Chapter one The devil''s boots don''t creak. -Scottish Proverb July 1831 Dartmoor, England The first time I laid eyes on Langstone Manor, I could not blame my husband for having stayed away for over fifteen years. I''m sure it didn''t help that the weather was far from hospitable. Heavy gray clouds filled the sky, releasing sheets of rain that obscured the horizon, all but concealing my view of the infamous moors rising to the east. But even on a bright, sunlit day, I struggled to imagine the house being more inviting. In truth, it appeared downright foreboding, even without the painful memories that plagued Gage. Memories I could see weighing on him now. They were written in the tautness of his brow and the deep pools of his eyes as he stared up at the stone manor through our hired carriage''s window.

Sebastian Gage had conducted dozens of precarious inquiries, had faced down Turkish warriors in the Greek War of Independence, and had most recently been winged by a bullet fired by a temperamental Irish housemaid during our last inquiry only a week before, but this place somehow still troubled him. Perhaps I shouldn''t have been surprised. After all, if I were about to enter my first husband, Sir Anthony Darby''s, London town house-that place of so many unhappy remembrances-I wouldn''t have been so sanguine. It''s never easy to confront the demons of our past. But to see my normally unflappable husband so apprehensive unsettled me. I reached out to touch Gage''s hand where it gripped his leg, hoping to offer him a bit of reassurance. I wanted to do more than that, but with our maid and valet seated across from us, that would have been highly inappropriate. As loyal and trustworthy as Bree and Anderley might be, and privy to more intimacies than most, having assisted us with numerous murderous inquiries, there were still some things that should remain private between husband and wife.

Gage turned his hand over to squeeze my fingers and offered me a fleeting smile before turning back to the view outside his window. I followed suit, curious about this place where he had spent so much of his childhood. He''d told me little about his time here with his mother while his father had been away at sea, fighting Napoleon and manning the blockade. However, what he had revealed had spoken volumes, and I''d been able to infer even more than he probably realized from the things he hadn''t said. Whatever else he felt about this place, it was clear he''d not been happy. I stared upward at the manor''s edifice of coarse stone and tall mullioned windows, their glass dark and oily in the gloom. Two symmetrical wings projected from the main block, their exteriors echoing that of the one before us, but for the long narrow windows which I suspected had once been arrow slits, now fitted with glass. The roof was covered in small slate shingles only a shade lighter than the clouds.

The tall chimneys and sprocket eaves with their gabled ends added angles and dimension to the bland faade, but they failed to lighten the overall melancholy feel of the setting in any way. The manor didn''t look much different than I anticipated the granite-shattered outcroppings of the tors would look. I wondered if that had been the builder''s intention. If so, he''d succeeded, but at what cost? As beautiful as the landscape of Dartmoor was purported to be, it was also treacherous, and this home had taken on many of the same characteristics. The garden which had sprung up in the courtyard before the manor also did nothing to help matters. Hedged in by an imposing metal gate and stone walls, thick beds of green plants and a few straggling pale flowers had taken root at the edges of the gravel lane. Trees ringed the edge of the property, their twisted trunks seeming to sprout from the very walls themselves as if they would not be denied access, or allowed to escape. The garden was clearly well kept, its verges rigidly maintained, but some more colorful flowers and a bit of judicious pruning would have done much to lighten the space.

But perhaps those plants did not grow in this climate and the dense foliage refused to be stunted. "Do you think they realize we''ve arrived?" I asked, beginning to question whether we should send Anderley to knock on the door. In the failing light, it was impossible to see much of anything beneath the pale stone archway through which I presumed one accessed the main door, but a footman hurried forth from its recess, allaying my uncertainty. However, any question as to whether our arrival had been anticipated was swiftly answered by the widening of the young man''s eyes as he scrutinized our trunks strapped to the roof of the carriage. "Good evening, sir," he murmured upon opening the chaise''s door. "Were you expected?" Gage''s mouth tightened in what looked like annoyance, but that I knew to be an emotion far more complicated. "Yes," he announced before stepping down into the loose gravel without offering the servant any further explanation. Taking the umbrella from the startled footman''s hand, he reached back to assist me.

