Surely a touch of humor had lightened his eyes.

Was he truly fond of this monstrosity? Or was he committed to it by some sort of reverence for heritage? Very well.

"There could be gardens around it," she said. "To soften the appearance."

"Not worth the trouble, given the harsh winds we get at times. And who's to care?"

"Anyone who comes here."

"Visitors come to shiver at its bleak awfulness. Come on."

As she walked with him toward the doors she remembered something. "There's a garden inside," she said.

He paused. "How do you know that?"

"I've seen pictures. Aunt Mary has a set. They were all the rage last year when your claim to the earldom was a cause celebre."

A twitch of his features was probably annoyance, but that was better than the dragon's mask.

"In a normal world," she remarked as they walked toward the imposing doors, "the approach to an earl's door would be a drive, not a footpath."

"No one would bring a carriage up here, and I'm glad you understand that this is not a normal world."

"That's hard to escape when those doors must take ten men to open."

"Or one earl," he said, turning an iron ring in a normal-sized door set in the larger ones and opening it. "Enter if you dare," he said, gesturing.

It was said lightly, but perhaps even a dragon can joke.

The interior appeared oddly dark, and she didn't want to be trapped in darkness with him alone. "Servants?" she asked. There had to be servants.

"They have better things to do than open doors for me."

That was such a David comment that Lucy found the courage to walk into the dragon's lair.

She realized immediately that the lack of light was because she faced a carved wooden panel no more than eight feet from the door-which clicked shut behind her, trapping her in a gloomy s.p.a.ce.

She turned to face him.

He had servants, but would they come if she screamed?

Then she saw that he liked her fear. He hoped, perhaps planned, to frighten her away!

Perhaps if she were sane, he would succeed, but not because of his house. Rather because of him. No wonder Outram and Stevenhope had slunk away. With some manly instinct they'd recognized the dragon in him.

People knew she was here, she reminded herself.

But they were all his people.

Except Nicholas Delaney.

What really did she know of him or his Company of Rogues? Perhaps he regularly brought maidens to the dragon's lair.

Stop that! It's what he wants, and for simple pride's sake he must not win that battle.

Chapter 28.

When she was sure she could speak normally, she said, "I've been in castles, and doors like that open into a pa.s.sageway high enough for mounted men and wide enough for carts. Here inside, the ceiling reaches only halfway up the doors. I see that the mounted men and carts are unlikely to climb the hill, but then, why the doors?"

"Insanity," he said. "Or simple folly, if you prefer. The rest matches the entrance. Let's progress to the great hall."

He opened a door in the wooden screen and she walked into the medieval hall she remembered from the prints. At least there was light here from a wall of small-paned windows and doors set with gla.s.s, like tall French windows. Beyond, she saw blessed greenery. The inner garden.

That let her study the room calmly. In a real castle in olden times the lord's household would gather in such a place for feasts and festivities. This one was cleverly made with dark rafters, plain stone walls, and heavy dark oak furniture, but it felt as if no one had ever feasted in the cold s.p.a.ce. Anyone could see that most of the heat from that huge stone fireplace would go up the chimney. Even in summer she felt chilled.

"You spend pleasant evenings here?" she asked.

"I have other haunts."

The ceiling here was high and the top third of the walls was encrusted with steel weaponry of all kinds.

"Pistols?" she asked, considering a starburst of them. "A little anachronistic?"

"No one has ever claimed this place is sane. You note the dragon's hide?"

Something large, leathery, and probably moldy covered the wall above the fireplace.

"It should be scientifically studied," she said.

"You would destroy mysteries?"

She faced him. "Yes."

"What of this suit of armor?" he said, walking toward the one standing in a corner. "It is real."

"Armor is real, war is real."

"The skeleton is real," he said, opening the visor to reveal a grinning skull.

Lucy started, but did her best to show only mild concern. "Then shouldn't it be decently interred?"

"Not at all. It's the third earl, and his final resting place was specifically requested in his will."

"There must be a law against that."

"What of all the skeletons used by doctors in their studies? Not to mention the corpses used by anatomists. Have you visited a hospital to watch a dissection?"

"No."

"It not being a matter suitable for trade. Come into the garden of delights."

