by Ava Stone
“Wonderful landscape to race along,” Lord Quentin added.
Lila shook her head and cast him a sidelong glance. “You are a danger to society in the saddle, my lord.”
He leaned closer to her on the settee and muttered, “Haven’t forgiven me for that rock, Miss Southward?” His voice rumbled over her and Lila somehow managed not to sigh.
“I’ve been raised to turn the other cheek,” she began. “But that doesn’t mean I want to be struck in the head again.”
When he laughed, his knee brushed against hers and tingles raced across her skin. The memory of dancing with him, the memory of pressing her lips to his, washed over Lila and her heart swelled. She really, truly had fallen in love with him upon their first meeting, and the months he’d been gone hadn’t changed that fact in the least.
“You were struck in the head?” Lady Patience leaned forward in her seat.
Lord Quentin winced. “It was an accident. Thorn, Garrick, and I were racing and a rock flew up and hit Miss Southward in the head.” He grinned slightly at her. “Might not even have been from my steed, you know. I could be completely innocent.”
At that pronouncement, all three of his sisters laughed.
“Have you ever been completely innocent in your life, my lord?” Lila asked, as she couldn’t imagine anyone ever saying such a thing about him. Charming, devastatingly handsome, witty, gregarious, or adventurous. Those he was more apt to have been called throughout his life. But not completely innocent. There was, after all, a slightly rakish air about him. And if Lila was honest with herself, that was part of his allure.
“She knows you rather well.” Lady Grace quirked her brother a smile.
Mrs. Small returned to the great room in that moment, a tea tray and biscuits weighing her down.
“Oh!” Lady Patience leapt from her spot. “Right there on that table will be fine.” And then she rushed forward to take over the hostess duties.
“Well, there has to be something entertaining we can do tomorrow,” Lady Hope insisted. “Braden will arrive by the evening and then our last chance to have any real fun will have come to an end.”
“There is a wonderful set of Roman ruins,” Lord Quentin said to his sister. “Wolf picnicked there last year and quite enjoyed the place. We could make our way there tomorrow morning and have a look about.” Then he brushed his fingers against Lila’s arm and tingles raced across her skin. “You are, of course, welcome to join us.”
“My sister and I are supposed to be visiting the Pugmire sisters in the morning.” Though she would give Tilly anything in the world she asked if she’d call on the elderly duo alone. “But if I can make it, I will try.”
“I do hope you’ll be successful.”
And so did Lila.
When Miss Southward announced that she really did need to get back to the vicarage, a twinge of regret pricked Quent’s heart. It had been so wonderful seeing her, sitting beside her, basking in that earth-shattering smile of hers. “Shall I see you home?” he asked, rising back to his feet and ignoring the surprised expressions on his sisters’ faces.
Lila Southward reached her delicate hand out to Quent and he helped her find her feet. She was so damned beautiful. She really was. He could stare at her for hours, just standing in the middle of his great room with her hand in his. And that urge to kiss her, the same one he’d felt last year as he’d carried her back to the vicarage, washed over him once again. But last year, Callie had been present and this year all three of his sisters were a very rapt audience. So Quent cleared his throat and released the pretty brunette’s hand. “That is, I’d be happy to see you home.”
“I would like that very much, my lord,” she replied, and the breathy tone to her voice made Quent’s cock stiffen just a bit.
“Do try to come tomorrow,” Grace said, pushing to her feet. “It’s been so nice meeting you.”
“Yes, yes,” Patience chimed in. “It will be wonderful if you can join us.”
“I will try,” Miss Southward promised as Quent offered her his arm.
“It is good to see you again,” Quent said, offering his arm to Miss Southward as they started towards the castle’s ancient battlements. “I have quite missed Marisdùn and Ravenglass.”
“Does that mean you plan to stay in the village, my lord?” She cast him a sidelong glance. “Now that the castle is yours?”
“Perhaps,” he replied noncommittally. He truly wouldn’t mind spending most of the year in Ravenglass. The village was charming and picturesque, but…Well, he wasn’t sure what his future had in store for him and wouldn’t until he found his mysterious angel.
“We are much quieter here than what you’re accustomed to in London. No operas, no circuses, no romps in the middle of rivers…”
Quent couldn’t help but laugh at that last one. “You really did hear about Hope splashing through the Serpentine like a Bedlamite, hmm?”
She shrugged slightly. “Callie did mention it. She said Lady Hope’s youthful enthusiasm for a certain gentleman had caused quite the scene. She didn’t use the word Bedlamite, however.”
“I don’t know why not. It is the most apt description of the situation.” Hope had been a blasted idiot.
Lila shook her head and her dark curls bobbed against her shoulders. “How unromantic of you, my lord. Lady Hope is clearly quite in love with Lord Kilworth.”
In love. Only Hope would do something so foolish as to think herself in love with such a scoundrel. “Lady Hope is clearly quite a featherbrained ninny,” he replied.
“A featherbrained ninny because she’s in love?”
Quent snorted as they turned down the road that led to the vicarage. “A featherbrained ninny because the gentleman in question is simply playing with her affections. And no matter how many times she has been warned about the blackguard, she pays the advice no attention at all.”