I wrapped my shawl tighter around me against the wind, and opened my mouth to remind him it wasn''t the servant''s fault he''d been caught unprepared. But one look at Gage''s face made me fall silent. He already knew this, and his tight-lipped displeasure was not directed at the footman, but at his grandfather, the Viscount Tavistock. Regardless of our delayed arrival, the viscount should have made his staff aware of the prospect of our coming. After all, he''d been the one to write to Gage, begging him to visit-a move which Gage assured me was entirely out of character for the proud, taciturn man. His urgent missive had originally been sent to London and had to be forwarded on to us in Ireland, where we had just wrapped up our latest murderous inquiry, causing a delay of more than a week. In our rush to reach Langstone Manor, we''d not paused to send a message ahead of us to confirm our plans, knowing it wouldn''t have arrived much before we would. Given that postponement, it was possible that the matter for which we''d been summoned had already been resolved.

Or perhaps Lord Tavistock had simply given up on us. Whatever the reason, the household was not prepared for our visit. Gage hurried us forward, pausing once we''d stepped through the arch into the covered porch, where he turned to address the footman who trailed behind us. "The coachman has driven us all the way from Plymouth, and I''ve promised him lodging for the night for himself and his horses. Please see to it, as well as our servants and luggage." The flustered expression on the footman''s face would have been comical had I not also felt some empathy for him. He was young and inexperienced, and so could not be blamed for his failure to recognize Gage after his long absence, or perhaps for even being cognizant of his existence. The footman glanced back and forth between us and the carriage, uncertain whether he should insist he announce us or do as Gage had instructed.

Fortunately, an older man came to his rescue. "Timothy, do as he asks," said a slight man standing in the shadows next to the door before shifting his gaze to meet my husband''s. "I''ll show Mr. Gage inside." It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light underneath the porch, but Gage already recognized the speaker. "Hammett, I''m surprised to see you''re still with us." I stiffened, surprised by the rudeness of my husband''s comment, but the other man didn''t seem the least insulted if the grin that cracked his thin mouth was any indication. "Aye.

Yer cousins haven''t rent me from this mortal coil yet. Nor your grandfather neither." A flicker of a smile crossed Gage''s face. The elderly man, who I now recognized must be the butler, ushered us out of the damp into a small vestibule. He tilted his head to inspect Gage and then me, dislodging the few stray gray hairs still clinging to the top of his head. "This''ll be yer bride, then?" Though he was merely a servant, I felt I had been assessed and judged, and apparently found acceptable, for his creaky voice warmed. "Welcome to Langstone Manor." "Thank you," I replied.

Then his eyes narrowed on Gage. "You''ve been gone a long while." Gage was not fazed nor chagrined by the old retainer''s censure. "If I wasn''t already conscious of that, the sight of your wrinkled face would certainly remind me. But what are you still doing here? I thought you would have retired to one of the estate''s cottages or shuffled off to the seaside long ago." "And leave his lordship to fend off these leeches alone?" His scraggly brow lowered. "Not that it''ll matter much longer." The remainder of Gage''s levity fled at this comment.

"How is he?" "You''ll see for yerselves," Hammett replied gruffly, turning at the sound of footsteps. I followed his gaze toward the gleaming wooden staircase on the opposite side of the long stone entry hall, where a tall woman dressed in a midnight blue gown had paused a few feet from the base of the steps. I could not immediately discern who she was in relation to Gage, but it was evident from the manner in which his eyes hardened and his nostrils flared that she was not someone he was fond of. And the feeling was mutual. I was accustomed to everyone liking my husband. Those who weren''t already won over by his good looks were quickly persuaded by his charm and easy nature. Even his father, who was derisive and sometimes unforgivably h.