Wicked by Shannon Drake

Author:Shannon Drake [Shannon Drake]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Historical Romance, Mystery, Suspense, Victorian Romance, Love Story, Regency Romance, Regency Britain, Regency England
ISBN: 9780373770335
Google: aeqIBAAAQBAJ
Amazon: 0373770332
Barnesnoble: 0373770332
Goodreads: 891985
Publisher: HQN Books
Published: 2014-11-15T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

HE WAS CERTAINLY the most infuriating creature on earth, Camille decided. She hadn’t slammed his door, exiting with all the dignity she could muster, but she slammed her own, simply because it felt good. Really good. She hoped she broke it, ripped the hinges right off!

But, of course, she didn’t. The hinges and the door were solid. Ancient. They’d been working for hundreds of years and they would continue to do so.

She prowled the room restlessly, furious, and not completely sure why. He asked her to be his eyes and ears and then he didn’t trust her! So he had known his precious Evelyn for years. She had been his mother’s best friend. She was…What? Was she more to him? Another mistress? And the child, Ally…

“Why do I care?” she whispered miserably to herself.

But she did care. Even when she was furious with him, he was everything. A towering figure, seeming so indomitable, keyed with constant energy and fire. She knew the sound of his voice so well, the length of his fingers. She had watched his hands time and time again, and his eyes…

“He is a monster,” she said aloud, but she knew the real problem was that she did understand him. And she was drawn to him for his passion and fury just as much as she was drawn to him for that gentle, tender side she had glimpsed so briefly.

She paced the room, admitting to herself that perhaps she shouldn’t have suggested that someone he apparently loved and trusted might be working against him. It had just been a suspicion on her part, nothing solid.

Her fire was dying. She prodded the logs and ashes, took a deep breath and reminded herself that tomorrow would be a longer day. The fund-raiser would last long into the night. And she had her gown, her beautiful gown. For a few minutes, she would be able to shine, to dance in his arms.

Biting her lower lip, she changed into the nightgown Evelyn had supplied for her and crawled into bed. But she was loath to douse the lights completely, so she allowed the little lamp at her bedside to burn. She beat her pillow, determined that she was going to sleep.

She lay awake.

She wasn’t afraid of mummies or curses. But that day, with the dead and all that they had taken with them to their graves, she had felt a terrible chill. And when she had heard that voice…She tossed, hit the pillow again and then went dead still.

There it was again…that sound. Like a scrape against rock from deep below. It was almost as if the castle were a living entity itself, groaning from the depths of its being.

She shot out of bed, listening. Nothing. Then…again.

She hesitated, frightened, yet so weary of being afraid that she wanted to race out into the hall, turn on all the lights, cry out her presence and demand to know why everyone wasn’t awake and searching.

No! She couldn’t race into the hall. Right or wrong, something warned her not to do so.

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