The coach jolted as the horses turned onto the gravelled carriageway.
“I had no reason to wake you,” Nathaniel said, casting a cursory glance at a small stone cottage nestling in the trees at the side of the carriageway. A pretty place. One he couldn’t recall from his previous visit.
He then slid the window lower and peered out to survey the handsome Jacobean house known as Allonby Chase. He had done some research on its history since learning of his inheritance. The house had, at one time, been a royal hunting lodge. It, and the surrounding lands and distant coastal village, had been gifted to an ancestor of Aunt Beatrice by James Stuart. The lodge had consequently been enlarged and made into what was now a fine, three-storey, sandstone house, set into lush, wooded meadowland.
Nathaniel had seen more opulent houses than this. Still, it was an impressive sight, one that drew a soft sigh from him.
The gravel carriageway crunched beneath the coach’s wheels as they followed the gentle sweep that led up to the main entrance. Not a minute later, the coach halted in front of Allonby Chase, and Boscombe cleared his throat again. “If it’s not too premature,” he said, “welcome home, my lord.”
* * *
“Lord Nathaniel has arrived, my lady,” the servant announced, opening the door wide to allow the man entry.
“Oh, excellent!” Lady Beatrice beamed. “Show him in.”
Hannah, seated at the escritoire, twisted in her seat, curious to see the new heir of Allonby Chase.
Lady Beatrice had not described him, other than to hint at his being ‘somewhat adrift’ for the past year. The old lady hadn’t elaborated on that either, and Hannah had not pried. She had merely conjured up her own image, basing her representation on a younger version of his brother, the Duke of Gifford. A leaner, more youthful physique, perhaps, but similarly featured, with a pleasant visage and the same, straight, light brown hair.
Other than being of a similar height, however, the man who had just entered the parlor bore little, if any, resemblance to his titled sibling. Indeed, Nathaniel de Wolfe was not at all what Hannah had expected.
It had been a long time since her heart had quickened in the presence of a man. The unsettling response took her by complete surprise and she determined to suppress it, eliminate it. Such impulses served no purpose, nor did they have any place in her life.
But, damnation, Nathaniel de Wolfe cut an impressive figure. A woman would have to have ice in her veins not to feel something when confronted by such a man.
Oddly, he wasn’t what one might call exceedingly handsome. Rather, he exuded a certain presence. That he possessed a fine physique could not be denied. But his nose was not quite straight, and his mouth turned down a little at the corners, giving him a somewhat grave countenance. In contrast, Nathaniel de Wolfe’s hair, a rich, deep brown, had an unruly curl to it. A few of those curls softened the defined edges of his face, and grazed the edge of his collar. Touches of carelessness, Hannah thought, in an otherwise impeccable appearance.
His eyes, of an indefinable, darkish hue, were what Hannah’s grandmother would have described as fearless, maintaining their gaze with confidence. No flinching or wavering.
“Such eyes, Hannah, only belong to the most honorable or the most dangerous of men.”
Hannah wondered which epithet might apply.
“Nathaniel!” Lady Beatrice, seated on a shabby, floral sofa by the fireplace, used her ivory-topped cane to push herself to her feet. “Welcome back, my dear boy, welcome back. How was the journey? Not too wearisome, I trust?”
Nathaniel’s mouth lifted into an easy smile as he approached, bent over the proffered hand, and brushed the paper-thin flesh with his lips. “Aunt Beatrice, you look wonderful. And no, not too wearisome. The weather was kind, for the most part.”
Lady Beatrice’s eyes, milky with age, sparkled with what looked like tears. Hannah swallowed. It was rare to see displays of emotion from her no-nonsense patroness. “And you, by god, look more like your grandfather every time I see you,” the old lady continued, a quiver in her voice. “Marcus de Wolfe was a handsome devil. He knew it, too. Gads, I could tell you some stories about him, Nathaniel.”
“And I hope you will, Aunt.” A perceptible twinkle came to De Wolfe’s eyes. “I might learn something.”
Hannah, who had also risen to her feet, felt a sudden need to escape. This was a family meeting. She had no place here, and sought an exit. “Shall I ring for refreshments, Lady Beatrice?”
