by Olivia Drake
He offered his hand to her, and it would have been impolite to refuse his help. As she rose from the bench, the brief grasp of his fingers made her keenly aware of his strength.
She quickly withdrew her hand. “Thank you. It is rather nice to stand after sitting for so long.”
He gave her the flute of champagne. “You’ve had no refreshment or respite for nearly two hours. I’m afraid you’ve allowed us to take advantage of you.”
“I’m perfectly happy to do my part.”
“Why so meek? For once, you’ve ample reason to scold me.”
“It isn’t my place to rebuke the master of the castle.”
A half-smile touched his lips. “That fact has never stopped you before. Now drink.”
Annabelle took a sip of the refreshing wine, savoring the burst of bubbles on her tongue. It might be imprudent, but she couldn’t help returning his smile as all the gaiety of the night came rushing back. The candlelit chamber with its rich appointments seemed like the setting of a fairy tale. And here she stood with the handsome prince.
Or was he really the evil ogre in disguise?
If only she knew.
Lord Simon leaned against the pianoforte. The action brought him closer to Annabelle, so close she could have reached out and traced his lips with her fingertip. “If someone else can be induced to play,” he said, “you will dance with me.”
Her pulse fluttered. “Is that a request? Or a command?”
He chuckled. “A command tempered by the knowledge that you, Miss Quinn, are prone to disobedience.”
The notion of waltzing with him filled Annabelle with keen longing. What would it be like to be held in his arms? Just for a few moments, she wanted to fancy herself a lady being courted by the most eligible gentleman in the room. Yet it would be most unwise to accept his invitation if it meant encouraging his lust …
As she hesitated, his smile faded into one of cool charm. “Feel free to refuse,” he said. “It was Clarissa’s idea, anyway. She thought it unfair that you’d missed all the fun.” He glanced back at the guests, where Lady Milford stood chatting with several dowagers.
The light dimmed in Annabelle’s reckless heart. By force of willpower, she maintained a pleasant expression while placing her half-empty glass on a nearby table. “If truth be told, I’m rather weary. A governess must keep early hours.”
On cue, the casement clock out in the corridor bonged twelve times. The deep intonations underscored her sudden craving to depart.
“Midnight,” he murmured, watching her intently. “Time for Cinderella to run off to her garret.”
“Indeed it is,” she said lightly, picking up her shawl. “I shall endeavor not to lose my slipper on the way. Good night.”
Leaving him, she headed toward the arched doorway. How strange that he would utter such a remark when she had been reveling in the fairy-tale atmosphere. Sometimes it seemed as if he could read her thoughts—while she herself had little clue as to his.
She couldn’t resist glancing back one last time at the glittering assemblage. Lord Simon had gone straight to Lady Louisa to engage her in conversation. So much for his interest in the governess. It was a surprisingly bitter pill for Annabelle to swallow.
As she watched, he bent his head to whisper in Lady Louisa’s ear. Annabelle suddenly realized who the girl resembled with her fair hair and delicate features: the woman in the miniature beside the duke’s bed.
Nicholas’s mother, Lord Simon’s lost love.
Chapter 14
“Look what I found, Miss Quinn!”
Annabelle walked gingerly over the rock-strewn sand to the place on the beach where Nicholas was hunkered down. As she reached his side, he glanced up, his face bright with excitement. The stiff breeze had tousled his flaxen hair and he had smudges of dirt on his hands. He looked exactly as he ought, a little boy intent on exploration.
“Do you see it?” he asked, peering into a shallow rock pool that had been left by the low tide.
She leaned down to look. “I see lots of things.”
Strings of reddish seaweed undulated slowly in the water, providing shade for various shells, a starfish, and the brown blob of a sponge. Ever since the vicar had been banished from the castle, she and the duke had embarked upon several expeditions down to the beach for the purpose of a science lesson. Having known only the moors of Yorkshire, she found the seashore as new and fascinating as Nicholas did. In the library she had discovered a book that contained illustrations of the flora and fauna along the coast. Together, they had been learning the names of all the various sea creatures, as well as researching those to avoid touching, such as jellyfish and sea urchins.
