Hidden Flame by Bailey Elizabeth

Author:Bailey, Elizabeth
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: passion, historical romance, regency romance, scandal, gothic romance, traditional romance
Publisher: Elizabeth Bailey

Chapter Seven

Paralysis held Theda blank of mind and body, as still and silent as everyone else in the breakfast parlour.

Then a piercing noise of crowing shattered on her ears, and like the rest, she leapt in her seat as Araminta Merchiston broke into hysterical, shrieking laughter.

‘Oh, oh, oh!’ she gasped between paroxysms of mirth. ‘A jest. . .a marvellous, cruel jest. So much for you, Benedict! That will teach you to play off your airs. Oh, oh!’

Benedict was on his feet, overturning his chair in one violent gesture, a face of livid fury turned on Theda.

‘You lying, traitorous, scheming witch!’

Theda’s eyes met the scorching flame in his as she rose shakily to her feet and faced him.

‘You think I did this?’ she whispered hoarsely, only vaguely conscious that Agnes Diggory rushed to Araminta’s side where she lay back in her chair, hiccuping on her choking laughter.

But Benedict’s tongue lashed out again. ‘Don’t come the play-acting with me, you vicious, conniving she-devil! Innocent as sin, by God! May the whole accursed edifice rot about your evil little heart of stone, and bury you!’

Then he strode from the room, slamming the door with such force that the chandelier rattled above the table.

‘Come, Miss Ara, come,’ Agnes Diggory was saying, dragging at Araminta’s shoulders where she sat, her laughter quenched, tears streaming down her face.

‘Diggory, help me!’ the housekeeper called out, jerking her husband out of the stupor into which he appeared to have fallen. He hurried to her aid and between them they managed to half-carry Miss Merchiston from the room.

Theda sank back into her chair, stricken, staring at the lawyer as the silence between them lengthened.

Aycliffe seemed to be studying his papers, waiting, as it seemed to Theda when her brain began to function a little, for her to take the lead. She was shaking so much that she could barely speak.

‘Mr Aycliffe?’

He glanced up, a grave look in his face. ‘Yes, Miss Kyte?’

‘Is there. . .?’ She swallowed on a dry throat, licked burning lips, and tried again. ‘Is there any way I can escape this inheritance?’

He frowned. ‘Do you wish to?’

‘Yes. Oh, Lord above, yes!’

There was another pause. Then the lawyer sighed, rose from his chair, and came down the table to take another next to hers. ‘Miss Kyte, you are either a very good actress, or an innocent victim of an old lady’s wiles. Which is it?’

Theda grimaced. ‘Why do you ask when, like Benedict, you will take your own view?’

‘Mr Beckenham is naturally upset, and therefore prejudiced. I am neither.’

‘Upset?’ Theda repeated with a faint smile. ‘That is your word for it?’

Mr Aycliffe did not answer this. Instead, resting his elbows on his papers, he laced his fingers together and regarded her over them. ‘You see, Miss Kyte, things do not look very good for you.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Look at the picture, ma’am. This will was made on the day of the wedding at Switham. No one but yourself was in the house when I came, barring the cook, who is not of the household.

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