The Ravencliff Bride (18 page)

Nicholas nodded, and got to his feet, leading the doctor out. “We must find Alex, Dr. Breeden,” he said, as they left the chamber. “Before more harm is done.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“There is a gun room below stairs. I will have Mills fetch
you a pistol. If you are going to roam about on your own here now, I’m afraid you shall have to do so armed. From what I’ve read, I understand that silver bullets are required. Unfortunately, we haven’t any. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with lead.”

“We shan’t need silver bullets to defend against the wolves in this house, my lord; those are only necessary in the case of werewolves. Unfortunately—for you, that is—an ordinary pistol ball is all that is required to kill a shapeshifter.”

Sara woke at the crack of dawn to the soft mewling sobs coming from her dressing room, where Nell was laying out her toilette. Shrugging on her wrapper, she followed the sound to find the abigail red-faced and teary-eyed, ordering the sprigged muslin frock Sara would be wearing to breakfast. One look in her direction, and the stricken girl burst into a fit of wailing.

“Whatever is it, Nell?” Sara said, sitting her down on the lounge. “What’s happened?”

“He’s been sacked,” the girl moaned. “The master come home and sent him off before sunup, and it’s all my fault.”

“Who’s been sacked?”

“My Jeremy . . . you’d know him as Peters, my lady. He was ta stand guard outside your door last night, but you was retired, and he sneaked off ta be with me. Now I’ll never see him again!”

“Evidently his lordship isn’t aware of your part in this, or he would have sacked you as well,” said Sara.

“I wish he did!” the girl moaned. “Oh . . . oh, my lady, I
didn’t mean . . . it ain’t that I don’t want ta be your lady’s maid . . . and I really need the wages, it’s just . . . I
love
him, my lady!”

“I know that, Nell,” said Sara. She could relate to the girl’s misery. The physical aside, she was falling in love with her strange, brooding husband as well. There, she’d
admitted
it. She’d realized it the moment she entered his sanctum sanctorum and found him wounded—realized he could have been killed, that she might never have seen him again. How could she have borne it?

They too were separated, but their separation was crueler. They were close enough to touch, close enough to kiss, to embrace, to make love, but there was a barrier between them, an invisible shield of Nicholas’s making, and she didn’t know why he’d walled himself in, or how to penetrate the barricade he’d built between them. She hadn’t the skill. She was too inexperienced, and he was a man of the world—far too sophisticated to succumb to the transparent wiles of such a pitifully inept goose as herself, when it came to affairs of the heart. The worst of it was knowing, since that night, that he felt something for her, too—something he obviously didn’t want to feel, something he wouldn’t allow. But why? She hadn’t imagined it. It was in his kiss, in the strong arms holding her close, in the bruising pressure of his arousal leaning against her, in his very breathing, hot and steamy against her flesh.

“Ya won’t tell him, will ya, my lady?” the girl sobbed, jolting her back to the present. Sara’s hands were trembling, her palms moist, and her innermost regions—those secret places Nicholas had awakened at her very core—were palpitating from the mere memory of that brief embrace.

“No, I shan’t tell him,” she said, “and there’s something that you shan’t tell him either.”

“W-what would that be, my lady?”

“It concerns Nero.”

“That scruffy old dog? Fie, my lady! Nobody’s seen him or Mr. Mallory either, since they had that set-to. For all we know, he’s crawled off and died o’ that wound, and good riddance, I say!”

“He hasn’t,” said Sara. “I saw him just last evening.”

“Well, the master better no’ set eyes on him. Smythe says, more’n likely, he’ll be after gettin’ shot o’ that dog for good and all after what happened with Mr. Mallory.”

“Yes, well, not while I draw breath,” said Sara. “If Nero chooses to visit, he will be welcome here in my rooms. I intend to leave my foyer door ajar in case he does, and I do not want his lordship to know. That animal is treated shamefully in this house. Why, he’s thin as a shadow. He looks like a half-starved wolf, instead of the house pet of a baron.”

“The master’ll skin me if he finds out,” the girl protested.

“He won’t find out, Nell, unless you tell him.”

“But the hall boys,” the abigail said. “They’re ta be keepin’ watch out there night and day, my lady. They’ll see that old dog comin’ in here, and I’ll be sacked for fair!”

