by Wolf, Bree
Eugenie frowned. “Are you contemplating the chances of meeting him on the dance floor?”
Rebecca couldn’t help but grin. “A girl can dream, can’t she? So?”
“I have no way of knowing.”
“But what do you think?” Rebecca pressed, her teeth digging into her lower lip, unwilling to accept that the excitement she’d stumbled upon this night was truly at an end. It surely couldn’t be over, could it?
“Fine,” Eugenie finally gave up, a rather indulgent look on her face that Rebecca would have objected to if she wasn’t hanging on her friend’s every word. “If you must know—”
“Oh, I must! After all, I missed all the fun. By the way, what was your husband doing in your bedchamber? I thought you were only married on paper.”
Eugenie’s gaze became unsteady and she turned a slightly darker shade of red. “He…he came in when he heard a noise. It must have been the intruder he heard.”
Rebecca couldn’t suppress a snort, wondering if she’d ever heard a worse lie. “Very well. Let’s pretend I believe you.” Her eyes hardened, and her right index finger flew up. “But promise me, one day you’ll tell me what truly happened here, agreed?”
Eugenie nodded, relief palpable on her face. “I promise.”
“Good. Now, back to the intruder. You were saying?”
“He’s from America, which was easy enough to determine from his accent.”
Rebecca froze as the word America wormed its way into her mind. Her heart skipped a beat or two, and right then and there, she felt as though time had stilled. Again, she remembered the moment the masked intruder had leapt up onto the windowsill, his hands reaching for the rope. She remembered the moment their eyes had met. She remembered how he’d seemed to pause for no more than a split second as though he, too, had come upon something unexpected.
Or rather someone, perhaps?
Again, Rebecca heard the echo of his voice as he’d spoken words of farewell as though he’d been invited to Ravengrove that night. I apologize for the intrusion, my lady.
Indeed, he’d said my lady. However, Rebecca knew that in that moment he’d looked not at Eugenie, but at her. She’d felt his gaze on her, lingering, as though he’d been reluctant to go, and she’d been mesmerized by it.
“Are you all right?” Eugenie inquired, the look on her face once more evidence of her increasing concern.
Rebecca managed to nod, her thoughts still focused elsewhere. “America,” she mumbled as though saying it out loud could prove her musings true. Could it have been him? Indeed, now she remembered the slight accent to his voice betraying him as a foreigner. The same accent she’d heard before. Not often, but often enough to remember it.
Lord Pembroke!
Could it have been him? Rebecca wondered, noting the way her pulse sped up, the way her heart yearned for it to be true. Indeed, she hadn’t seen him in weeks, and yet, her eyes could still picture him as though it had been only yesterday that they’d last spoken. No matter how hard she’d tried to ignore the thoughts of him that kept knocking on the door to her mind, she hadn’t been able to banish them. Had their paths truly crossed this night? Had it been him?
Clearing her throat, she turned back to her friend, hoping Eugenie would reveal more of what had happened here tonight, of what had brought Lord Pembroke over from America and then here to Ravengrove this night. “I wonder what he was doing here. Do you think this Lord Mortimer stole the ring from him there, forcing him to follow in order to retrieve it?”
Eugenie shrugged. “He said it was priceless to him.”
“What else can you tell me?” Rebecca pressed, storing away each piece of information to analyze later. Perhaps it truly had been him. Now, wouldn’t that be marvelous? Exciting? Utterly breathtaking?
“Becca, please!”
“Come, come, Genie. Where is the harm in sharing what you know?” Rebecca asked innocently, knowing very well what objections were currently foremost on her friend’s mind.
As expected, Eugenie cast her a look of utter disbelief, a rather unladylike snort leaving her lips. “With you, one never knows until it’s too late, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Please!” Rebecca begged, not knowing what else to do. Of course, her friend was right. Yet she truly, absolutely had to know! If it had been him, then…
Sighing, Eugenie shook her head, her features softening. “Is there anyone capable of refusing you?”
A dark cloud descended upon Rebecca. “My odious uncle, of course,” Rebecca growled. “But let’s not talk of him. He’s spoiled enough for me already. So?”
