The Countess by Catherine Coulter

onto the bed, his head cocked to one side. I just stood there, staring down at

the dreadful thing.

Then I forced myself to pick it up. I didn’t wait.

Both George and I walked down the long corridor to John’s room.

Chapter Twenty-two

He opened the door, wearing a dressing gown. He held a book in one hand. George

went berserk.

He picked up George, said nothing at all, and stepped back for me to come into

his bedchamber.

I knew it wasn’t proper, but that didn’t matter.

“What the hell has happened to you? You’re pale as death.”

I said nothing, merely held out the knife.

He sucked in his breath as he took the thing. He turned away from me and walked

to the far corner of his room, where he kept his knife collection. I saw that

his feet were bare. He had big feet, like the rest of him. Good feet, I supposed,

steady, solid feet, I continued to suppose, my brain happy to focus on him for

the moment, away from the deadening fear.

He returned, George still tucked under his right arm. “It wasn’t there,

naturally. Where was it?”

“Beneath my pillow. I was putting my derringer away. I lifted the pillow, and

there it was.”

He pointed to the big winged chair set in front of the blazing fire. “Sit,” he

said, and carried George over to his desk, where a bottle of brandy sat. He

poured me a good amount in a lovely crystal snifter.

“Drink it.”

I drank. The savage warmth of that brandy hit my stomach like a stone, then

exploded. I gasped and coughed. “Goodness,” I said.

“Excellent, you’ve got your color back.” He walked to the fireplace and leaned

his shoulders against the mantel. He was still rubbing George’s ears. That idiot

animal was trying to lick his hand as he rubbed.

“The someone who placed that circle of barbed wire beneath Small Bess’s saddle

wasn’t pleased that there was no hysterical result, or no injury. And so it

continues. It is like upping the ante in a card game.”

“Yes. The someone is succeeding. I am scared silly. I nearly collapsed on the

floor, I was so afraid when I saw the thing.”

“Well, you didn’t. You got yourself together and you immediately came to me to

see if it was indeed the same knife. It is, of course.”

That wasn’t entirely the reason I had come immediately to him, but I didn’t say

so. “Do you believe this someone could honestly think I would believe you the

guilty party?”

“Good question. The fact is that someone came in here and removed the knife.

Then the someone had to wait until your bedchamber was empty, then go in, with

no one seeing him or her, and place the knife under your pillow.”

“Yes,” I said, and slowly rose. “I shouldn’t be here. I must go back to The Blue

Room.”

He walked me back. I said at the door, “I have knocked against all the walls. I

didn’t find any sort of opening that gave onto a passageway.”

“I didn’t know you had done that. It was a good idea. Keep your derringer close,

Andy.”

He handed me George, who whined at his hero’s rejection, patted my cheek, and

strode back down the long corridor to his bedchamber, his dark blue velvet

dressing gown flapping around his ankles. Strong, solid feet, I thought, staring

after him.

Yet another night that I lay in my bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, with

George snuggled next to me, wide-eyed, waiting for the sun to rise.

By noon the following day, thirty guests had flowed into the house bringing

servants, laughter and holly and presents, and more trunks than I could count.

Carriages swamped the stable yard.

“How will Rucker manage?” I asked Lawrence as we finished greeting Lord and Lady

Maugham, longtime friends of the Lyndhurst family.

“I believe everyone coming to stay is here now. Rucker will manage. We have

enough room for all the horses. How is Small Bess doing?”

“You don’t miss a single thing, do you?” I smiled up at him, and for the first