Lady Beatrice tutted, and banged her cane on the floor. “Yes, indeed. Forgive me, Nephew, in my excitement, I’ve misplaced my manners. Where are we in the course of things? Have you been shown to your apartments?”
“Not yet, Aunt. No hurry. I wanted to see you first.” He turned his attention to Hannah, who met and held his gaze. “And who is this?”
“Oh, fiddle. I swear I’m quite beyond hope. This is my companion, Miss Hannah Sedgewick. Hannah, this is my nephew and heir, Nathaniel de Wolfe.”
De Wolfe’s eyes narrowed a little, scrutinizing Hannah even as he inclined his head. “An honor, Miss Hannah.”
“Likewise, my lord,” Hannah replied, praying the slight flush of warmth to her cheeks wasn’t too noticeable. “Allow me to echo Lady Beatrice’s welcome. I’ll arrange for those refreshments. Would you like some tea, perhaps?”
“I’d prefer coffee, if you have it,” he replied.
“We do, indeed.” Hannah moved away from the desk, only to stumble over a crease in the rug. A masculine hand shot out and cradled her elbow.
“Careful,” De Wolfe said, his hand still clamped around Hannah’s arm.
“Hannah!” Lady Beatrice sounded less than impressed. “That was clumsy, my dear. Not like you at all.”
Bloody hell. Damn and blast it.
“My apologies and thanks.” Cheeks flaming, Hannah gave a sheepish smile as De Wolfe released her.
“Will you be rejoining us, Miss Hannah?” De Wolfe asked.
Hannah surely imagined, or misconstrued, the glimmer of interest in his eyes. For some reason, the tale of Red Riding Hood and the devilish wolf came to mind as she opened her mouth to reply.
“Yes, of course she will.” Lady Beatrice sat down with a grunt and a huff. “Off you go, then, dear, don’t dawdle. Have Dora make up a plate of sandwiches as well, will you? Nothing too heavy, mind. We’ll be having dinner in a couple of hours. Salmon is on the menu tonight, I believe. You do like salmon, I trust, Nathaniel?”
Hannah left them to their conversation and hurried from the room, trying to shrug off her embarrassment.
“You clumsy idiot,” she muttered, tugging on the servants’ bell rope with a little more fervor than necessary. With the order for refreshments dispatched, Hannah had little option but to return to the parlor. She chose not to hurry.
A large travelling trunk sat at the foot of the stairs, she noticed, along with a couple of leather valises. Lord Nathaniel’s belongings, undoubtedly. Hannah’s gaze, prompted by her thoughts, travelled up the stairs. Nathaniel de Wolfe would be taking the rooms that once belonged to Lady Beatrice’s father.
Then she turned at the sound of the front door opening, eyes widening as one of the largest dogs she had ever seen came bounding into the hallway.
“Ghost, stay,” a man said, noticing Hannah. The dog slid to an obedient, albeit clumsy, halt on the tiled floor. “It’s all right, Miss,” the man continued. “He’s quite friendly.”
“He’s magnificent.” Hannah smiled. “May I approach him?”
“You may indeed. Sit, Ghost.” The man, a servant of middling to later years, returned her smile. De Wolfe’s valet, most likely, Hannah guessed.
“Hello, Ghost,” she said, stroking the dog. “Aptly named. He’s a wolfhound, is he not? I’ve never seen a white one before.”
“White ones are not as common.” De Wolfe’s voice startled her, and she turned to see him approaching. “Miss Hannah, may I introduce my long-suffering valet, Boscombe? Boscombe, t
his is Miss Hannah, my aunt’s companion.”
Hannah smiled at the man. “Pleased to meet you, Boscombe. And welcome to Allonby Chase.”
“Thank you, Miss,” the man replied, inclining his head.
“Is there’s somewhere else we might take the refreshments you ordered, Miss Hannah? I’m afraid my aunt seems to have nodded off.” Nathaniel de Wolfe gave a disarming grin. “Doesn’t say much for my conversational skills, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, dear,” Hannah said. “Lady Beatrice does have a tendency to doze off without warning, I’m afraid. Please don’t take it personally. She usually takes a nap around this time each day, as it happens, and she is very much a creature of habit.”
“Then let her be,” De Wolfe said, as he greeted his dog with obvious affection. “I was actually telling her about this fellow when I realized she’d fallen asleep.”
