Sinners at the Altar (Page 113)

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug.

She got the feeling he was only saying that to make her feel better about the bizarreness of what he was explaining, and she truly appreciated him for soothing her fears.

Based on appearances, the castle wasn’t the least bit creepy. The décor was elegant and inviting, the ceilings high and the rooms filled with abundant natural light from the enormous windows. But she couldn’t deny the shivers racing along her spine or the goose bumps on her arms. Maybe it was a little chilly in here.

At least she thought so until Jace leaned closer and captured her lips in a heated kiss. Nope. Not chilly in the castle at all. A bit too warm, if anything.

The chandelier overhead creaked. Aggie tugged her mouth from Jace’s and glanced up at the enormous light fixture, her heart hammering.

“Are you sure you like it here?” she asked, taking his arm and moving him out from beneath the inexplicably swaying chandelier.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s like I belong here or something.”

She knew he didn’t get that feeling often. Hell, he hadn’t even felt like he belonged in his band, and it was obvious to everyone but him that he was tailor-made to fit their ranks. She patted his back and smiled, truly happy that he found a place that he connected to, no matter how many heebie jeebies were tickling her belly.

“Maybe you really are related to that Seymour guy. We should ask about him.”

Expecting him to disagree, he surprised her by smiling brightly and nodding. “Yeah, I think I will.”

They caught up with the tour group in the next room. Aggie stared at Jace in disbelief as he raised his hand and snapped his fingers to gain the tour guide’s attention.

“Yes?” the woman asked, her head cocked slightly.

“Did someone named Thomas Seymour live here at one time?”

“Indeed,” the guide said. “I usually talk about him in the chapel where his wife, Queen Katherine, is buried.”

“His wife is buried there, but he isn’t?” Jace asked.

“He was executed for treason less than a year after her death. Quite the scoundrel, that one. Well, depending on whom you ask.” She giggled.

“Oh,” Jace said flatly. His eyebrows scrunched together. “Would you mind telling me where he was executed?”

“In the Tower of London.”

“Wasn’t everyone?” an older man in the tour group asked, which elicited a round of laughter.

Jace didn’t look amused. A bit nauseated maybe, but not amused.

“He was only lord of Sudeley Castle for two years,” the guide continued. “He didn’t have much claim to the place.”

“I don’t think he’d agree with that,” Jace said under his breath.

The guide cocked a brow at him. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Please continue.”

The guide gave him a long look and then took a deep breath to continue with her rehearsed spiel about a different lord of Sudeley Castle.

“Scoundrel, eh?” Jace said, and then he produced an unfamiliar soft laugh. “If only the truth were half as interesting as the lies.”

“Have you completely lost it?” Aggie asked Jace.

He looped his arm through hers and trailed after the group, looking mildly amused for some inexplicable reason.

“It is a distinct possibility, my dear,” he said in a perfect English accent.

She gaped at him, but allowed him to lead her into the next room. “You’re full of surprises today.”

“Am I?”

She nodded.

“Must be a side effect of basking in your splendid beauty, lovey,” he said.

She stopped, drawing him to a halt beside her, and checked him for fever yet again. Jace didn’t say things like that unless they were in bed and he was sure there was no one around to hear him. Or even see his lips move. She hadn’t known he even knew the word splendid. And when the fuck had he started calling her lovey? “I think you need to see a doctor, baby.”

“I think you need to kiss me.” He drew her against him and brushed his lips against hers. A nearby door slammed. Jace pulled away and cupped her cheek. “She always was the jealous sort.”

Aggie drew her eyebrows together and shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s nothing. I’m just teasing.”

She might have believed him if he were the type to tease. He wasn’t. Jace turned and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow again. He led her to a closed door, the one that had slammed for no apparent reason when Jace had kissed her. Even his gait was stiffer than usual as he opened the door and ushered her through it. He looked like Jace, but he didn’t talk like Jace or act like Jace or even walk like Jace. If she believed in ghosts and the supernatural—and she didn’t—she’d have insisted they turn back. Something was filling her with a dread she couldn’t explain.

“Uh,” Jace said, “I think we’ll skip the next room.”

“Why?”

“It’s Mary’s nursery. I don’t want to go in there.”

“How do you know that?”

“I… overheard the guide say as much.” He nodded resolutely.

“Jace…” A chill raced down her spine as he took a step back from the room where the tour guide was speaking rather loudly about the child born to Queen Katherine and her fourth husband, Thomas Seymour.

“Very tragic,” the guide said. “The baby was only days old when her mother died of puerperal fever.”