by Ava Stone
Even his sisters had noticed his feelings for Lila upon first meeting the girl. But he’d been too stubborn to pay attention to them on the subject. And all because of a mystery woman whose only purpose had been to distract him from what he really, truly wanted for the rest of his life.
But what if all that nonsense about his angel had driven Lila away? She’d been hurt. He’d seen it with his own eyes that afternoon. He’d hurt her and he really ought to kick himself for having done so. All he could do now was hope she could forgive him and that somewhere in her heart she loved him even a fraction of how much he loved her.
Only one way to find out. He had no plan, and no idea the best way to go about this. But being straightforward and honest was the best place to start, at least it seemed so at the moment.
Quent dismounted from his horse and strode straight to the front door of the vicarage. He knocked loudly, but there wasn’t even the slightest stir from inside. So he pounded even harder, and yelled, “Lila! Lila, please open the door!”
After a moment, he heard a creak come from inside and breathed a sigh of relief. Someone was awake. Thank God.
“Lila!” he called again. “It’s Quentin Post, and—”
The front door opened and a portly woman in a mobcap and a shawl blinked up at him. “What in the world?” the woman grumbled.
“I need to speak with Lila,” Quent said evenly, his voice strained a bit from all of his yelling.
“Then you can come back in the morning,” she said and was just about to shut the door when—
“What’s going on?” The vicar’s angry voice emanated from the staircase behind the portly servant.
The look the woman cast Quent wished him straight to the devil. “Someone’s lost, I’m sure, Mr. Southward. I’ve sent him on his way.”
But Quent had no intention of going anywhere, not when he wanted the rest of his life to start as soon as it possibly could. “Mr. Southward!” he called. “I really must speak with you and with Lila.”
Angry footsteps sounded from the staircase and a half-moment later, the strict vicar stood in the doorway, scowling at Quent. “My lord, you are aware of the late hour, are you not?”
How could he not be? Quent nodded. “And I am sorry to disturb you, sir, but…Well, I want to ask you for Lila’s hand and—”
“And you must ask for it in the middle of the night?” The man’s scowl darkened as he spoke.
It sounded foolish when said that way, but it was the truth. “I don’t want to wait a moment longer than necessary, sir. I am quite in love with her and—”
“And you are quite inappropriate, Lord Quentin. The last fellow I would ever let my daughter marry is you. Now, I’m certain your hedonistic masquerade is in want of your attention. Do have a good night.”
And then the man slammed the door right in Quent’s face.
He stood there, alone on the stoop for a moment. That hadn’t gone well at all. He probably, in retrospect, should have had more of a plan than simply showing up on her doorstep in the middle of the night and yelling her name.
“Lila!” Mr. Southward’s furious voice called from inside the vicarage and Quent winced at the sound. “Matilda!”
Oh, damn it all! Quent couldn’t let the vicar berate his daughters, not when they hadn’t done anything wrong. He knocked on the door again, hoping to alleviate whatever trouble he’d caused.
The portly woman opened the door once more, frowning at him as though he was last person in the world she ever wanted to see. “Haven’t you done enough this evening?” she complained.
“I didn’t mean to get them into trouble,” Quent said. “I just want to help, if—”
“Anna!” Mr. Southward’s voice rose an octave and boomed off the walls. “Where are they?”
The servant gasped and Quent blinked into the darkened vicarage. “Where are they?” he echoed.
“All three of them gone from their beds!” He sounded more than enraged, stomping down the steps once more. Then the vicar stopped in the doorway and glared at Quent. “This is all your doing.”
“My doing?” There were a great many things that might be Quent’s fault but he hadn’t removed even one Southward girl from her bed, let alone three of them.
“My daughters and niece would have never slipped out in the dead of night until you and your friends arrived. If ever there was a blight, a bad influence in Ravenglass, Lord Quentin, it is you.”
Quent let the insult slide past him, he was much more concerned with the first part of the vicar’s words. “All three girls are missing?”
The fury in Mr. Southward’s eyes would have burned him in his spot if the man had the power to do so, Quent had no doubt. “There’s only one place they can be.”
At Quent’s masquerade.
Oh, dear God. Lila was back at Marisdùn and… Quent had alerted her father to that fact. That was the worst possible thing he could have done. “I’ll find them,” he promised.
“You’ll do no such thing. You will stay away from my girls from now until the end of time.”
And the vicar meant to enforce that, Quent could see it on the man’s face. So he’d just have to find Lila before her father did. He could pour his heart out to her, beg her to have him and suggest they head for the Scottish border. They weren’t terribly far, as it was. She could be his wife in the morning and then there would be nothing the sanctimonious Vicar Southward could do about the situation.
And Quent had the advantage on the man since he was already fully dressed and heading directly for his racehorse.
“Lila?” Callie’s voice from the opening in the hedgerow completely caught Lila by surprise. “What are you doing here?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? Making a complete mess out of her life was the answer to that, but Lila couldn’t say those words, not even to her oldest and dearest friend. “You haven’t seen Anna or Tilly, have you?” If she could find even one of them, she could return home on her own.
