With This Ring Read Online Free Page B

gave her a quiet thrill to learn that someone enjoyed the novels she penned under the pseudonym Mrs. Amelia York. She said nothing to Sally about her secret identity as an authoress, however. Only Lucy and the members of her family knew that she wrote for a living.
    She followed Sally's glance around the room. Perhaps she would make some notes before she left. Monkcrest Abbey was nothing if not picturesque. Thick stone walls, arched doorways, and what appeared to be endless miles of gloom-filled passageways all went together to create a house that would fit quite nicely into one of her novels.
    En route to their chambers, she and Sally had passed through a long gallery filled with a number of artifacts and antiquities. Greek, Roman, and Zamarian statues gazed with impassive stone faces from a variety of niches. Cabinets filled with shards of pottery and ancient glass occupied odd corners in the halls.
    In addition to being a scholar, Beatrice reflected, Monkcrest was obviously a collector of antiquities.
    She closed her eyes and allowed herself to absorb the atmosphere of the ancient stone walls.
    Awareness fluttered through her. For an instant she could feel the weight of the years. It was a vague, wispy, indescribable sensation, one she often had in the presence of very old buildings or artifacts. The invisible vapors flowed around her.
    There was melancholia, of course. She often felt it in structures this ancient. But there was also a sense of the future. The house had known times of happiness in the past
     
    A m a n d a Q u i c k
    and it would know them again. The heavy layers of history pressed in on her. But there was nothing here that would give her nightmares or keep her awake tonight.
    When she opened her eyes she realized that her dominant impression of Monkcrest Abbey was that of a sense of loneliness.
    "Imagine living in a ruin such as this," Sally said. "Mayhap 'is lordship really is a madman."
    "Monkcrest Abbey is not precisely a ruin. It is quite old but it appears to be in excellent repair. This is not the house of a madman."
    Beatrice did not attempt to explain her sensibility to atmosphere to Sally. It was a part of her that she had never been able to put into words. But she was quite certain that she spoke the truth. The earl might well be reclusive, inhospitable, and eccentric, but he was not crazed.
    Sally took another bite of pie. "How can ye be certain the Mad Monk won't lock us in the cellar and perform strange occult rituals on us?"
    "From what little I know of that sort of thing, I am under the impression that one needs virgins in order to perform most occult rituals." Beatrice grinned. "Neither of us qualifies."
    "Mais oui. " Sally brightened. "Well, then, that's a relief, ain't it? I believe I'll have a bit more gin."
    Beatrice was as certain of Monkcrest's disdain for the occult sciences as she was of his sanity. He was a respected authority on antiquities and ancient legends. He had written extensively on his subject and always from a dry, scholarly perspective.
    Unlike herself, she thought ruefully, he did not seek to heighten the supernatural or the romantic in his work. During the past two days she'd read several of the long, dull articles he'd penned for the Society of Antiquarians. It was painfully clear that Monkcrest felt utter contempt for the thrilling elements that were her stock-in-trade.
    W i t h T h
    i s
    If he were to learn that she wrote horrid novels for a living, he would likely send her packing in a minute. But that was an extremely remote possibility, she reminded herself. Her identity as Mrs. York was a closely guarded secret.
    And in spite of his staffs opinion to the contrary, she was confident that the Mad Monk was no sorcerer. He would not be able to look into an oracle glass and determine her true identity.
    Sally sipped her gin. "From what that fat butler said, 'is lordship ain't overfond of company. Wonder why Monkcrest agreed to see ye without an argument?"
    Beatrice