“Very well,” Eugenie sighed for the thousandth time that night. “Judging from the way he expressed himself, I do believe he belongs to upper society. If not here, then at least in America. His manners spoke of good breeding and a proper education. Judging from the length he is willing to go to in order to retrieve this heirloom, I’d say that family means a lot to him. Still, his means do put his character into question. After all, he broke in here…and he was armed.”
“But he didn’t hurt you.” Deep down, Rebecca could not believe that the Lord Pembroke she’d met would ever dare to harm another. He’d seemed kind and honest – oh so honest! – and respectful, and she would not believe him capable of violent behavior until she saw it with her very eyes. Still, she had spoken to him no more than a few words. No doubt, there was a lot she did not know. “Do you think he’s dangerous?”
“I do not know.”
“But you don’t think so, do you?” Reassured by her friend’s silent assessment, Rebecca glanced down at the sketch in her hands. “Can I have this? You don’t need it, do you?”
Once again, Eugenie voiced her concern. But Rebecca was barely listening, her gaze fixed on the simple drawing. Fascinating how such a small item had brought a man over from America, made him cross an ocean and slink through the night, breaking into another’s estate in order to retrieve a circular piece of metal with a few sparkling stones. Odd, indeed, how the world worked!
Assisting her friend into bed, Rebecca suddenly realized that if indeed the man who’d paid them a visit that night was Lord Pembroke, then he was Eugenie’s cousin, her father’s heir after her brother had died in France. Would she not have recognized him?
Her friend’s eyes closed as her head settled deeper into the pillows, one hand resting protectively on her rounded belly. Her breathing evened no matter how hard she tried to stay awake, longing to see her husband return safe and sound.
“Oh, I meant to ask you,” Rebecca mumbled quietly, watching as her friend’s features began to relax, “have you yet made the acquaintance of the new Lord Pembroke?” Her pulse beat wildly, and she knew she’d be utterly disappointed if indeed the man tonight had not been Lord Pembroke.
“I have not,” Eugenie mumbled, sleep clearly tugging her deeper. “Why do you ask?”
Relief washed over Rebecca like a tidal wave, and she was glad that her friend’s eyes were closed or she would have no doubt asked about the huge grin currently stretching across Rebecca’s face. “Oh, no reason. None at all.”
After Eugenie’s husband returned, Rebecca left them alone, retreating to her own chamber, the sketch clutched in her hands. Again and again, her eyes would seek it out, drifting over the fine lines, imagining what the ring would look like if it rested on her finger.
Sleep was out of the question, and so Rebecca settled into the large armchair by the hearth, her legs pulled up and a warm blanket wrapped around her, and gazed out into the dark night. She wondered where the masked intruder was since Eugenie’s husband had not been able to catch up to him. Indeed, he’d not even caught a glimpse!
By the time dawn finally lifted the darkened blanket draped over the world, Rebecca had come to realize that more and more of the puzzle pieces she’d been able to unearth fit together quite nicely. In fact, she was all but convinced that the young man she’d seen that night indeed was Lord Pembroke.
Of course, there was the f
act that he was American, that he’d appeared cultured and familiar with British society. Then there’d been his eyes – deep and piercing with mirth shining in them. Eyes that seemed to see her beyond the facade she was forced to portray. Eyes that dared her to act as she saw fit. Eyes she would have recognized anywhere.
As she recalled Lord Pembroke’s face for the thousandth time that night, Rebecca remembered how he’d slunk in through the terrace doors at the Hawthorne ball, his clothes disheveled. She’d thought him off with another lady, but perhaps she’d been wrong. Indeed, shortly prior to his reappearance, the maid’s scream had pierced the festive mood of that night, echoing through the vaulted rooms and drawing everyone’s attention. The maid had been near panic, and yet, she’d stammered something about a masked intruder. A man who’d leapt out the window and then disappeared in the night. Had that man been Lord Pembroke as well? Had Lord Hawthorne been another name on his list of suspects?
If only Rebecca knew for certain.
