Johanna Lindsey (5 page)

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. Be a good chap and take me to The Raven, will you?” The smile was gone, and his tone seemed almost sad as he told her, “There would be no point in that, Madame. He won’t work for you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a woman.”

She was disconcerted again, and quite annoyed, too. Her money was as good as any man’s.

“Preposterous. I’ll have a better reason than that before I leave. Now show me to him. Never mind, I’ll find him m’self.”

She didn’t wait for him to try to stop her. She didn’t notice his grin, either. Nor could she have guessed she was doing exactly what he’d hoped she’d do.

The Raven’s ruins had no door to bar entrance. After taking a few steps, Margaret was in what appeared to be the old great hall of a keep, or what was left of it. Not much, actually. A few short walls with large stones piled around them, a crumbling hearth, and in a corner, a little of what must have been a wood ceiling, which had probably been added a century or two after the keep had been built.

In that corner, she saw a boy and three horses. She had an eye for good horseflesh, and the black stallion that the boy was grooming was as fine a specimen as she’d ever seen. The boy was giving her a cheeky grin. When her eyes settled on him, he even winked at her.

It was so unexpected that Margaret burst out laughing. Impertinent little fellow. Blond, blue eyed, scruffy. He couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven but was already taking on the mannerisms of an audacious rogue.

“Where might I find The Raven?” she asked, her annoyance somewhat relieved by the child.

“In the kitchen pro’bly.”

“Eating? At this time of day?”

“No. It’s where he lives.”

That should have surprised her, but it didn’t. The man lived in a ruins, after all. She did roll her eyes, however, but only because the boy was probably hoping for such a reaction from her, and he was.

His grin grew wider.

“Point me to the kitchen?” He did. She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, miss.”

“Lady,” she corrected.

“Cor, really?”

He seemed so surprised, she guessed he’d never met a titled aristocrat before, or perhaps not one of the female gender. Which was more likely. The Raven wouldn’t work for women, after all.

Her annoyance returned with that thought. She nodded and went the way he’d pointed.

After traversing a narrow stone passageway she came to a door. She opened it and was indeed in a kitchen, but not one of the medieval era. She was standing in a very large room that had been paneled in oak and contained a new-looking stove and other furniture one would expect to find in the kitchen of a fine manor house. She was surprised to see a dining table with six velvet upholstered chairs and a fireplace that was lit and crackling, with a window on each side of it that looked out on what appeared to be a conservatory behind the ruins. Indeed, The Raven’s kitchen was rather cozy.

And he was in it.

Actually, after looking at him more closely, she hoped he wasn’t the right man. Good God, he looked distinctly—menacing, she supposed, would aptly describe him. Taller than the other fellow, younger, dark, dangerous.

But that’s a good thing, she tried to tell herself. He looked like a man who could get things done, which was what she needed. Her other option was to give up. She’d already hired other men. She’d already tried to accomplish her goal herself. She’d done all she could. This man came with a guarantee.

He never failed. That’s what people said about him, and it was the finest recommendation she could think of, particularly since she had so little information to offer about what needed to be accomplished.

Before she could change her mind, she marched across the room. He didn’t glance up. He was so deep in thought, a glass of brandy in hand, she wasn’t sure he even knew he had company.

She cleared her throat, but he either didn’t hear her or was deliberately ignoring her, so she asked politely, “Could I have your attention for a moment, please?” She got it, and wished she hadn’t. His golden eyes were so bright they seemed to glow like those of a predatory animal—on the prowl. They were riveting…mesmerizing, in a face that was distinctly handsome. She hadn’t noticed at first how handsome he was. The menacing aura about him had definitely taken precedence. And still, it took Margaret a few moments to notice anything other than those startling golden eyes.

Smooth cheeks, a firm jaw, narrow, hard lips pursed in annoyance. A long, straight nose, sharp cheekbones, black brows of medium thickness but with barely any curve to them. His hair was very short, blackest black, bangs divided toward each temple with a few strands loose across his brow, one long strand down his right cheek that she watched him push back automatically behind his ear, making her realize his hair wasn’t short at all but clubbed back at his nape.