Callie shook her head as she rounded the hedge with one of Lord Quentin’s sisters following in her wake. “Hope and I were just heading to a retiring room when we heard you crying…” Then her friend quickened her pace until she was right before Lila. “Why are you crying? Are you all right?”
Lila wasn’t certain she’d ever be all right, not for the rest of her days. “I just want to go home, and I—”
“I can leave you two to talk,” Lady Hope interrupted. “I can find the retiring room on my own and meet you back here.”
Callie’s gaze shifted from Lila to her sister-in-law and she frowned. “I promised Braden—”
The girl shook her head innocently. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”
Callie heaved a sigh. “Right back?”
Lady Hope made an X over her heart with her finger. “Promise.”
“All right,” Callie agreed. “But right back. If Braden comes looking for you—”
“You’ll never even know I was gone,” the girl vowed, then she lifted the edge of her skirts and made a beeline for the castle.
Normally, Lila would have asked about the strange interaction, but as it was, she was completely miserable and was focused on her own broken heart instead.
Sidney did his best to be his usual, charming self once the party was in full swing, though it was difficult when he was so bloody distracted. He searched every face—or what he could see of them, at least—desperate to find Tilly. His revelation the previous afternoon with Wolf was eating at him, pushing him to find her and claim her. Of course, he had to get past the vicar to truly make her his own, but as long as Tilly agreed to be his wife, they would find a way. Even if it meant running off to Gretna Green.
Damn it all. Was he really so in love with a girl that he’d risk both their reputations to elope with her? It was so unlike him, and yet, the unwilling smile that spread his lips answered his own question. He would do anything to be with her.
“Looking for someone?” came a sweet, lilting voic
e from behind him, and he thanked the heavens above that he wore a long, black cape to hide his burgeoning manhood beneath his snug, black trousers. He whirled around to find her there, clad in a black robe that she’d clearly stolen from her father’s armoire. A black mask covered half her face, revealing only her gleaming azure eyes and soft pink lips for his viewing pleasure.
“How did you know it was me?” he asked, his voice a low gravel so only she could hear. Part of him wondered—hoped—she would say something ridiculously romantic like “I recognized your soul,” but then that would be terribly…ridiculous.
She bit her lower lip and blinked up at him. “I wasn’t certain, if I’m being completely honest,” she admitted sheepishly. “I took a chance.”
This tickled Sidney. “And how many chances did you take before you found me?” he asked, laughing.
“Only a few!” she replied, though he couldn’t be certain if she was serious or not. “Thankfully, none of them were actually looking for someone.”
At this, Sidney practically guffawed. “Well, that’s fortunate for me then, isn’t it?” He took a step back and assessed her costume for a moment. “Now tell me, are you supposed to be a clergyman?”
Tilly laughed, though her cheeks flamed pink. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be, really. But I knew any of my own dresses would be recognizable to the locals, and I couldn’t risk that.”
“And you don’t think they will recognize their own vicar’s robes?”
Her brow furrowed. “Are they truly recognizable as vicar’s robes?”
Sidney shook his head. “Only because I know who you are. Now come. I would like to dance with…” He almost said my future bride, but stopped himself in time. “You,” he finished lamely.
He held out his hand, but she shook her head. “I mustn’t.”
Patiently, he turned to her. “Might I ask why not?”
She looked toward the large patio, where everyone was dancing since the inside still held that most foul smell, then back to Sidney, her hazel eyes clouded with worry. “I cannot draw attention to myself. And please believe me when I say…If I dance, I will most certainly draw attention to myself.”
Sidney leaned in. “You can’t be that bad,” he whispered.
“Worse.”
A smile spread the corners of Sidney’s lips. “All right then. No dancing. Perhaps a turn about the solarium, then? It seems to be the only room that has not been permeated by this foul smell.”
“Or the gardens?”
“There’s a chill in the air tonight,” Sidney told her.
“Wouldn’t we have to dance outside?” Tilly said, glancing past him to the dancers on the patio.
“You wouldn’t feel the chill for a moment in that crush,” he clarified. “I do not wish for you to take ill.”
She seemed pleased by his concern, if her grin was any indication. But then she put her hand in his and squeezed, sending a frisson down his spine, right to his groin. “I will take my chances.”
With a foolish grin that he couldn’t wipe from his face, he allowed her to lead him from the castle, around the edge of the patio, and down the steps into the gardens. The air was much fresher out here, the atmosphere far more romantic. Once they’d gone far enough, away from prying eyes, he’d take her in his arms and kiss her again. Properly this time, beneath the moon, rather than in a dusty, foul-smelling priest’s hole.
“Are you cold?” he asked as they strolled side-by-side.
“Not in the least,” she returned, her smile enigmatic beneath her mask. “I sort of feel sorry for Father, having to wear these dreadful things in the summer. They are rather warm.”
“I’ve heard there’s little to make one feel sorry for the vicar,” Sidney said, daring to speak ill of her father.
But Tilly only shrugged and replied, “It’s true. He is a difficult man, to put it nicely.”
“He did lose his wife rather young, didn’t he? I think any man would feel burdened to be left with three girls.”