“There’s a prawn hiding in the rocks,” he said, pointing. “He’s waving his leg at us.”
“That’s his antenna, I believe,” Annabelle said. “It appears to be attached to his head.”
“Can I catch him? I could keep him in a jar and feed him crumbs.”
She smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid he would miss his home here, darling. It’s best we leave him to find his family.”
Nicholas accepted the verdict with a solemn nod. He went scrambling over the rocks to the next pool. Carrying a sack with a few things he’d collected, she strolled behind him, one hand on the ribbons tied beneath her chin. Even on such a balmy day, the brisk wind tugged at her straw bonnet. The air held the briny aromas of fish and seaweed that she had grown to enjoy.
“Could we explore the cave?” Nicholas asked suddenly, pointing back at the cliff. “We might find buried treasure left by pirates.”
At low tide, the sea had withdrawn from the massive boulders at the base of the cliff, where the dark opening of a cave could be seen. But Annabelle had been warned by the housekeeper never to allow the duke to play there.
The tide comes in fast betimes, Mrs. Wickett had said. ’Ee could be caught there and drown.
Annabelle smiled regretfully at him. “Unfortunately, it’s dark inside the cave, and we haven’t a lamp with us. Besides, I would have to ask your uncle’s permission.”
“Oh. He’ll just say no.”
Clearly disappointed, Nicholas returned to his hunt for treasure. He was right about Lord Simon, she thought, her lips pursed. The man took no interest at all in his nephew. But she had resolved not to spoil this lovely day by brooding about that exasperating man.
High above on the cliff loomed Castle Kevern. Tilting her head back, Annabelle admired the turrets and towers outlined against the blue sky. It was a magnificent sight that she never tired of viewing. The ancient stones were silvery gray with bits of crystal that sparkled in the sunlight.
Something else glinted up there, too. Something close to the ground, something like the flash of sunlight on a mirror …
Squinting in an effort to see better, she took a few steps forward. The flicker abruptly vanished. Was someone up there watching them with a spyglass? Someone who realized he’d been spotted and had pulled back out of sight?
How absurd. Lord Simon and his houseguests had left early that morning for a shooting party at Lord Danville’s estate, several miles distant. Only the servants were present at the castle.
The more Annabelle considered the notion of a mysterious spectator, the more ludicrous it seemed. There could be no rational reason for anyone to observe her and the duke in such a clandestine fashion. She must have seen the glint of sunlight off a metallic rock—or perhaps a shard of broken glass.
Her disquiet subsiding, she turned her back on the castle. Nicholas hadn’t noticed anything amiss. A short distance away, he was using a piece of driftwood to dig an embedded shell out of the sand.
While he was occupied, Annabelle strolled closer to the water. The vastness of the ocean filled her with awe, as did the hypnotic rush of the waves. She could gaze at the sea for hours, watching the colors change from a pinkish sheen at dawn to greenish-blue during the day and then to deep black with the approach of night. Yet for all its beauty, treachery lurked beneath
the surface. Here and there, sharp rocks poked out of the water. The servants had spoken of ships that had gone aground during storms along this coast.
A gull swooped low, making its raucous cry. Annabelle watched the bird for a moment as it rode the air currents. Then she saw that Nicholas had finished excavating his trophy. Now he was attempting to cram the too-large seashell into his pocket.
She hid a smile, for the task was impossible and he’d only succeeded in spilling sand all over his short trousers. “Would you like me to put that in our collection bag, Your Grace?”
“Yes, please.”
He handed the conch to her. After their first trip down to the beach, when he’d wanted to gather everything in sight, she had learned to bring a gunnysack in which to deposit his treasures. It could be anything from a dried starfish to a pretty rock or a floating bottle. Then they would take the flotsam back to the classroom for study. Sometimes, if they found something particularly interesting, he would sketch the item for his art lesson.
