The bleak weather didn’t help to make the place look any more inviting. Dark shadows filled the windows and the damp patches on the brickwork looked like misshapen faces.
“You took your time.”
She jumped at the sound of his voice.
He was standing just inside the open door, looking impossibly elegant and completely out of place.
“I wasn’t going to come,” she said breathlessly. “I wouldn’t have, only . . .” She stared up at him, trying to read his expression and failing. “I sent you a letter.” The words were like stones down a well.
“A letter?”
“Yes. Jack gave it to Barker. Is it here?”
He eyed her curiously for a moment. “Barker put it down inside somewhere. I haven’t had a chance to read it. Why, was it important?” His eyebrows rose. “What did it say?”
“Nothing,” she said, relief washing through her so that she could hardly stand. “No, it wasn’t important.”
Surprisingly, he seemed to believe her.
He held out his hand to her. “Come in.”
Now that she knew the letter was inside she had no choice. Eugenie put her fingers in his and stepped over the threshold, lifting her skirts so that they didn’t trail in the dust.
“Why choose this place?” she asked.
“Your brother Jack happened to mention it to me.”
“Jack is a mine of information, isn’t he?” she said wryly.
“It seems this house has quite a reputation in the area. No one comes here; they believe it to be haunted. Ideal for my dare, wouldn’t you say?”
“Because we don’t want to be seen together?”
He gave her a predatory look over his shoulder. “No, Eugenia. Because we don’t want to be disturbed.”
She gave him a sharp look. “I don’t think that’s likely.”
He smiled as if he had a secret and strode off down the gloomy corridor. Eugenie, wanting to turn and run the other way, again had no choice but to follow after him. There were probably spiders and creepy-crawlies lurking in the corners, she thought miserably, but it was thankfully too dark to see them. The air smelled musty, and it was cold. She folded her arms about herself, hoping he wasn’t expecting her to linger too long.
She would find the letter, hide it in her clothing, and then she would leave. Although, now she’d destroyed the other letter, explaining to Sinclair their association was “utterly and completely over,” she would need to tell him face-to-face. Well, she told herself briskly, she would do that and then she would most definitely leave.
Ahead of her, Sinclair paused and with a flourish flung open a
door at the end of the passage. Light spilled out, and he gestured for her to enter. Eugenie, not sure what to expect, glanced up into his face as she went by, and found it full of suppressed excitement. A smile was twitching at the corners of his lips and his eyes were glittering, as if he had some overwhelming secret and he was bursting to tell her.
And then she looked into the room and understood all.
Candles were everywhere, standing on the floor and windowsills and tables, their golden light illuminating the scene. The walls had been draped with silken cloth, and a divan took pride of place, weighed down with cushions and fabrics that looked as if they wouldn’t be uncomfortable in a courtesan’s boudoir. Underfoot were the softest, most luxurious carpets she had ever seen, swirling with exotic patterns. A table had been laid, with champagne in an ice bucket, and food arrayed like bright jewels on silver platters.
He gave a deep chuckle at her gasp.
“How . . . ?” she stammered in amazement.
“I have a faithful servant or two left, and I swore them to silence. They did rather well for outdoor servants,” he added, looking pleased.
“I think you would need an army of servants for this,” she said bluntly.
“Do you like it? I thought we could be private here while we discuss our future.”