Charlotte was virtually rendered speechless by the scenario he described. "You wouldn't dare," she sputtered.
"Not unless you have an affinity for dead aristocrats." He shook his head ruefully. "It never fails to amuse me how lascivious I have become in the afterlife."
"You weren't exactly a saint in your living days, were you?"
He lifted his broad shoulders in a shrug. "Neither a saint nor a sinner. I suppose I was—am—only human."
"Why don't you leave?" she asked quietly.
"Because I am not certain that my pursuer has lost my trail. "Which was true. Finni, his astute gamekeeper, had chased Benedic practically to the creaking gates of Crowbridge Manor. The irony of it was that his loyal manservant believed he was pursuing his master's murderer, and Benedic was not yet free to enlighten him or enlist his help.
"Your personal dilemma is hardly my problem."
"I'm afraid it is," he said with a dark smile. "Besides, I will not be much of an inconvenience during my visit. I shall set up temporary headquarters in your closet. You will hardly even know I am here."
"I doubt that with all my heart. Are you serious? Do you except me to sleep in the room with you? Headquarters—I won't have it. I shall fetch my uncle. Shoot me in the back if you like."
He rose from the stool and stepped in front of her in one fluid movement. His body blocked her from taking another step. "Then I shall have to fetch the authorities."
She stared up at him, more confident now. "To explain that you broke into my room, rifled through my undergarments, and accosted me?"
He stared down at her face, her chiseled cheekbones and strong features. He wondered if it was those dark blue eyes of hers that had gotten her into so much trouble, smoldering with a passionate intensity few men could resist. There was danger in her challenging innocence. Why her? Why couldn't he have broken into the room of one of the dull Chistlebury misses who scurried like frightened little mice whenever he looked at them?
He decided to call her bluff. "I think the authorities would be less interested in the hysterical ravings of a young woman who claims to have been visited by ghost than by information about our local highwayman."
Charlotte's temples began to throb. He couldn't possibly know what her cabbage-head brother had done. His investigation could not have been that detailed. "What highwayman?" She asked in a neutral voice. "I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about this time.
"Well done." He leaned his hip back against the dresser. "I am almost tempted to believe you. But, yes, I know everything, from the botched holdup in Chelsea to recent crime in Christlebury."
"You were eavesdropping on my conversation."
"Of course I was. It happens to be a very helpful habit. I assume you are determined to protect this black sheep brother of yours?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Your loyalty is quite touching, really. I hope it is returned. You called a man's name when you opened the closet door. Damon, I think. I don't believe I have had the pleasure of meeting the young devil."
"I want you to go away right now."
He ignored her command and picked up the Morocco leather journal he had just spotted on her dresser. "Even from the grave I have a fair amount of money at my disposal. I imagine I could repay his debts several times over and not miss the loss."
She shot forward to rescue the journal from his large hands and stuff under the bed. Fortunately, it was too dark for him to read her personal scribblings, but the mere suggestion of this rogue being privy to her innermost secrets was an intrusion she would not tolerate.
He watched her in amusement. "One should never record material of an nature on paper."
"One would assume a journal in one's own bed chamber would be safe from prying eyes."
He crossed his arms over his chest. "If you agree to help me, I might be able to save Damon from his apparent course of self-destruction. Even if the authorities turn a blind eye on his behavior, one of his victims might just decide to shoot him on the spot."
The same fear had entered her uncle's mind. Damon was courting danger, if not death. "Are you striking a bargain with me?" She asked coolly.
And in an even cooler voice, he replied, "A bargain, yes, if you like."
*A/N: Please be my patron in Patre*n and read chapters in advance. My other works are also available there. Or if you just want to support me. Please look for creator Zetar086.
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