“Well—” Miss Southward’s breathy voice swirled across Quent like a caress “—I would imagine if one was in love, that the warnings from others would hold very little weight in comparison to one’s own heart.”
“You would imagine that, hmm? Are you speaking from personal experience, Miss Southward? Have you ever been in love with a scoundrel and refused to pay good advice any heed at all?”
An enigmatic expression splashed across her face and Quent would have given a hefty sum at that very moment to have some indication about what thoughts were going through her mind. “I suppose a scoundrel to one might be a knight-in-shining-armor to another, wouldn’t you agree?”
Quent would not agree with that sentiment. And he certainly wasn’t happy in the least to hear her say such a thing. Had Lila Southward become embroiled with some sort of scoundrel in quiet little Ravenglass, of all places, since he’d seen her last? The idea twisted his gut just a bit. “I think a man is who he is, Miss Southward.”
At that she smiled up at him, making heat course through Quent. “I’d wager there are some who would find you to be a bit of a scoundrel, my lord, and yet you’ve always been quite the gentleman with me.”
Some might find him to be a bit of a scoundrel? What the devil? “Did Callie write something about me in her letters?” he asked with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Though he was fairly certain he knew the answer to that question. His sister-in-law could have mentioned any number of things about his exploits in one of her letters. Damn it all. What had Miss Southward heard about him?
“Not to worry. She didn’t mention you at all, my lord.”
That he wasn’t expecting in the least. Shouldn’t Callie have made some mention of him? Even in passing? That was hardly flattering, was it?
“Should she have mentioned you?” Miss Southward continued, a teasing note to her voice. “Did you do something particularly noteworthy this last year?”
Not more than usual. Quent had spent the season as he usually did – racing as often as he got the chance, an occasional evening at a bawdy house, a night here or there in front of a
hazard table, and quite a bit of time at his club with his friends. Of course, he’d spent very little time with his sister-in-law, as Callie and Braden were as dull as ditchwater, much as he cared for them both. That must be why Callie hadn’t mentioned Quent in her letters, she simply hadn’t seen him very often.
“You do wound me, Miss Southward,” he teased right back. “Everything I’ve done is worthy of note. I am quite shocked that Callie’s letters home have not been stocked full with tales of my adventures.”
She giggled at that, which made Quent smile in return. She had such a sweet sound to her laugh and he would never tire of listening to her, not in all of his days, he’d wager.
“You are the tiniest bit arrogant, my lord. Did you know that?”
Quent agreed with an incline of his head. “Alas, I have been told that before.”
She laughed again and Quent’s smile only grew larger.
As soon as Quent and Miss Southward took their leave of the castle, Lady Grace Post looked at her sisters to find they wore the same identical expressions of surprise that she must sport herself. “He is quite taken with her, isn’t he?” she asked, because one of them had to start the conversation.
Patience shook her head in bewilderment. “Did you see the way he looked at her in the courtyard?”
“Does Henry ever look at me like that?” Hope asked.
Lord Kilworth usually looked at Hope like he just wanted to find a way to divest her of her gown, but Grace didn’t want to say as much. For one thing, her sister wouldn’t pay the council any heed and for another, she didn’t want to discuss Lord Kilworth for the rest of the day, which is what would happen if Hope had her way. And while that wouldn’t bother Grace terribly most of the time, she didn’t want to engage in that topic today if it could be helped, not when she’d much rather discuss Quent and his rather obvious interest in Miss Southward. “I never pay Lord Kilworth any attention at all.”
“Do you think,” Patience began, “he really returned for her and not this angel of his?”
“Perhaps she is his angel,” Hope suggested.
Well, that was a thought. Grace glanced back towards the threshold their brother and Miss Southward had escaped through as though she might find the answer to that question there. But it didn’t really make any sense. “He doesn’t know who his angel is,” she said, dismissing the idea as quickly as it had come to them. “And he very clearly knows Miss Southward.”
“He’d very clearly like to know her even better,” Patience muttered softly.
“Then what about his angel?” Hope asked.
“Perhaps a living, breathing girl would be better than one who might very well be a figment of his imagination,” Grace replied.
“You truly think he imagined his angel?” Hope blinked at her.
“Braden thinks he did,” Grace added. “And he was here last year. None of us were.”
“True.” Patience nodded. “But I’d imagine Braden was distracted by Callie’s reappearance last year and wasn’t paying Quent any notice at all.”
Grace agreed with a nod of her head. “Yes, but Quent was, apparently, quite deep in his cups because Braden did remark upon that, even with Callie’s reappearance.”
All three of them released the exact same sigh at the exact same time.
“So what do we do?” Patience finally asked.
“Hope Miss Southward comes to the ruins tomorrow, watch them a little more closely.”
“Find out if she knows anything about his angel?” Hope suggested.
Grace frowned in response. “I hardly think that’s the best idea.”
But Hope stubbornly shook her head. “But she could know something. We promised to help Quent find his mystery girl.”
“Yes,” Patience agreed. “We did. Perhaps she does know something. And perhaps if we can dispense with this whole angel nonsense, Quent can be free to focus his attention on Miss Southward instead. I quite like her.”