“You can take your refreshments in the study instead, my lord.” Hannah gestured to an arched oak door on the other side of the hall. “I’ll let the maid know. I’d better check on her ladyship as well.”
“And then you’ll join me, I trust,” De Wolfe said.
Alone? Hannah blinked. “I… er, well, I’m not sure that it would be—”
“I’m certain I cannot eat an entire plate of sandwiches all by myself,” he added.
“And I’m certain his lordship intends to leave the study door wide open, Miss Hannah,” Boscombe said, regarding De Wolfe with a raised brow. “As propriety demands.”
Hannah also raised a brow and waited for De Wolfe to reprimand the servant’s boldness. Instead, he merely shrugged. “Well, of course,” he said. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, dear lady, I’ll take the damn door off its hinges.”
* * *
Nathaniel watched as Hannah poured his coffee. The delicate rattle of china, as she passed the cup and saucer to him, betrayed the tremble in her hand. He obviously unsettled the woman, a fact that amused him somewhat. She unsettled him, too, an anomaly that had him seeking an explanation.
Simple, really. He’d obviously gone too long without a woman. This particular female, while not unpleasant to look upon, would never normally garner his attention. Other than a small, gold locket gracing her neck, she wore no jewelry. Her blue dress, while still quite serviceable, had obviously seen better years. She did not smile easily, either, although when she did, it was a pretty smile.
Unadorned. Unfashionable. Unremarkable.
Nathaniel shifted in his chair, and bent to pat Ghost’s head. Yes, he’d denied himself the pleasures of the bed for nigh on a month now. Which was undoubtedly why he found himself inexorably drawn to the woman sitting across from him. Attracted to the point of arousal, damn it.
“My lord?” She gave him a quizzical look, her voice breaking through his musing. Damnation. What had she asked him?
He cleared his throat. “Please forgive me, Miss Hannah. My mind wandered there for a moment. What did you say?”
She tilted her head and regarded him, a slight frown on her brow. “You’re probably fatigued after your journey,” she said, and began to rise. “I shall not keep you any longer.”
Nathaniel straightened. “I’m not in the least fatigued, I assure you. Please, repeat your question.”
Still frowning, she settled back in her chair and gave a little shrug. “I was merely curious about your valet. If you don’t mind my saying so, you appear to have an unconventional relationship with him.”
“Boscombe? He’s been with me for as long as I can remember. Practically raised me, in fact.”
“I see,” she said, pouring herself some tea. “That would explain the familiarity you seem to share.”
Nathaniel took a sip of coffee and hummed his approval. “Mmm, I noticed the look on your face earlier, when he spoke up about the door being left open. Get used to his boldness, dear lady. The man does not know his place.”
She peered at him over her teacup, lashes fluttering. It was an unconscious and utterly charming gesture.
“And you find that acceptable?” she asked
He grinned. “Absolutely not.”
“Then why do you not reprimand him?”
“I do. All the time.”
“Yet he ignores you?”
“Usually, yes.” Nathaniel took another sip. “He’s a wily old coot. Never could pull the wool over his eyes. Still can’t.”
The eyelashes fluttered again as she appeared to pondered his words. “You’re obviously very fond of him.”
“Very.” He set his cup down. “I’m curious, Miss Hannah. How did you end up in these northern hills playing companion to Great Aunt Beatrice?”
The woman’s tea cup clattered into her saucer, splashing tea over the rim. “Ouch! Oh, heavens, why am I so clumsy today?” She rubbed the back of her hand as a blush arose in her cheeks. “I’m not usually so careless.”
Nathaniel uttered a soft curse, set his cup down, and went to her. “Did you scald yourself?”
“Oh, no, it’s nothing, really. It was just a tiny splash.”
“Let me see.” Nathaniel took her hand and inspected it, seeing only a small, red mark on the back. He brushed it with his thumb. “Hmm, no harm done, thankfully.”
“None, I can assure you.” The rare smile appeared as she removed her hand from his. “Truly, the only thing hurting is my pride. You must think me quite the goosecap.”
“Not at all.” Nathaniel straightened, the flesh of his hand still tingling where it had met hers. Perhaps the woman was right. Perhaps he was fatigued, his mind playing tricks. And why the hell did he have an erection? “Miss Hannah, if you don’t mind, I believe your earlier observation had merit. I suddenly find myself overcome with fatigue and should like to retire for a while. Will you excuse me?”