Lucy went through the doors braced for more peculiarities. She found none, but no delights, either. She'd visited lovely walled gardens, but here the walls were too close and too high. Even now, on a June afternoon, very little sun penetrated.

It was laid out neatly enough in beds intersected by crisscrossing paths, and someone had made the effort to find plants that could tolerate the lack of light. Some even bore flowers. Overall, however, it felt dark and sorrowful. The two trees seemed stunted.

There were windows in all the walls, but they looked into this unhappy place.

"This house needs to be turned inside out," she said. "Or right-side in."

"You have a magic wand?" he asked drily.

Money, she thought, but doubted even all her father's wealth could achieve that.

A fountain stood in the center of the network of paths. Aunt Mary had removed that picture from the collection because it showed a dragon behaving improperly with a lady. Lucy walked toward it because she knew she shouldn't. Even before arriving she knew it was different. No figures here, but two birds stretching upward, their long necks entwined.

"I heard it was scandalous," she said.

"Disappointed?"

"I'm not sure. Why the swans?"

"Herons," he corrected. "Why not?"

"Why anything? Does the fountain work?"

"Yes, but first water needs to be pumped up from the stream in the village to a cistern on the top floor."

"Not very practical."

He merely raised one brow. "Have you seen enough, Miss Potter, or do you wish to inspect everything?"

He spoke in a tone designed to force an unwanted guest into saying "Of course not. Really, I must go. . . ."

"How kind," Lucy said. "Let us proceed, my lord."

Their eyes clashed, but she held steady until he turned away.

He walked to another set of gla.s.s-paned doors and, shaking inside, Lucy followed. She would not quail before him. That would be to lose all.

He didn't want her here, which could destroy her, except that she felt the connection still alive between them. He was rejecting her despite his feelings, not for lack of them. She must discover the problem and defeat it.

"There are a number of these doors," she said. "Do all the ground floor rooms have them?"

"Nearly all."

"That's a pleasant aspect to the design."

"Simply practical. Otherwise people would have to use the corridors that run behind the rooms. They exist, on every floor."

As if to prove his point a serving maid came out of one set of doors and walked across the garden. It seemed in keeping with the place that she was almost skeletally thin.

Then she saw Lucy and let out a squawk as if she'd seen a ghost. She hastily dipped a curtsy. "Zur, ma'am," then hurried on as if pursued.

"Are visitors so alarming?" Lucy asked.

"If any come, the servants usually know."

"And they're rare."

"Are you surprised? The dining room," he said as they entered a room similar to the great hall, though smaller and simpler. In fact, it felt monastic. The walls were whitewashed and the long oaken table was simply made. A dark sideboard was heavily carved. Three candelabra and some platters were made of pewter or some other dark, steely metal, rather than silver or gold. The only richness came from the red velvet on the seats and arms of eight carved wooden chairs.

"You eat here in solitary splendor?"

"There's a smaller dining room, but I mostly eat in my private rooms."

A slight emphasis told her she'd not see them.

"This may be more to your taste," he said, opening a side door and leading the way into a room that made Lucy feel as if she'd been transported to another place entirely.

Suddenly they were in a s.p.a.ce that could be in any fine house. The walls had white-framed panels enclosing yellow Chinese wallpaper and the ceiling was elaborately plastered. Pleasant paintings hung here and there, and a marble fireplace of moderate size might actually warm the s.p.a.ce. The chandelier might be large enough to illuminate the room.

The furniture was modern and included a normal array of chairs, sofas, and little tables. Two large mirrors reflected what light there was, but that was little. She realized there was only one small window. The room had clearly been created by taking the corner s.p.a.ce from the great hall.

"Why?" she asked. "Visitors being rare."

"Insanity. This was devised by the Mad Earl, perhaps simply to startle the unwary. When he had guests he would sometimes start the evening here. Well lit and with a fire burning, it can seem normal."

"Were you a guest here on a normal evening?"

"I was the estate manager, remember. But my sister worked here for a while, so I explored."

"Lady Amleigh? Employed?"

"The b.a.s.t.a.r.d child of a wanton and a tavern keeper."

"So the earl could be benevolent," she said, probing the layers she sensed beneath his reminder.

"Only when it suited some insane purpose."

He led the way across the fine carpet to a paneled door. When he opened it, she saw a circular staircase going up.