Will Emma and Hugh escape? Why have they been
lured to Cragdale Hall? And, most importantly, are they ever going to kiss?
Will Unlaced authors Jenni Fletcher, Janice Preston and Harper St George lead
our intrepid hero and heroine to their happily ever after?
Captive
at Cragdale Hall
PART THREE
A jolt of
fear brought her back to her senses. Almost.
She tried to focus on the door, but Hugh’s head was still bent close to hers,
so close that she could feel the warm caress of his breath on her cheek. Her
skin was still flushed and her nerve endings still tingling from the intensity
of the look they’d just shared. For a breathless moment, she’d had the
impression he’d been about to kiss her, but then perhaps she’d imagined it…
Of course
she’d imagined it, she admonished herself. She was an impoverished and homeless
governess while he was a Viscount! The social gulf between them was as wide as
the moors themselves. Not that she cared about such things - nor was she
entirely without connections either. Her father had been the second cousin,
twice removed, of a minor earl, although his attempts to improve the family
fortunes through speculation had led to disaster. He’d spent the last five
years of his life in debtor’s prison, leaving her mother to raise her alone.
She’d moved them into smaller lodgings and kept food on the table, not to
mention her chin up in defiance of all the petty gossip and spiteful looks of
their neighbours. But her mother had abandoned all respect for rank and
authority the day that her husband’s ‘respectable’ family had abandoned them.
What would
her mother have advised her to do
now, Emma wondered? Her father, always a stickler for formality, would
doubtless have told her to curtsey first and then defer instantly to Hugh. Her
mother would probably have told her
to kiss him! Not that her mother could
tell her anything. She’d died of consumption four years before, followed soon
after by her father. She was alone in the world, a fact that - her heart seemed
to stop at the memory - she now recalled mentioning in her letter to Miss
Delford.
She bit her
lip to stop herself from groaning aloud. Her letter had been posted here, to
Cragdale Hall. And Arthur must have read it. She hadn’t just been impulsive.
She’d been downright foolish, giving Arthur - if that was his real name - all
the information he’d needed to entrap her.
And yet,
crazily enough, now that she was here, she couldn’t repress a thrill of
excitement. Excitement? She must have
lost her mind along with her freedom. Surely only madness could explain how she
could feel so afraid and yet exhilarated at the same time. She’d never experienced
such a heady sensation before. Now, insane as it sounded, she was actually glad
to be here, alone in a strange corridor with a strange man, about to confront
another stranger who’d just taken them prisoner.
This was definitely one of those stories…
‘Go!’ Hugh’s
voice, a fierce whisper, interrupted her thoughts. ‘You escape whilst I
confront him.’
Emma blinked
a few times as he passed her a candle, wondering whether he was actually the one who’d lost his senses. How could he
possibly confront their captor alone?
‘We’re high
up on the moors in the snow.’ She stared at him incredulously. ‘Where would I
escape to?’ Not to mention the fact
that he was injured and she had no intention of leaving him at their captor’s
mercy… ‘No, we’ll find out the truth together.’
He opened
his mouth as if to object and then closed it again, smiling sheepishly. ‘You
may be right. In that case…’ He leaned forward again, blowing out the candle in
her hand before gesturing at the candelabra itself. ‘That ought to make quite
an effective weapon. Ready?’
Emma nodded, her heart hammering as she wondered who was
inside the room. Was it Arthur? She peered back over her shoulder. Where was
that footman? Were there others here?
Hugh touched one cool finger to her lips—triggering an absurd
urge to taste him—and mouthed Ssssh.
He eased forward and with great care he inched the door wider, revealing more
of the room beyond. Boxes, like those in the attic, lay scattered across the
floor. The centre of the room was dominated by the most enormous dining table
Emma had ever seen, its entire surface strewn with scrolls and sheets of paper.
Arthur, muttering, held a candle aloft as he pored over them. He barely seemed
to read each paper before thrusting it aside with a curse and grabbing the next.
Hugh beckoned to Emma and then edged into the room, his arm
outstretched as though to prevent her from dashing past him to confront the
increasingly maniacal-looking Arthur. As if she would! She had more sense than
that. She could see Arthur more clearly now. Sweat on his high, pale brow
glistened in the light cast by the candle flame, the hand clutching the
candlestick visibly trembled, and his lips constantly moved, as though in
prayer.
Now fully inside the room, Emma became aware of a low
humming sound, as though of bees swarming. It seemed to vibrate right through
her. She felt her brows draw together and a glance at Hugh revealed a similar
puzzled expression. She scanned the room. In the furthest corner, beyond the
table, she caught the slightest shimmer of movement. She’d never seen the
like—the nearest she could describe it was like the play of moonlight upon
water.
But this was vertical.
‘God dammit!’
Emma started, clutching involuntarily at Hugh’s arm, his
solid, muscular strength reassuring beneath her fingertips. He squeezed her
hand as Arthur straightened, skimming a sheet of paper across the surface of
the table with a flick of his wrist. He was so focused he had still failed to
notice their presence.