Annabelle added the shell to the bag and then tightened the drawstrings. “Hmm, it’s growing quite heavy,” she said. “I’m afraid that means it’s time for us to go back to the castle.”
He squinted against the sun to look up at her. “Just a little while longer? Please?”
“It will soon be time for your geography lesson. But perhaps tomorrow, depending on the weather and the tides.”
Like the good boy that he was, Nicholas didn’t argue the point. Instead, he bounded ahead of her to the stairs that had been cut into the side of the cliff. The steep path took them some distance beyond the castle to a place where the cliff descended into a gentler slope.
Nimble as a monkey, he mounted the steps. “Have a care, Your Grace,” she called after him.
The wind whipped away her words. But she knew he’d heard her because he turned slightly and waved to her. He continued his ascent, while Annabelle made slower progress, hampered as she was by the gunnysack and her long skirts. He disappeared over the top before she’d even reached the halfway point.
The boy knew not to go on without her. Nevertheless, she made haste, not taking time to enjoy the spectacular view of the sea. She was breathless by the time she reached the top. The stairs gave out onto a forested hill, the same hill she’d climbed on the day she’d first arrived at Castle Kevern.
She stood there a moment and looked around. Nicholas was nowhere to be seen. A chill feathered down her spine. What if someone really had been watching them? Someone who had abducted the duke?
A sudden gust dislodged her straw bonnet. Preoccupied, she let it dangle by its ribbons against the back of her neck. Where was Nicholas?
Then she spotted the boy sitting atop a boulder half-hidden in the trees. Instantly she felt silly for letting her imagination run wild.
As she went hurrying toward him, he heaved a big sigh. “What took you so long?” he asked. “I’ve been waiting forever.”
Annabelle laughed. “Braggart,” she said. “Now, do climb down, Your Grace. We’ve still a short walk ahead of us to reach the castle.”
Nicholas jumped down. “I’m a captain in the cavalry. I’ll protect you from the enemy.”
He trotted down the path, venturing to the edge every now and then to shade his eyes with his hand while he peered into the woods. Annabelle smiled to see him playing make-believe like any other child. How amazing to think he was the same frightened little boy she’d met just over a month ago. He’d only needed gentle guidance, a sense of security, and most of all, love. That was something he hadn’t received from the vicar—or from his uncle.
Her thoughts strayed reluctantly to Lord Simon. In the two days since the dinner party, she hadn’t seen him at all. According to the kitchen staff, he had been busy entertaining his guests. Early this morning, he had escorted the company to a shooting party at the estate owned by Lady Louisa’s father. At this very moment Lord Simon might be riding with the dainty blond beauty, perhaps luring her away from the crowd so they could share a stolen kiss …
Annabelle gave herself a stern lecture. She had no right to feel a twinge of envious longing. She and Lord Simon lived in different worlds and nothing would ever change that fact. How he spent his time was no concern of hers—except that Lady Milford had charged her with the daunting task of mending the rift between him and his nephew.
A man who loves so deeply suffers greatly when his heart is broken. You must help him heal, my dear … I am depending upon you to bring them together.
Annabelle scowled down at the dirt path. Nearly a decade had passed since Lord Simon had been jilted by Nicholas’s mother. The man shouldn’t still be carrying a grudge—especially not toward a sweet and innocent child. But she could think of no way to broach such a delicate topic without jeopardizing her position as governess.
Heal him, indeed! Lady Milford might as well have asked Annabelle to scale the walls of the castle without rope or ladder.
To make matters worse, Lady Milford had come up to the nursery for a visit the previous afternoon. Nicholas had joined the two women for tea, and afterward, her ladyship had asked Annabelle to write to her in London. I shall be hoping to hear of your progress with Simon, she’d murmured on her way out the door. Remember your promise.
Annabelle sorely disliked the prospect of disappointing Lady Milford when she owed the woman such a debt of gratitude. Somehow, there had to be a way to convince Lord Simon to spend more time with his nephew …
She suddenly noticed that Nicholas had strayed off the path. He was making his way down the forested slope rather than proceeding up toward the castle.
