Read Sandra Heath for Free Online Page B

consolation was that St. Peter’s back had been turned at the relevant moment. Dark with anger and embarrassment, he retreated to his vile abode.
    Sensing nothing of Old Nick’s brief intrusion, Jane and Kit emerged hesitantly onto the terrace. They hadn’t been able to see or hear what had happened because of the crowd of guests, but were aware that something terrible had almost befallen Henrietta. Jane was particularly concerned; after all, Henrietta was her blood relation, as well as her double. They kept out of sight but within earshot as Henrietta was coaxed to sit down on the bench.
    Charlotte joined her, a reassuring arm around her shoulder, and Amabel crouched in front. The widowed Mrs. Renchester was one of the few guests who’d taken the precaution of putting on a warm cloak before venturing out into the cold night, and her hood had been raised, but now it fell back to reveal her heart-shaped face. She was lovely, with rich brown hair and wide green eyes that were large with disquiet. “Oh, Henrietta, are you all right? I saw you suddenly lurch forward! Whatever happened?”
    From the moment she spoke, Jane became deeply uneasy about her. What had Charlotte said earlier? A whiff of sulfur? Yes, that was the perfect phrase for Amabel Renchester.
    Henrietta closed her eyes as her senses reeled again. “Someone pushed into me. It was such a jolt I almost thought it was deliberate. It couldn’t have been, of course, but for a moment I was very frightened indeed.”
    “I’m sure I would have been as well.” Amabel squeezed her left hand, and then looked down as she felt the heavy betrothal ring. “Poor Lord Sutherton would be most distressed if he knew how in the wars you’ve been today.”
    Charlotte didn’t approve of her words. “Amabel, Henrietta has almost fallen to her death twice today, on both occasions over high cliffs, so I hardly think in the wars is an appropriate phrase, do you?” she said coolly.
    Jane’s disquiet about Amabel had increased by the second. There was something about her that sent a cold shiver down the ghost’s spine. Maybe it was the veiled malice shimmering in the widow’s lovely eyes.
    Amabel released Henrietta’s hand. “I—I think I’ll go back inside, it’s rather too cold for me out here,” she said, straightening. Her cloak parted slightly so that the spangles on her jonquil satin gown glimmered as another cluster of rockets soared dazzlingly overhead. Her heavy peridot earrings flashed in the moving light as she gave a rather embarrassed smile, and then gathered up her cloak to hurry back through the cloisters.
    Henrietta’s accusing eyes swung to Charlotte. “That wasn’t very nice of you.”
    “She doesn’t make me feel nice.”
    “Even so—”
    “Henrietta, if you wish us to quarrel after all, then do pray continue in your role as defense counsel for Amabel Renchester.”
    Henrietta said no more, and after a moment got up to return to the balustrade. She chose a quiet spot close to one of Russell’s cannons, and Charlotte joined her. Lanterns and smoking torches now bobbed along the town quay, and shouts carried audibly on the still night air as the men of Mulborough lit beacon bonfires on the harbor walls. The sloop dropped anchor and was suddenly revealed more clearly by a particularly spectacular burst of fireworks.
    Charlotte bit her lip and glanced at Henrietta. “Oh dear, I’m afraid it’s the Avalon. You’re going to have to face Marcus Fitzpaine after all.”
    Dismayed, Henrietta gazed down at the beautiful sloop. Yes, it had to be Marcus. Sailing was very much the thing in the highest social circles, but few gentlemen possessed vessels of such size and luxury.
    Jane and Kit were now hiding behind the cannon, and Jane was suddenly alert. The new vessel belonged to the dastardly Marquess of Rothwell, who had pursued Henrietta in order to win a wager? The ghost’s lips pursed pensively. Henrietta had also described Kit as a perfect