Her gaze drifted down to the sketch in her hands once more and a slow smile spread across her lips. Step by step, a plan began to take shape in her mind, a plan that would surely prove whether or not Lord Pembroke was the man in question. A plan that would draw him out. A plan that would tell her if there was a man in England who could help her with her own list, after all. Perhaps they could come to some kind of agreement.
Perhaps…
An excited giggle left Rebecca’s lips. One she hadn’t heard nor had reason to produce in a long time. Indeed, life was about to change.
God knew she had waited too long to see it happen!
*
“How dare you speak to me like this? I’ve taken you in, raised you alongside my own daughter,” Rebecca’s odious uncle huffed and puffed, his face turning a darker shade of red, “and how do you repay me? By running off in the middle of the night!”
Exhaling a rather annoyed breath, Rebecca stalked around Eugenie’s drawing room, trying to fight off that sense of utter disappointment that had hit her when she’d been informed of her uncle’s arrival at Ravengrove a few moments ago. “Now, you’re being overly dramatic!” she countered, aware that antagonizing her uncle was not wise. Still, the time she’d spent at Ravengrove had been one of utter freedom, and she couldn’t seem to let it go. “The sun was already dawning when I left.”
At her words, her uncle sputtered something rather unintelligible, his eyes widening dangerously as his fingers began jabbing at his spectacles as though he was hoping that what he was seeing was merely a mirage. “Careful, my dear,” he hissed in a low tone, measured steps carrying him closer as he pointed an accusing finger at her, “or you’ll find that—”
Fortunately for Rebecca, Eugenie and her husband chose to make an appearance in that very moment. In fact, the rumored beast flung open the doors with a powerful push that had her uncle quake in his boots. Rebecca could barely suppress a chuckle.
“Welcome to Ravengrove,” their host exclaimed like a man used to entertaining guests. With one hand on Eugenie’s as it lay on his arm, he made his way over to them, his gaze meeting Uncle Conrad’s. “I hear you’re our dear Miss Hawkins’ uncle,” he stated with such utter delight that Rebecca felt the sudden need to pinch herself. “I must congratulate you on raising such an accomplished and well-behaved young lady. It is a true credit to you and your family.”
Eyeing the beast suspiciously, Rebecca was surprised to see a spark of mischief in his eyes. Indeed, the man was more than he seemed! Or perhaps it was Eugenie who’d brought out that side of him. Whatever it was, Rebecca was happy to see the bond that seemed to have developed between them since her interference the other day.
“That is too kind of you, Lord Remsemere,” Uncle Conrad spluttered, a touch of disbelief in his gaze as he glanced at his niece. “I’m relieved to hear she has not been a burden on your hospitality.”
“Oh, not at all,” Eugenie assured him. “She has been a true friend coming to visit me when I found myself unable to visit her.” Her hand on her swollen belly indicated the reason for her inability to journey to London, and Rebecca saw her uncle’s head bob up and down as understanding dawned on him.
Rebecca could have hugged her dear friend for her efforts in placating her uncle. Although she loathed to bend her head and pretend to be the dutiful niece, Rebecca knew that she would be well-advised to do so nonetheless.
After words of farewell had been exchanged and Rebecca had reluctantly taken leave from her old friend, she found herself seated in her uncle’s carriage across from her fuming relative. Gritting her teeth, she bowed her head, reminding herself that this was merely a means to an end. She was not surrendering. She was merely using the means at her disposal to achieve what she wanted. “I apologize for leaving without asking for permission, Uncle; however, Lady Remsemere’s letter implied that it was a matter of some urgency. I was quite concerned for her and felt I could not wait for you and Aunt Mildred to return home.” Lifting her chin a fraction, she carefully peeked up at her uncle, trying her best to appear contrite.
“Your conduct was unacceptable,” he boomed, his beady eyes narrowed in an alarming fashion. “A young woman of consequence does not set off on her own, do you hear?” he hissed, a snarl on his lips that spoke to his agitation. “Had word gotten out, it could have ruined us all!”
Rebecca nodded, knowing it would serve her well to regain his favor – at least as much as that was possible. “I’m most dreadfully sorry, dear uncle.”
