Johanna Lindsey (2 page)

He did buy one property in the north of France, though, only because he found it occasionally useful. The crumbling ruins of an old keep could hardly be called a home. The only thing intact in it had been the dungeon, but even that consisted of bare doorless cells that he’d never bothered to refurbish.

He’d bought the ruins mainly to have a place where those looking to hire him could readily find him, or leave word with the caretaker he kept there. And because it suited his fancy to own a ruins, so similar to his life.

He didn’t travel alone. Oddly enough, his valet had elected to go into exile with him. An adventurous sort John Richards had turned out to be, he actually enjoyed his new role. He still acted as Sebastian’s valet, but he was also his source of information. As soon as they arrived in a new town or city, John would make himself scarce, then return with all pertinent information about the area and the important people who lived there. John could make himself understood in two more languages than Sebastian, though none of them fluently. He had become invaluable for Sebastian’s line of work. He’d also become a friend, though neither of them would ever admit it, and John prided himself on adhering to his role of servant, albeit a superior one.

There was one other in their entourage now, a spunky ten-year-old lad who called himself Timothy Charles. He was English, though he’d been orphaned in Paris, which was where they’d met him last year when Timothy had been unsuccessful in picking Sebastian’s pocket. John had taken pity on the lad because he reminded him of home and he was homeless in a foreign city. Somehow or other it was decided that they’d keep him, at least until they could find him a good home. They really ought to get around to doing that one of these days.

“Raven I believe you are called?”

Sebastian had been enjoying a glass of Austrian wine in the dining room of the inn where they were spending the night. The well-dressed man who had approached his table looked official. Tall, middle-aged, impeccably dressed. The two men who stood behind him looked like guards, not by their dress, which was plain, and not by their stature, which was on the short side. It was their alertness, the way they kept their eyes not just on Sebastian but also on the entire room.

Sebastian merely raised a black brow and said indifferently to the tall fellow, “I’m called many things. That’s one of them.”

He had a reputation, unwanted, certainly not intentional, but it had developed nonetheless, no doubt partially at John’s instigation, of being a mercenary for hire, capable of accomplishing the impossible. He wasn’t sure how he got the name Raven, possibly because there was a certain sinister look to him with his black hair and golden cat’s eyes, though he wouldn’t be surprised if the name was John’s doing as well. And John never failed to let his contacts know that The Raven was in town, which frequently produced jobs that he wouldn’t have otherwise heard about.

“You are for hire, yes?”

“Usually—if my fee is met.”

The man nodded and assured him, “A man of your caliber would be expensive. This is understood and will not be an issue. My employer is generous and will more than meet your price. Do you accept?”

“Accept what? I don’t hire on blindly.”

“No, no, of course not. But the job is a very simple one, will require only time and a little effort.”

“Then you don’t need me. Good day.”

The man looked shocked at being dismissed. Sebastian stood up and finished his wine. He didn’t like dealing with lackeys, no matter how official or important they were. And he certainly wasn’t interested in a simple job that anyone could do. But frequently he encountered rich men who could afford him, who wanted to hire him just so they could brag to their friends that they had employed the notorious Raven.

He started to walk away from the table. The two guards suddenly moved to block his way. He didn’t laugh. Humor wasn’t part of his character anymore. That deep bitterness that he refused to acknowledge left no room for humor. He was annoyed, though, that he was going to be forced to expend effort just to say no.

Before any violence could erupt, the official said, “I must insist that you reconsider. The duke expects you to be hired. He cannot be disappointed.”

Sebastian still didn’t laugh, though this time he actually had a small urge to do so. He took a moment to deal with the two fellows who thought to detain him, grasping each of them by their heads, which he smashed together. They crumpled at his feet while he glanced back at the official.

“You had a point to make?”

The man was staring at his guards on the floor. He looked disgusted. Sebastian couldn’t blame him. Good guards were hard to come by.

The official sighed before he faced Sebastian again. “You’ve certainly made your point, sir. And allow me to apologize. I understated the matter, which on the surface seems simple enough but is far from it. Others have been sent to perform the task, and all have failed. Five years of failures. Have I intrigued you yet?”

“No, but you’ve gained a few more minutes of my time,” Sebastian said and sat down again at the table. With a hand he indicated the man could make use of the other chair there. “Keep it brief, but be precise this time.”

The fellow sat down, cleared his throat. “I work for Leopold Baum. This is his town, in case you were not aware of it. As you might guess, men of the duke’s stature make enemies rather easily. It’s unavoidable. One in particular happened to be his wife.”

“She was his enemy when he married her?”

“No, but it didn’t take her long to become one.”

Sebastian raised a brow. “He’s that difficult to get along with?”

“No, no, certainly not,” the fellow insisted in defense of his employer. “But she possibly thought so. But to the facts. Five years ago she was kidnapped, at least it seemed so. A ransom was demanded and delivered, but the duchess wasn’t returned. It was assumed she was killed. The duke was furious, of course. An extensive search ensued, but there were no clues to follow.”

“Let me guess,” Sebastian said dryly. “She perpetrated the kidnapping plot to extract some wealth before she went on her merry way?”

The fellow flushed. “So it would seem. Several months after the ransom was paid, she was seen traveling, quite in style, across Europe. Men were sent after her. A few more clues were found, but she never was.”

“So what exactly does the duke want? His wife, his money, or both?”

“The money isn’t important.”

“If that’s the case, why wasn’t more expended in finding her? It sounds like he didn’t really want her back.”

“Frankly, sir, I must agree with you,” the fellow confided. “I would have devoted more effort myself if she were my wife and I’d yet to produce an heir.” Sebastian sat back, somewhat surprised, though his expression remained inscrutable. He waited for the man to clarify his statement. He did appear slightly nervous now, after saying it.