‘They must be
here.’ He stormed the length of the table and snatched up a scroll of parchment
at random. He untied the cord that bound it, casting it aside before unrolling
the document, smoothing it flat and bending to peruse it. ‘I know they are here.’
Hugh still had hold of Emma’s hand and he squeezed again,
but this time with more urgency. She looked, and their gazes met. He was
readying himself to attack Arthur. Fear balled in her stomach and she realised
with a jolt that she cared as much about what happened to him as about what
might happen to her. She felt safe with him. And she could not bear that he
might be hurt again.
She tried to reassure herself. He seemed very capable. And
strong. But… what if this was one of
those stories? One that did not have a happy ending? That earlier thrill of
excitement was all very well, but this was now horribly real. What if Hugh
could not overpower Arthur? And where was that footman? She tightened her grip
on the candelabra and forced a smile for Hugh. She was ready. She would back him
up whatever it took.
Moving swiftly and silently, Hugh crossed the expanse of
floor that separated him from Arthur. As he reached him, he let out a roar and,
seizing Arthur by the shoulder, he jerked him round, drew back his right arm
and let fly, landing his fist squarely on Arthur’s nose. Arthur spun round with
the force of the blow and landed on his knees, both hands clutched to his face.
Blood dripped between his fingers but Hugh gave him no time to recover. He
grabbed Arthur by his lapels and hauled him to his feet, thrusting his face
close to the other man’s.
‘What’s your game?’ he snarled.
The thud of boots in the corridor outside sent Emma’s pulse racing,
and she moved quickly to hide behind the door, raising the candelabra as high
as she could, holding it in both hands. The footman burst through the door and
she leapt forward, swinging the candelabra at his head. His shoulders hunched
as the blow landed and he lurched around to face her. She snatched up her
skirts and kicked high, as hard as she could—a ploy taught to her by her
father. Her boot-clad foot landed with satisfying accuracy, sinking into the
servant’s groin, and he doubled up as a high-pitched wheeze escaped his lips.
‘Take that,’ she yelled, her blood pumping.
Hugh dragged Arthur over to the writhing servant and threw
him down to join him on the floor.
‘It is time for answers, gentlemen,’ he said grimly as he
stood over them. ‘Why are we…’ he indicated Emma and then himself ‘…here?’
The only answer was moans, and Hugh paced the floor as he
waited for a reply. Meanwhile Emma, unable to contain her curiosity, rounded
the table to investigate that infuriating humming. It seemed to reach inside
her and make all her insides shake and quiver, making her feel nauseous. It
emanated from the same strange piece of furniture she had noticed in the
portrait and, as she neared it, she saw that the emerald ring had been inserted
into a groove in the top of the contraption. The ring appeared to be the source
of that weird optical phenomenon.
‘No!’ The sheer panic in that one word brought her up short.
She turned to face the three men. ‘Whatever you do don’t touch that.’
She was
shocked to see that Hugh had been the one to issue the warning. His green eyes
were wide in alarm as he stared at the humming contraption.
“What is
it?” she asked.
His mouth
formed a grim line as he met her gaze. She saw within his eyes a certain
wariness that hadn’t been present until then. A suspicion perhaps. He knew more
than he was letting on. His brow furrowed as he held out his hand to her. She
took it, a tiny thrill running through her fingertips as he closed his fingers
around hers. “I’m uncertain,” he admitted, pulling her close to him. “But I
think our new friend here can explain it to us.”
“Friend?”
Arthur grinned, his teeth stained red with the blood from his nose. To her
horror, Emma saw a gun in his hand and she cursed herself for having distracted
Hugh. “Surely we are more than that. Don’t you recognize your own kin?”
Emma’s mouth
dropped open, her gaze going from one to the other but unable to find a
resemblance. Where Arthur was pale and thin, Hugh had vivid coloring and was
solid muscle.
“I’ve never
met you before in my life,” Hugh said.
Arthur
nodded. “You’re right. We’ve never met before, but I’m disappointed you don’t
see some resemblance.”
Hugh
tightened his grip on her, pulling her closer and making her feel just that
much safer from his proximity. “What game are you playing?” he asked.
“It’s no
game. As we speak, your mother is having papers drawn up to seal your betrothal
to Henrietta Wexley.” Arthur’s smile resembled that of a cat who’d just snacked
on a particularly annoying canary. “Isn’t that true?”
Emma gasped.
While it was true she had no claim to Hugh and even less reason to think the
spark between them might progress to something more, she was disappointed
nonetheless. These past hours with him had meant something to her and she’d
thought he’d felt the same. Hadn’t he almost kissed her?
“That’s not
true,” Hugh said. Then in a softer voice meant for her ears alone, he repeated,
“It’s not true, Emma.” His eyes were earnest as he gazed down at her and gave
her hand a gentle squeeze.
Emma had
heard of Henrietta Wexley. Her name came up quite often in the society pages.
She was the current toast of London with her lovely blonde hair and pale blue
eyes. The opposite of Emma’s own darker looks.