“Your Grace!” Annabelle called. “Where are you going?”
A rabbit bounded ahead of him into the underbrush, and Nicholas gleefully chased after it. “I need to catch the enemy,” he said over his shoulder.
“Don’t venture too far, darling.”
Annabelle assured herself he couldn’t get lost in these woods, at least not for very long. Just beyond this hill, there were meadows and farms in the valley. Above, through a break in the trees, Castle Kevern towered on the cliff.
Nevertheless, she hurried after Nicholas as he tracked his prey downhill. For too long his imagination had been stifled by the vicar. It was good for him to have the freedom to enjoy an adventure like any normal little boy.
In his knee breeches he had the advantage of her, for the abundant undergrowth kept catching at her skirts. As she bent down to unhook her hem from a clump of brambles, Annabelle heard the snap of a twig somewhere behind her.
A footstep?
Her skin crawled at the notion of being followed. Maybe she hadn’t been wrong to think someone had trained a spyglass on them from up on the cliff.
She turned to scan the area. Sunlight filtered through the tall firs and beech trees and ancient oaks, dappling the clumps of tiny blue flowers and the dense greenery. She couldn’t see a living soul on the hill above her. But the sloping woodland had numerous dips and depressions where a person might be hiding. Additionally, the huge boulders and thick tree trunks could provide cover for someone who didn’t wish to be seen.
Or perhaps it was merely a piskie.
The thought injected a bit of humor that served to dilute her unease. Maybe this was how superstitions were born, from a naturally occurring sound or sight that was misconstrued by the local folk. Logic told her that if there was another entity in these woods, it could only be human—perhaps a servant from the castle or a workman taking a shortcut.
In the kitchen, she’d heard mention of a poacher, but that had been an isolated incident at the southernmost edge of the vast estate. Besides, no one on such an illicit mission would dare to venture so close to the castle. The risk of discovery would be too great.
She and the duke were perfectly safe here.
Annabelle turned back to see that Nicholas had stopped partway down the hill. He was gazing at the ground, but she couldn’t tell at what. A wry smile tugged at her mouth. She hoped to g
oodness that he hadn’t managed to trap the poor rabbit. He’d want to keep it as a pet, and then she’d have to explain to him the difficulty of stuffing the squirmy, frightened animal into the gunnysack.
Oh, well. Perhaps one of the stablemen could be coaxed into building a hutch. It might be educational for Nicholas to have the responsibility of feeding and caring for a rabbit.
Pondering the matter, she gingerly made her way down the steep forest floor. A tiny stream trickled among the fallen leaves, and as she stepped over the wet rocks, the sole of her shoe slipped. She braced her hand on the nearest tree trunk to steady herself.
An angry bee whizzed past her ear. A fraction of a second later, she heard the deafening crack of a gunshot.
Far ahead of her, Nicholas fell to the ground.
Chapter 15
The shot echoed through the woods and across the valley. She froze for a split second, her mind battling disbelief. A poacher. There must be a poacher, after all.
Dropping the gunnysack, Annabelle spun around. “Stop!” she shouted. “Don’t shoot! There’s a child here.”
All lay silent except for her own harsh exhalations. A quick scan of the forested slope revealed no movement among the tall trees, no sign of where the gunman might be hiding.
There was no time to find him.
In a mad panic, she went scrambling down the hill, slipping and sliding on thick layers of leaves. Mud and dirt soiled her hem but she scarcely noticed. Her only thought was for Nicholas. Had he been struck?
Oh, dear God, he must have been. She had seen him go down. He had vanished from sight. Had he been badly injured … or killed?
The thought wrenched a sob of terror from her throat. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. Where was he? She thought knew the place, but he wasn’t there …
A few yards ahead, Nicholas popped into view. He scrambled to his feet and stood looking down at his hands.
His fair hair was messy, his clothing dirty, but Annabelle had never seen a more welcome sight. Sinking to her knees, she caught hold of his shoulders and gave him a frantic look-over. It was a vast relief not to see blood anywhere on him.
