They were betrothed, and they were kissing, and it was the most marvelous thing that had ever happened to her. His lips were soft and gentle and tasted of warm chocolate. She clung to him like ivy, and she had no intention of loosening her grip any time soon.
When she finally did allow him to lift his head for a moment, their breathing sounded ragged in the darkness. She leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Well?” he said after his breath had calmed a bit.
“Well, what?”
“How was your first kiss?”
Her heart pounded so loudly she wondered if he could hear it. “Oh, I don’t know,” she breezed. “Maybe with a bit more practice—”
“Practice?”
He was absolutely darling. She smiled against his neck.
“You’re teasing me,” he grumbled.
She began to nod, then stopped since he couldn’t see her. “Yes.”
“Once we are wed, I shall forbid you from teasing. Viscountesses are far too grand for such behavior, anyhow.”
I’m going to be the Viscountess Tremayne. A little thrill ran through her. Lady Tremayne.
“I won’t listen,” she told him with a giggle. She’d never imagined herself laughing in the arms of her love, but it felt right. Everything with Joseph felt right.
“You think you can defy your husband?” he said with mock outrage.
“Watch me,” she would’ve replied. But she couldn’t, because quite suddenly, his hand curved around the nape of her neck and brought her lips to his again.
It was a long time before he broke the kiss.
“Mmm,” she hummed happily as his mouth moved to touch her nose, her forehead, each of her cheeks.
“And how was your second kiss, Chrysanthemum?” he whispered in her ear.
She tilted her head back to allow him access to her throat, shivering when his warm lips met the sensitive skin there. “Pure magic,” she breathed, eliciting a low, appreciative laugh.
“Just as I thought. Now, about your third kiss—”
They both froze at a scraping sound overhead. Chrystabel peered up at the priest hole’s entrance, not that she could see anything in the blackness.
Until a flicker of daylight told her the wardrobe’s false bottom was being removed. She swallowed her terror, telling herself it was just Arabel, coming to free them at last.
When the bottom was lifted, dim light filtered in first.
“Arabel?” she called softly.
Bright light flooded the chamber as a torch was thrust into the opening above. “I knew it!” Sir Leonard crowed as he descended, sounding disgustingly pleased with himself.
Chrystabel and Joseph bolted upright simultaneously.
She heard the third step snap, a loud crack like a cricket bat slamming a ball in the Grange’s village square. But Sir Leonard didn’t falter. He came closer, waving the torch before him in victory.
“I knew I’d find you hiding with this foul lot. Mark my words, girl, your great friend Trentingham will finally get what’s coming to him. And as for you, Creath, you will marry me today, or—”
“Who is Beth?” Chrystabel squeaked.
“Who is…? Who the devil are you?” he roared as he reached the bottom.
Shakily, Chrystabel rose to her feet. “I am Lady Chrystabel Trevor,” she said with all the dignity she could muster—which was quite a bit. “I’m a guest of the Ashcrofts. I don’t know who this Beth is you’re speaking of, but I can assure you she’s not here.”
“Not Beth, you halfwit—Creath! It rhymes with breath!” He crisscrossed the room frantically, poking the torch into every corner in a fruitless search for his betrothed.
“Creath isn’t here, your worship,” Joseph growled, rising from the pallet, too. “It’s the second time you’ve made this mistake. If you leave now, perhaps we shall pretend it was an honest one.”
“Do you take me for an idiot, boy? If you’re not harboring my bride, why on earth are you hiding in a priest hole?” he bellowed furiously, pulling a pistol from his wide boot top and brandishing it at Chrystabel.
Her heart jumped into her throat. She stumbled back, falling onto the pallet at the same time Joseph leapt forward and shoved Sir Leonard hard in the chest with the heels of both hands.
“Leave her alone!” he hollered. “How dare you point a gun at a lady!” Still advancing, he backed Sir Leonard against the steep staircase. “You witless worm, we’re down here because we have Christmas decorations! That’s right—you caught us celebrating Christmas,” he sneered. “What are you going to do about it? Will you turn us in, o valiant Sir Justice of the Peace? Or will shoot us? Is this what your life has come to, pestering neighbors to confiscate harmless ribbons and twigs?”
“Too right, I’ll turn you in! I’m going to see your family stripped of everything you hold dear, Tremayne. Right after I get my hands on that rotten, ungrateful wench!” He spat on the floor before turning to storm back up the steep staircase, his torch in one hand and the pistol still in the other.
Joseph rushed up the stairs after him. “Wait! The third step!”
Sir Leonard half-turned, but it was too late.
As one foot crashed through the ruined step, terror flashed in his eyes. His pistol went off. Chrystabel screamed and threw herself down on the pallet an instant before the rest of his body plunged through the staircase.
She heard something hit the ground with a great meaty thump and the hideous crack of bone, followed by a small shower of debris.
Chrystabel waited for silence before daring to raise her head. The first thing she observed was that, miraculously, the staircase hadn’t collapsed. Second, she saw Joseph standing halfway up the stairs, apparently unharmed. Her heart began beating again.
Until she saw the body under the staircase. It lay motionless beneath a scattering of wood fragments, its neck at an odd angle, its arms spread out to the sides.
Chrystabel screamed again as Sir Leonard’s torch guttered against the stone floor. The room was plunged back into darkness but for a sliver of daylight that filtered in from