“It is
true!” Arthur’s voice interrupted her musing, but then he laughed and she
wondered if he was mad.
“What is he
saying, Hugh?” She didn’t know who to believe or what any of that had to do
with that contraption in the corner.
Hugh shook
his head. “He’s right in that my mother has been pestering me to offer for the
Wexley girl, but I’ve refused.” His expression was solemn when he stared down
at her. “She’s not who I want.” His gaze touched her mouth before he tore it
away to look at Arthur. “There’s no way you could know that unless you’ve
planted a spy in my household.”
“There’s no
spy,” said Arthur. “I know it the same way that I know your betrothal to
Henrietta will be announced and you’ll be wed end of summer. I know it the same
way I know you’ll employ Emma Rehnquist to be your assistant in October. I know
it the same way I know the date of your death.”
“You’re
mad,” Hugh said.
“I’m Arthur
Delford, your great grandson. Though, seeing you now, I think I favor great
grandmother Henrietta more.”
Emma
tightened her grip on Hugh’s hand. He was the only solid, sure thing in this
whole mess. “That can’t be.”
“I assure
you that it is, miss.” Arthur grinned. “Warner and I,” he indicated the
footman, now on his feet and at Arthur’s side, “found Hugh’s plans for the time
apparatus in the family attic. Imagine my surprise when I figured out what it
was for. In the future, your name will be lauded as a famed astronomer, a
success that started with your discovery of Delford’s Comet. Family legend also
has you as something of an amateur inventor but I never knew you tinkered with
time travel as well.”
Hugh looked
as if he’d just been bowled over. His face had paled. “It can’t be,” he
muttered. “It can’t have worked.” He stared at the humming thing in the corner.
“But it did.
Warner and I arrived months ago, but the blasted thing broke. It’s taken me all
this time to get it this far. We needed the ring to power it up but it’s still
not quite right. You have the missing key in your papers…somewhere.” He nodded
to the array of papers spread across the table. “Fix it and we’ll let you both
go. If you refuse, well then, dear Emma won’t get out of here alive.”
To Emma’s
surprise, Hugh smiled at that, leaving her to wonder if he’d gone mad as well.
“Don’t
worry,” he said to her. “If what young Arthur says is true, I’ll have us to
safety in but a moment.” Then he maneuvered them away from Arthur, Warner, and
the strange contraption, putting her behind his shoulder. “It sickens me to
think that my lineage could have produced a parasite such as yourself, but what
you’ve said about the time apparatus is true. I created a design and it worked
somewhat, enough that I realized that I needed to leave it be. It was never
meant to be rediscovered.”
“How
fortunate I found it.” Arthur smiled.
Hugh
grinned. “A mistake that can be remedied.”
“How?” Emma
asked, tightening her hold on Hugh’s arm.
He smiled
down at her and gripped her hand, bringing it to his chest to rest over his
pounding heart. “Easy. I vow in this moment to never marry Henrietta Wexley and
hence, Arthur Delford will never be born.”
It seemed
too easy to be true, but Arthur’s face crumpled as if he’d never anticipated
this turn of events. The contraption hummed, getting louder, and then the light
went out and it disappeared completely into thin air. Arthur opened his mouth
to speak, but whatever he said was taken away as a wind moved around them,
ruffling the papers on the table, and then he and his friend disappeared.
Emma and
Hugh stared at the empty space left behind, afraid that to move would somehow
bring them back. Finally she let out the breath she’d been holding. “Well…that
was…unexpected.”
Hugh let out
a mirthless laugh. “It was. I admit to a fear of having children if that’s what
I’m capable of producing.”
She laughed
at his jest, but Henrietta Wexley came to mind. “Is it true that you were to
wed her?”
He shook his
head and turned to face her fully, taking both of her hands in his. “It was
discussed, but I refused. Perhaps for some reason, I relented before, but not
now. As I said, she’s not who I want.” His gaze dipped down to her lips and she
felt them tingle in anticipation.
She dropped
her gaze to his chest. “I still can’t figure out how I fit into all this. Why
would he lure me out here?”
Hugh shook
his head. “I’m not sure how you fit into his plan, but I know how you fit into
mine, now Arthur has brought you into my life before we were ever destined to
meet. Will you allow me to kiss you, Emma?”
Her lips
parted in a silent gasp as her gaze darted back up to his, but he was looking
at her mouth. She felt her cheeks warm as she smiled. “I would like that very
much.”
He smiled
and dipped his head, covering her mouth with his. His lips were soft and warm,
and heat shimmered down her spine to coil deep in her belly. When he pulled
back, he smiled at her and she knew that something wonderful was about to
happen.
This wasn’t
one of those stories after all. It
was her story, and it was better than she’d ever imagined it could be.
The
End
Captive at Cragdale Hall was written
by Lara Temple, Laurie Benson, Nicole Locke, Elisabeth Hobbes, Virginia Heath,
Catherine Tinley, Jenni Fletcher, Janice Preston and Harper St George. Together
they host The Unlaced Book Club.
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