An expression of concern crossed her face. “Yes, off course. You must rest. Shall I have the coffee and sandwiches sent to your apartments?”
He took a couple of sandwiches from the plate. “No need. These should tide me over till dinner. Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Hannah. We can continue with our conversation later, perhaps?”
She nodded her agreement. “I shall look forward to it, my lord.”
Chapter Four
Nathaniel hadn’t rested. To Boscombe’s irritation, he’d helped unpack the travelling trunk and valises. Then, as the gong sounded for dinner, he’d ordered his weary valet to vanish for the evening.
“I won’t need you again tonight,” he said. “Or in the morning, either. I plan to take Pilot out for an early ride, but I insist you get some rest, and I’ll hear no argument. Go and eat. Make friends with the servants. Chase the housekeeper.”
Boscombe huffed. “The woman smells of gin.”
“You got that close, did you?” Nathaniel chuckled. “I mean it, Bossy. Take a day off. I’ll survive, I promise.”
“As you wish, my lord, and thank you,” Boscombe said. “I confess, I will welcome a bit of a rest. Enjoy your dinner.”
And he had enjoyed it, listening to his Aunt as she recounted tales of her childhood as well as the exploits of his grandfather. The clumsy companion was nowhere to be seen, and the resulting disappointment had taken Nathaniel by surprise.
“Hannah rarely takes dinner here,” Aunt Beatrice said, in reply to Nathaniel’s casual enquiry. “She has other things to occupy her in the evening.”
That mysterious remark had been immediately followed by an obvious change of subject, and Nathaniel had not pressed his curiosity further. The ins and outs of Allonby Chase would, undoubtedly, all become apparent over time.
He’d retired earlier than usual and slept well. Better yet, he’d awoken purged of all carnal thoughts and peculiar attractions toward his aunt’s companion. His morning erection was simply that. It had nothing to do with Miss Clumsy.
This first full day at Allonby Chase, in all its blue-skied splendor, beckoned to him, as did the ruins of his ancestral home. Eager to be in the saddle, Nathaniel dressed with much haste and l
ittle care. Boscombe would have been appalled.
Following the stable master’s suggestion, Nathaniel took Pilot on a roundabout route to the castle, following an old hunting path that ran from the rear of the Chase. He urged his mount into a gentle canter and relaxed into the rhythm. Ghost, ears flat and tongue lolling, stretched out his long legs, racing alongside horse and rider with ease.
Nathaniel had no childhood memory of the trail but, as the stable master had said, it ended at an ancient pack bridge that spanned the lively little beck. Nathaniel steered Pilot over it and turned onto the wider trail that led back to Castle Canaan.
Nathaniel struggled to keep Pilot at a walk. The gelding, perhaps infected with his master’s enjoyment, pricked up his ears and all but danced along the path. Ghost, meanwhile, loped along in a wolfish fashion, stopping every now and then to leave his mark.
As they drew close to the ruins, Nathaniel reined Pilot to a halt. He turned the horse sideways and surveyed the remains of Castle Canaan, for the first time, through adult eyes. He had been worried that his childhood recollection had misled him somehow. That when he saw Canaan again, after so many years, he would be disappointed. Uninspired.
But a gentle ache welled up inside him as he surveyed the majestic relic. Memories stirred, and with them, a familiar and instinctive sense of belonging. Even as a child, he had felt it. The history. The ancestry. The connection.
It was as if he’d come home.
He grinned at his foolish flight of fancy. “What do you say, Pilot? And you, Ghost?” Two pairs of ears pricked at the sound of their names. “I think all this fresh air has loosened a screw in my head.”
Still, the ache remained as Nathaniel dismounted. Leading Pilot, and with Ghost at his heels, he wandered over to the earthen causeway that now bridged the gap across the moat. The latter had long since been drained, and was now a wide, bramble-filled ditch. Nature, that relentless invader, had laid claim to much of the castle’s stonework. A glossy blanket of ivy smothered the remains of the gatehouse, and several trees of substantial size were nestling up to the curtain wall.
World of de Wolfe Pack: The Wolfe's Return (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 3