“That is not to say that a great deal of effort has not already been made in the search. But the duke is a busy man. He has not spent every moment of these last years actively pursuing the matter. Now, however, he has become obsessed with finding her so he can divorce her and remarry.”

“Ah, finally to the heart of the matter.”

The fellow flushed, and his nod was so slight it was almost imperceptible. His nervousness was understandable now. He was saying things his employer wouldn’t like him to reveal.

“When he heard you were in town, his hopes soared. Your reputation of success, no matter how difficult the job, has preceded you. He has every confidence that you will find his wife and bring her home.”

“If I take the job.”

“But you must!” the fellow began, then amended, “Or does it seem too difficult a task, even for you?”

Sebastian didn’t take the bait. “I don’t particularly like jobs that deal with women. I also haven’t finished my last job, am on my way to France now to do that.”

“But that is not a problem,” the fellow assured him with some relief. “This job will take you in that direction. A brief detour would be quite permissible.”

“That’s where the duke’s wife was last seen, in France?”

“The trail led there, and beyond. The duke’s arm is far-reaching. Putting a great distance between herself and Austria appears to have been her priority during her escape.”

“Did she head to the Americas?”

“No—at least we pray not. And a woman of her description took ship to Portsmouth at the time.

The last report we had was that she took ship again, but only farther up the coast of England. Another ship was available, to North America, but since she didn’t take that one, we concluded she decided to settle in England under an assumed name. There were no further reports. Every other man who was sent there to find her has never returned.” And then the fellow whispered, “It’s my guess they were afraid to return to the duke with only failure to report.”

Having heard enough, Sebastian stood up to leave. “I am afraid I will have to decline after all,” he said, a coldness having entered his tone. “England is one place I will never go. Good day.” He expected the man to try and stop him again. He didn’t, probably because he realized it wouldn

’t do any good. Just as well. Jobs that dealt with women had an extra level of difficulty. On every single one he’d taken, the female involved had tried to seduce him.

John found it amusing, hilariously so, claiming that Sebastian was too handsome to be a mercenary. Sebastian disagreed. It was his reputation, the sinister persona of The Raven, and his indifference to the women that created the problem. He believed in putting the job before pleasure. But the women felt differently. Intrigued by him, they saw no reason to wait until the job was finished to become intimately acquainted with him. Which is where the added difficulty came in.

He had an ingrained sense of duty, which was probably why he excelled at his chosen occupation.

Anything that deviated from getting the job done was to be avoided. Anything that distracted him was to be avoided as well. And a woman trying to seduce him was a definite distraction. He might not call himself an Englishman anymore, but he was still a man. So it really was just as well that he couldn’t accept the duke’s job.

H
IS HEAD HURT. That was the first thing Sebastian noticed as he woke. The second, and more disturbing, was his surroundings, not the cozy room at the inn where he’d gone to sleep last night, but a dark, musty dungeon. He was in a cell. Torchlight passed through the small barred window on the wooden door, revealing a hard-packed dirt floor, a clean chamber pot in the corner, and bugs crawling in and out of cracks in the stone walls.

It was an airless, medieval room but it was in better condition than his own dungeon, which indicated it was frequently used. He’d been in prisons before, but modern ones, never an actual, authentic dungeon. He’d seen the old fortress on the hill overlooking Felburg, so he knew exactly where he was.

“Bloody hell.”

He’d mumbled, but in the absolute silence of the place, it had sounded more like a shout, and he got an immediate response. “Is that you, sir?” John called out, from which direction Sebastian couldn’t guess.

Sebastian moved to the door, but before he could answer, Timothy’s frightened voice came from his far left. “Raven, I don’t like it here. Really I don’t. Can we leave now?” The boy, too? That was going too far. He knew why he was there. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to force him to work for him. The last time he’d been inside a cell had been for the same reason. Bastards thought alike.

“Did they hurt you, Timothy?”

“No, not much,” the lad answered, trying to sound brave now. “They stuffed something in my mouth and tied me up to carry me here. I’ve been awake all night.”

“What about you, John?” Sebastian asked.

“A small lump on my head, sir,” John said, his voice coming from the right. “It’s nothing.” It wasn’t nothing. Injury to himself he could stomach, but when his people were hurt in order to get to him…

Sebastian didn’t get angry often, but this was one of those times. He stood back, lifted his foot, and kicked at the door in front of him. It didn’t budge, not even a little, though he’d certainly knocked the dust off of it. It probably wasn’t as old as the stone it was attached to.

He inspected the room more closely. There was a stand with a tin water pitcher and bowl, a towel folded on its single shelf. The water was fresh. The bedding was clean on the narrow cot, fine linen, actually. The plate of food that had been slid under the door had probably been appetizing before the bugs found it: eggs, sausage, bread with butter, melted now, and several pastries.

Apparently the intent wasn’t to deprive him, merely to keep him from leaving. A forced guest, as it were. But for how long? Until he agreed to find the missing duchess? As if he wouldn’t disappear the moment he was out of this dungeon, no matter an agreement or not?

The fellow who brought their next meals was mute or pretended to be. He wouldn’t say a word or answer a single question. The day wore on, long and boring. Sebastian spent his time exercising and imagining his hands around Leopold Baum’s neck. John and Timothy played word games. On opposite sides of the dungeon, they were soon hoarse.

The evening meal arrived and still there was no communication from their host. Dumplings and fried veal cutlets with a creamy cheese sauce was the tempting fare, very filling, very typical of Austrian cuisine. There was some type of cake and a bottle of fine wine. He left the dessert for the bugs and took the wine to bed with him.

The next day was the same, and the next. So he was to have a taste first of what it would be like if he didn’t agree to the duke’s terms? Did the man really think he could be coerced into working for him?