“That is kind of you to look for excuses for him, but the truth is, he’s always been this way. And I would safely place bets on him always being this way.” She paused on the path, forcing Sidney to stop and turn to her, and then she lowered her voice. “But must we really talk about my father this evening?”
A smile spread Sidney’s lips and he took a step toward her. “I would rather not talk at all, if I’m being truthful.”
“Would it be wicked of me to admit the same?”
“Wicked, indeed,” Sidney whispered, just before he lowered his lips to hers.
Tilly had been raised to be the complete opposite of wicked. She was supposed to be good and virtuous, like Esther or Mary, for heaven’s sake! She was certain neither of those women would have been found kissing a known reprobate in the gardens of a haunted castle. Father would have an apoplexy to learn that not only had she snuck out of the house to attend this particular party, with all manner of rakes and rogues wandering about, but she’d stolen away to a private sector of the gardens to be kissed by one of those rakes…or rogues. She wasn’t certain of the difference. All she knew was she rather liked being wicked, and going back to virtuous was going to be awfully difficult come morning.
It was a wonder Tilly had any thoughts in her head at all just then, what with Sidney so thoroughly ravishing her lips. And with his hands splayed all over her back. Never mind she wore thick, liturgical robes, his hands practically burned a hole right through the fabric, scalding her to her very core.
Her breasts strained against their bindings, aching to be set free, to be…touched. The very thought made her blush to her toes, made her skin heat all over, until she felt she might burst into flames right there. And she’d not even think about the throbbing in her nether regions. Good heavens. How far she’d fallen. And yet, she had no desire to return to her noble pedestal.
When Sidney finally pulled away, Tilly gasped for breath. She felt as if she’d been drowning in the loveliest of ways.
“There,” he said, his voice low and gravely. “Much better.”
“Better than what?” Tilly wondered.
“Better than kissing you in a dank priest hole that smells of rotten eggs.”
A snort of laughter escaped Tilly, and she clasped a hand to her mouth. Sidney grabbed her hand and pulled it to his lips.
“Please don’t cover that lovely mouth,” he pleaded as he peppered her hand with kisses.
“Even when I snort in unladylike ways?”
Sidney’s eyes sparkled at her in the moonlight. “Even then,” he growled and then, as if he were a rabid dog that couldn’t wait another moment to sink his teeth into his prey, he lowered his lips to hers, and ravished her mouth all over again. “Blast,” he breathed between kisses. “What I wouldn’t give to take you to—”
“Ahhhhh!” A blood curdling scream rent the air, coming from the open windows of the castle.
Both Sidney and Tilly looked toward the house and then back to one another.
“That sounded ominous,” Tilly said.
“That sounded like one of the Post girls,” Sidney replied. “Normally, I wouldn’t pay it any mind, knowing how they can be, but…” He looked into Tilly’s eyes. “This is Marisdùn, and it is Samhain. I know what can happen in this castle, and—”
David had found his lady, his future wife. It didn’t matter that he’d actually only known her less than a week. He had met her a year ago today and had spent every day since thinking about her. That certainly meant something when considering they hadn’t actually courted.
When her lips touched his, it was all the confirmation David needed. Anna filled him with a need and desire he’d never experienced in his life. He wanted to tuck her close and never let go.
Now he understood why three of his friends had fallen so hard and fast last year. When you finally meet that one person who is destined to be yours, you don’t want waste a moment before making her yours so that you can keep her with you for always
.
David was just about to kiss Anna again, and fully intended to kiss her all night, when a blood-curdling scream bled through the glass doors on the other side of the hedge.
Anna jerked back. “What was that?”
“By the sound, I’d wager it is Quent’s sister, Lady Hope. I know the cry all too well.”
“We must go. Something horrible must have happened.” Anna was pulling away from him, hurrying toward the castle. If this interruption was over another lost earbob, he’d take the lady over his knee himself as Braden should have done a long time ago. That girl needed to learn the difference between minor inconveniences, not worthy of disrupting an entire household, and truly distressing situations.
Anna reached the parlor before him and stopped suddenly, gasping. Lady Hope, or he assumed it was Lady Hope as he still couldn’t tell them apart, was standing over the body of some old fellow, shaking and with tears streaming down her cheeks. At least she was no longer screaming and probably because she was in too much shock.
What in the world? David blinked at the old fellow, who wasn’t really an old fellow at all, but the Earl of Kilworth. However, the man’s normal dark hair was white as a powdered wig and he seemed quite lifeless.
David stepped around Anna and went to kneel before Kilworth. There was no visible injury. He leaned forward, placing his ear to the man’s chest. A chill snaked up his spine, but there was no heartbeat to be heard. Next David checked for a pulse in his neck and wrist.
He stood and glanced over at Lady Hope. “What happened?”
She shook her head in confusion. “Is he…dead?” she asked in a whisper, her wide green eyes still staring down at Kilworth.
“I’m afraid so,” David finally admitted. “Can you tell me…” he was unable to finish because he had to move quickly to catch the young woman’s limp body as before it hit the floor. Scooping her up in his arms, he strode from the parlor toward the salon across the corridor.