So did Grace. Lila Southward was exactly the sort of girl Quent should be focused on. “All right. We’ll dispense with this angel nonsense and clear the way for Quent to court Lila Southward. Agreed?”
Hope and Patience nodded quickly.
Just then the sound of laughing children echoed about the room. Grace sucked in a breath. Heavens! The place really was haunted.
“Did you hear that?” Patience asked.
“We’re not deaf,” Hope returned, glancing about the great room as though she could spot whatever it was that had just laughed.
It was one thing to hear tales about the hauntings at Marisdùn Castle, and quite another to actually experience something even so slight as a child’s disembodied laugh. Grace couldn’t help but shiver. “I can’t believe Quent actually wants to live here.”
Patience rubbed her hands along her arms. “Would you think I was mad if I said I was looking forward to staying at Braewood tomorrow?”
Grace wouldn’t think Patience was mad at all.
Hope released an irritated sigh. “At Braewood, it will be next to impossible for me to see Henry.”
“He’s not even here yet,” Patience replied.
And with any luck, the blackguard’s coach would throw a wheel and he’d never make it to Ravenglass. “Or perhaps he’ll decide against attending after all,” Grace muttered under her breath.
Hope scoffed as though the mere idea offended her. “Henry will be here. He gave me that beautiful set of earbobs to wear to the masquerade so he could find me.”
And attempt liberties while Hope was masked. How did their sister not see what sort of villain Lord Kilworth was?
An angry gust of wind rushed through the great room, halting all conversation about Lord Kilworth or anything else. Patience squealed as she hugged her arms tighter to herself and Grace shivered once more as the wind disappeared as though it had never been there.
“I shall be quite happy to be at Braewood myself,” Grace said, hoping her voice didn’t quiver as she spoke.
Anna Southward hurried as quickly as she could to Torrington Abbey after retrieving the plants, seeds and roots Brighid requested from the herbarium in Marisdùn Castle and the garden just outside of it. To think Lord Quentin Post had returned along with his three sisters, and that Bradenham and Callie would really arrive tomorrow. Finally, there would be excitement in this sleepy village.
Not that she had seen the Post family, but she overheard the kitchen staff talking about their arrival as she gathered the herbs. Hardly anything of interest ever happened in Ravenglass and she feared she’d grow mad with boredom before she ever grew old. Thank goodness fascinating gentlemen inherited the castle. At least they’d visit on occasion and make things a bit more exciting.
Her closest friend was sitting on the settee, drinking tea, and thankfully her husband wasn’t around. Anna liked Mr. Chetwey well enough, but he’d been hovering a bit too much lately. The closer Brighid’s time came, the nearer he stuck by Brighid’s side. It was sweet, really, but babies made an appearance every day. Her condition wasn’t at all unusual for a married lady of her age. Besides, Brighid was a healer and a witch. If anyone could make sure everything worked out as it should, it was her.
“Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, please.” Anna plopped down in the chair across from her friend. “They’ve arrived.”
“Who?”
“The owners of Marisdùn.” She could barely keep the grin off of her face. “They are going to have another masquerade, aren’t they?” Ever since Brighid said it was a distinct possibility, Anna had been on edge with anticipation. This year, she was going, and she was staying late, and nobody was going to stop her. Not even her unreasonable and unpleasant Uncle Walter.
“Will all of them be there?” Anna asked as she poured herself a cup of tea, instead of waiting for Brighid to awkwardly lean forward and try and pour it for her.
“All of whom?”
“The unmarried gentlemen,” Anna hissed. “You know exactly who I me
an.”
“Mr. Garrick, Mr. Thorn and Lord Quentin?”
“Yes! Those three.” Three of the six friends who arrived last year had married girls from the district and had probably settled into a boring existence with their wives. Three bachelors remained, which gave Anna hope that the masquerade would be even more rousing than last year, since they didn’t have to worry about an evil spirit and bringing Callie back from the other side this time.
Then she stilled. Just because they hadn’t been married last year did not mean they weren’t this year. Brighid would have mentioned if one of them had wed, wouldn’t she have?
Brighid chuckled and leaned back against her seat. “Are you hoping one of them will take you away, like Bradenham rescued Callie from this place?”
Brighid was about the only person content to live here. Of course, she also went to London this past year, twice, and enjoyed the Season. It was a lot more excitement than Anna had seen since she’d come to live with her uncle and cousins after her parents died six years ago.
“I don’t dare hope to have such luck, but I can’t wait to sketch one of them again.”
The corner of Brighid’s mouth turned up. “The same one, or do you wish to sketch a different gentleman of my husband’s acquaintance? Or does it even matter?”
She could feel her cheeks warming. “The same one.” He was so handsome, with chiseled cheekbones, a strong jaw, an aquiline nose, the way his thick, dark hair fell across his forehead, and those intense brown eyes. The sketches she had of him, safely hidden away, of course, did not begin to do justice to his handsome features. She didn’t dare show them to anyone, and she’d kept them safely hidden away with the exception of one, which was always with her.
“One is in line to be an earl, did you know?”