An exasperated breath huffed past his lips as he leaned back in his seat, watching her carefully. “We shall see,” he mumbled, then straightened once more, anger darkening his face. “Your conduct prevented Lord Coleridge from asking for your hand.” His lips thinned and he shook his head at her. “If you hadn’t left, I’m certain you’d already be betrothed by now.”
Rebecca felt the blood drain from her face in shock…and relief.
Misinterpreting her reaction, her uncle nodded. “After securing my approval, he came to call on you.” Again, his lips pressed into a thin line and his head moved from side to side in disapproval. “You put us in a very precarious situation by disappearing without a word. I did my best to fabricate a reasonable explanation for your absence, but I’m afraid Lord Coleridge was most displeased that he hadn’t been informed immediately.” His fist collided with the carriage’s wall. “Of course, we couldn’t have since we were ignorant of it ourselves,” he boomed and his spectacles slid to the tip of his nose. Shoving them back up, he glared at her. “If your conduct has changed the man’s intentions with regard to a proposal, I shall send you from my house without a second thought, do you hear?”
Shocked at such a direct threat, Rebecca nodded. “Of course, Uncle. I assure you I will do what I can to regain his favor,” she promised, all the while thinking about how to achieve both, setting her own plans into motion while placating Lord Tedious without motivating the man to consider another proposal.
At least not until she was ready to refuse him.
After all, what choice did she have?
Chapter Sixteen
Echoes of the Past
Waiting for his friend’s appearance, Zach stood in the man’s drawing room, his gaze fixed out the window at the darkening sky. Snowflakes danced through the air, their numbers increasing with each passing hour, covering the world in a thick blanket of snow and ice. The fire in the hearth behind him sent a soft warmth about the room, and Zach felt his chilled bones relax. He rubbed his hands against the lingering cold in his extremities, then brushed a hand through his hair, feeling streaks of wet running down and dripping onto his coat.
Indeed, he should never have left Pembroke Hall. Still, ever since the night he’d visited Ravengrove, Zach had felt restless.
“What on earth are you doing here on such a night?” Markham demanded as he stepped into the room, his footfalls light as though familiar with the notion of approaching someone without drawing their attention.
Turning f
rom the window, Zach met his friend’s gaze, then shrugged. “I needed to speak to you.”
Markham’s gaze narrowed, and he pushed the door closed. “Were you discovered? Did something go wrong?”
Zach shrugged. “Yes, and no. I’m not certain.”
Offering him a drink, Markham kept watching him as though fearing that he’d lost his mind. “That, you need to explain.”
Accepting the glass his friend held out to him, Zach sank into the large chair by the hearth, welcoming the warmth that settled on him. “I went to Ravengrove a few weeks back.”
One brow raised, Markham took the opposite seat, his dark gaze watchful. “And?”
Zach frowned. “I cannot help but feel that you’re asking about something other than my success with regard to retrieving my father’s ring.” Had his friend known that Miss Hawkins had been visiting the family there? Had Markham urged him to seek out Ravengrove at that time because of it? Indeed, the man had more than once suggested Zach pursue Miss Hawkins.
“Perhaps,” was all Markham said.
“Did you know she would be there?” Zach demanded, getting annoyed with this cat-and-mouse game his friend seemed to delight in.
“She?”
“Miss Hawkins!”
Markham’s eyes widened in surprise before a large grin spread over his face and he began to laugh wholeheartedly.
Glowering at the man across from him, Zach huffed out an annoyed sigh. “I suppose that’s a no.” He set down the glass he’d been holding. “Then tell me, what about Ravengrove holds your interest? Is it its master? The rumored beast?”
Taking a slow sip from his own glass, Markham lifted his gaze. “No, it’s his lady.”
Remembering the gentle, young woman with the raven-black hair, Zach frowned. “Do you know her? Or did you…?” His voice trailed off as all kinds of possible scenarios ran through his head. Had she once rejected Markham’s pursuit? Was that why he was still unmarried? Had she broken his heart? Or had they fallen in love after the young woman had already wed the beast? Or was it something entirely different altogether?