Those golden eyes were slowly perusing her. “I don’t suppose you’re one of the tavern wenches come to take on the bet?”

Margaret managed not to blush, even though she knew exactly what he was intimating. The locals had told Edna about the bet, and Edna had told her. Apparently, it was as renowned in this area of France as he was.

“Hardly,” she said in her haughtiest voice.

He shrugged, his interest in her apparently gone. “That was my original assumption, so be a good girl and get out. You’re trespassing.”

It was the shrug, and the new angle of his face as he glanced away from her, that rendered Margaret incredulous. Not because he’d just dismissed her, but because she finally recognized him. She was too surprised to speak. She was so surprised that she started laughing.

I
T HAD BEEN TWELVE YEARS since Margaret had last seen him. That had been at her sister’s engagement party. She’d been only eleven at the time and not interested in the young men who’d been present—until he showed up. She’d always found him somewhat fascinating, the most eligible bachelor in the neighborhood, handsome and charming. Most females were fascinated by him, no matter their age.

But her encounter with him that night had fixed him in her mind as a romantic hero to whom she’d unfortunately been comparing every man she’d met since. She wasn’t surprised she hadn’t recognized him immediately, though. Rude and menacing, this fellow was nothing like the charming young man who’d dazzled her all those years ago.

He was now staring at her as if she were daft. She couldn’t blame him. Amazed and delighted, she explained what prompted her laughter. “I find this rather funny. I came here to ask you to find a man for me, and here you are, that very man.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“So this is how you’ve been hiding yourself, Sebastian? By assuming this Raven identity?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Margaret Landor. My father was George Landor, sixth earl of Millwright. You might remember him. My sister was—”

He cut her off. “Good God, you’re little Maggie Landor?”

“Not so little anymore.”

“No, I can see that.”

His eyes were suddenly all over her. She blushed but said curtly, “None of that, now. I know what a ladies’ man you were, before the tragedy.”

His manner stiffened again now that he’d recovered from the surprise, and he was scowling at her.

Because she’d mentioned the tragedy?

“You’re here with your husband?” he asked.

“I don’t have one yet.”

“Your father, then?”

“He died six years ago. And before you come up with any more relatives you think should be accompanying me, let me clarify my situation for you. I currently live alone, since I am quite old enough to do so.”

“What about your sister? Did she marry?”

“Oh, yes—and died. But I’ll get to that.”

She blamed Sebastian for Eleanor’s death. She’d been hoping she could deal with him without that getting in the way, but she wasn’t so sure now. He was definitely not the charming young man from her memories.

She continued, “I had a guardian. He suggested I have a come-out. I laughed at him. I suggested he should marry me. He laughed at me. We get on very well. I’ve come to consider him my friend rather than my guardian. And I’m twenty-three now, so he’s no longer officially my guardian. But I lived in his home for four years after my father died. I still visit him from time to time, and occasionally act as his hostess when he finds it necessary to entertain. His daughter-in-law is useless in that regard.”

“Is there a reason you’re telling me about your guardian, or do you just like to hear yourself talk?”

“Not such a charmer anymore, eh?” she said dryly.

He just stared at her, waiting for his answer. She gave it to him. “My guardian was your father.”

“Bloody hell,” he swore. “Not another word about my family, d’you hear? Not one!” She tsked, ignoring the ominous look that had come over him. “You’ll be hearing more’n one, Sebastian. It’s why I’m here. I’m quite fond of your father, you see, and I fear for his life. I suspect that your brother and his wife have gotten tired of waiting for their titles.” He reached across the corner of the table separating them, grasped the front of her jacket, and yanked her forward so her face was mere inches from his. “What part of ‘not another word’ didn’t you understand?”

