if I were you, Your Grace.”
His voice cracked, as though his throat were too sore to speak. He didn’t look at either of them.
Tommy seemed calm enough. He was playing with what appeared to be a handful of shiny buttons, gold and mother-of-pearl. Isaac noticed that there were no buttons on the man’s waistcoat, indicating that he’d torn them off to give to Tommy.
“Matthew, please,” Isaac spoke, his voice seeming too loud for the small space. “You are Lord Bentley. This behavior isn’t becoming, is it?”