“You leave the hall boys to me,” said Sara. “I shall see that they are dismissed from their duties. This shall be our little secret, Nell. You will keep mine . . . and I will keep yours. Do we have an understanding?”

Sara abhorred the necessity of such a tactic, but she jumped at the chance to employ it nevertheless. These were extraordinary circumstances. Baron Nicholas Walraven wasn’t going to take any more shots at her beloved Nero if she had anything to say about it.

“Nell?” she prompted during the girl’s silence. “I’ve kept the bargain already, you know. I was questioned about Peters. I knew where he was, and with whom. I’ve known all along that you two sneak off to meet, but I held my peace. You owe me as much in kind. Now, I shall ask you again . . . do we have an understanding?”

“Y-yes, my lady,” the abigail mewed.

“Good! Now, you had best dry those eyes, and help me into that frock before his lordship arrives to escort me down to breakfast.”

The abigail had just finished tucking the last green grosgrain ribbon into Sara’s upswept coiffure, when Nicholas’s knock sent the girl scurrying to the foyer door. Had Sara left it ajar last night after the animal left? Her heart sank. Nicholas pushed it open with his finger before the maid reached it, answering that question. Nonetheless, Sara squared her posture and met him with her most fetching smile in place, despite his tight-lipped scowl. They passed the new hall boy stationed outside her suite as if he didn’t exist, though she was bursting to get her teeth into that issue, and neither spoke on their way to the breakfast room, except for the barest amenities.

Sara breezed through breakfast playing the perfect hostess; Nicholas’s raised eyebrow on more than one occasion during the meal was proof positive that she couldn’t be faulted in that regard. It was a shallow victory, but a victory nonetheless, and she claimed it like a polished trophy. It wasn’t until afterward that it began to tarnish.

Dr. Breeden excused himself early. Mrs. Bromley had given him space in her herbarium for preparing his herbals, and he was anxious to attend to his just-picked specimens before the effects of the morning dew upon them were lost. Sara was delighted. The study was Nicholas’s domain. Her victories had been won in the cheery breakfast room, with its urns filled with flowers, creamy table linens, and breathtaking view of the gardens through the diamond-fretted windowpanes. She accepted a second cup of coffee, and adjusted her position in the chair as though she were battening down for the onslaught of a Cornish flaw.

“There is something I should like to discuss with you, Nicholas,” she said, taking a swallow from her cup. “You did say that if I had any questions . . . or issues, I should bring them directly to you . . . first.” That last got his eyebrow up,
and his own cup suspended. Why did he always look like an animal ready to spring whenever they conversed on serious topics?

“Yes?” he said, his voice edged for battle.

“It concerns the hall boys outside my room. I want them removed.”

“That is impossible, Sara,” Nicholas said.

“Why?” she persisted. “It is my suite, is it not? I do not wish an armed guard posted there day and night. I feel like a prisoner. I had more freedom in the Fleet!”

Nicholas vaulted out of the carver’s chair, scudding it out behind him, and tossed his serviette into his empty plate.

“Please leave us,” he charged the footmen collectively. “Close the door after you, and if I find you with your ears pressed up against it again, you can all collect your wages. Is that clear?”

A monotone rumble replied, as the footmen tripped over one another retreating, and Nicholas resumed his place at the table looking daggers.

“That wasn’t necessary, Nicholas,” said Sara. “They all know I’m under guard.”

“Yes, but they don’t know why, and I’d rather they not be privy to . . . certain matters. They’ve enough ammunition for manufacturing
on-dits
as it is. The breakfast room is not the place for such a conversation, Sara.”

“Oh, I know,” she served, “but it seems to be the only place in this house where we can converse on equal footing. If that is due to the footmen eavesdropping, then I say—God bless them for it!”

“You will have hall boys stationed outside your door until Alex is found and dealt with,” said Nicholas. “That is not negotiable now, nor will it ever be in future. Have you so soon forgotten what occurred in your suite?”

“You do not trust me, and that is insulting.”

“I do not trust
him
, and you are evidently no match for his prowess. So much for keeping him in his place.”

“That’s not fair. I was sound asleep when he . . . when—”

“When he tried to molest you?”