Margaret was actually intimidated. There wasn’t much that could dent her dauntless nature, but he looked positively frightening with his golden eyes aglow. Still, she took a deep breath, reminding herself who he was and who she was. Calmly, at least she hoped she appeared calm, she pried his fingers off of her jacket.

“Don’t do that again,” she said simply.

“It’s time for you to leave, Lady Margaret.”

“No, it’s time for you to listen. Good God, man, lives are at stake! Show some semblance of your former noblesse and—”

Margaret stopped, incredulous. He was walking away from her! Intimidating her hadn’t worked, so without a by your leave he was simply exiting the room. She supposed that was better than him tossing her out, but really, this was intolerable.

“Coward.”

He stopped, his back to her, stiff as thick metal. She immediately regretted using that particular word. She amended, “That is to say—”

She didn’t finish again. He turned, burning her with his eyes. She found herself holding her breath.

“The problem here,” he said in a tone that was deceptively conversational, “is you’ve made the assumption that I give a damn about a family that disowned me, when I don’t.”

“Rubbish. Blood is blood, and you were very close to your father before—”

“That was then. It sure as hell has nothing to do with now.”

“He overreacted. Did you ever consider that?”

“Did he tell you that?”

Margaret stifled a groan, forced to admit, “Well, no, he never mentioned you a’tall during my stay there.”

He turned to leave again. His total lack of concern appalled her. Of course, she hadn’t gotten to the heart of the problem yet.

She rushed on, determined to intrigue him before he got out the door. “I heard them fighting once when I lived there, your brother and his wife. I didn’t hear all the words, only a few here and there. You were mentioned, and ‘friend.’ But I did hear Denton clearly say, ‘didn’t have to kill him.’ I must say, I was aghast. But try as I might, I couldn’t figure out who he was talking about. Now, I didn’t assume they killed anyone. No indeed. What I heard was out of context, so it could have been anyone they were talking about, not themselves. However, it bothered me ever since. And I began to watch them after that.”

It worked! He turned around to ask, “And what did you ascertain?”

“They really don’t like each other. I can’t imagine why they married.”

“Who did Denton marry?”

“Giles’s widow, Juliette. I thought I’d mentioned that.”

“No, you did not!”

Margaret winced at his raised tone. For a brief moment, she saw just how livid he was. But he got his anger under control so quickly that she had to wonder if she’d imagined it.

“Why search for me now?” he asked, his tone merely curt. “Why not sooner, when you first suspected something?”

“Because I had nothing really to point to, just feelings of unease. Until the accidents began.”

“What accidents?”

“Your father’s. But I did try to find you sooner. Last year I hired men to locate you. They cost me a lot of money and ended up telling me what I’d already suspected—that you’d left England for the Continent. So I tried to find you myself. I’ve been in Europe now for four months looking for you. I’d given up, though. I was on my way home when I heard of The Raven. Coming here was a last resort.” He shook his head. Not in amazement. Oh, no. She sensed he was about to tell her to leave again.

It wasn’t in his expression, which was utterly inscrutable. But she knew instinctively. The facts hadn’t stirred him. Perhaps guilt would…

“I’ll tell you up front, Sebastian. I don’t like you. If you hadn’t killed Giles, I think he would have come to his senses, divorced that French tart, and married my sister as he should have. It’s your fault he’

s dead. It’s your fault Eleanor ran off and married a poor farmer, then died in childbirth—”

“How in the bloody hell can you blame that on me?” he snarled.

“You weren’t there to see what Giles’s death did to my sister. She loved Giles dearly, you know.

She mourned him till the day she left. She was sad and angry by turns. Sad mostly. Angry every time she encountered Juliette. But she cried every single day from the day you killed Giles. My home became quite maudlin, I don’t mind admitting. It was actually a relief when she took herself off. I’m guilty of having felt that way. I think my father felt the same way. We weren’t happy that she was gone, but then we—were. Very uncomfortable feelings.”

“Where did she go?”

“We didn’t know for the longest time. She left a note, but it was so tear stained it was illegible.