“He was foxed, Nicholas.”

“And you would have been raped just the same but for . . . Nero. How did Alex gain entrance, Sara? I’ll tell you how, you left the door ajar—just as I found it up there when I came to fetch you down to breakfast. I should think you’d have learned your lesson . . . unless—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Nicholas Walraven,
don’t you dare!
”

Nicholas heaved a mammoth sigh. “Sara,” he said, in that sensuous baritone voice that melted her to the marrow. She could deal with his anger, but not that deep, resonant silkiness that had the power to arouse her from across the room. “This is hardly a permanent situation,” he went on. “Once Alex is found—”

“
Find
him, then!” she cried, vaulting to her feet. She had to call the anger back. It was her only defense against this paradox of a man who had tied her heart in knots. “Because, I tell you here and now, I did not come to Ravencliff to be held prisoner. I could have stayed where I was for that!” Did he flinch? The muscles in his broad jaw were ticking, and he was on his feet again, but he made no move toward her, and she went on speaking while she still had the upper hand. “I will not stay where I am held captive again—never again!” she seethed, hurling her serviette down. “And, do not forget, I
saw
that last night, Nicholas. You nearly killed that poor animal. The servants in this house are just as hard-hearted in that regard. I’ve heard them talking. Why Nell alone is harping on getting rid of him each time she opens her mouth. I don’t know what is going on here, but I warn you—you can mark my words, nothing had better happen to Nero in this house. Ever! Not while I’m residing in it.”

Spinning on her heel, she marched out of the breakfast room. This time, there wasn’t a footman in sight.

“Sara!” Nicholas called after her, tossing his serviette down. There was no reply, and he skirted the table and strode out into the corridor. She had already reached the second-floor landing. Through the gloom that presided over the halls, fair weather or foul, he caught a glimpse of her sprigged muslin frock melting into the shadows as she turned toward her suite. He bolted after her, but the thunderous crack of the front door knocker echoing along the hallway stopped him in his tracks.
Who the devil can that be?
he wondered. The knock came again. It sounded urgent. The racket brought Smythe shuffling along the corridor tugging at his frock coat and muttering complaints.

The butler scarcely acknowledged him as he passed, and Nicholas raked his hair back, his eyes oscillating between Sara disappearing and the sound of raised voices funneling along the great hall at his back. He was ready to spring, but in which direction? Like a pendulum, swinging this way and that, he swayed there, trying to decide.

“The Devil take it!” he mumbled at last. Spinning around on the heels of his turned-down boots, he sprinted down the corridor toward the front door.

Smythe was standing in the open doorway arguing with three men in drab stuff breeches, short coats, and low-crown wide-brim hats.
Guards from the Watch?

“What the deuce is going on here, Smythe?” Nicholas demanded, ranging himself alongside. “I could hear you clear back to the breakfast room.”

“Captain Renkins, m’lord,” the leader spoke up before the butler could answer. He doffed his hat. “Your man here don’t seem to understand. We have to come in. There’s been a complaint.”

“What sort of complaint?” said Nicholas, struggling with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. What was this now?

“We’ve come about a vicious dog,” said the Captain.

“That
animal
again?” the butler grumbled low-voiced.

“That will be
all
, Smythe. I’ll handle this,” said Nicholas through clenched teeth. Dismissing him with a look that booked no argument, he turned to the guards. “Gentlemen, if you will follow me . . . ?”

He led them to the study. No use to have the whole house privy to this new press, though he had no doubt the rafters would be ringing with it once Smythe reached the servants’ quarters. Ushering the guards inside, he closed the door behind them, and took his seat behind the desk

“Now then, gentlemen,” he said, “what is all this about a dog?”

The three men stood ramrod-rigid before him, the captain in the center seeming the only one possessed of a tongue. The others stood like bookends at his side. Nicholas did not invite them to sit.

“The young chap says it might be rabid,” said the captain. “He’s got the village in an uproar over it, m’lord. Folks won’t rest easy now until we know. We’ll have to see the animal to be certain.”

“What ‘young chap’?” Nicholas asked, as the blood drained away from his scalp. His nostrils flared, and the short hairs on the back of his neck stood up as gooseflesh riddled his spine.