“My father was deeply interested in the distant East, so my sisters and I were given the names of China, Jade, and Sian. And speaking of Jade, do she and Gideon know that you are hunting on their land?”
He blinked once, then twice, before his mouth hardened into a scowl. That expression told her that he comprehended what she could not say outright. “I assure you that Lord Bannatyne invited me to run tame through his lands. I always respect another man’s boundaries.”
“No, that is not what I mean.” She glanced around, wondering how many ears, in addition to Constantine’s, were aimed to catch her words. “Does he know about your hunting? They will be arriving soon, and I know my sister will be anxious if much hunting occurs while she and the baby are here.”
“He knows. I will be happy to discuss this with you if I may call at Bannatyne Hall tomorrow.”
“I look forward to your visit.”
“As do I.” He moved closer to her, and she quivered in anticipation of his touch.
Instead of drawing her to him, he bent to whisper, “Listen to me, Sian. I am going to be blunt. As gentlemen, Lord Pitchford and I know it is our duty to be certain that nothing untoward happens to you. That would be simple if we were in London. However, Cornwall is not far removed from the days of buccaneers, and the law here is enforced as is convenient.” He stared directly into her eyes. “Do not search for your sketchbook. I will look for it tomorrow. Stay within your family’s gardens unless I or someone else you trust completely accompanies you. Promise me, Sian.”
“I will try to comply, but I need to sketch before I can paint inside.”
“All right. Do not hesitate to send for me if you need someone to walk along the cliffs with you.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. His kiss was brief, but its heat remained with her during the short ride to Bannatyne Hall.
Chapter Six
Sian knew, as she entered Bannatyne Hall, that sleep would be impossible when so many thoughts whirled through her mind. As twilight thickened into night, she found it surprisingly easy to slip out of the house and into the garden. Maybe if she sat and let her thoughts settle, she would be able to relax enough to fall asleep.
She sat on a bench and stared at the stars sprinkled across the sky where clouds had not already laid claim. The moon grew thinner each night. Soon it would vanish altogether. That would be the signal for the wreckers to begin their work. They depended on storm and night to deceive even the most capable sailor into believing their lights led to safe harbor.
Why was she worrying about them now? Was it because she did not want to consider how odd dinner had been tonight with Lord Pitchford and Constantine. If they wished to scare her, they were too late. She already was on edge after her encounter with Wraith and the stories she had heard in the Hall. She appreciated Constantine’s offer to escort her while she sketched, but she doubted his schedule would allow him much time to do so.
The breeze rattled lightly through the hedges and flitted across her bare arms. The air smelled of rain. She should go indoors before it arrived.
As she rose, a hand appeared out of the darkness to clamp over her mouth. Her scream of surprise was muffled against pungent leather.
“Say nothing,” murmured a deep voice from behind her. “Do ye understand?”
She swallowed a gasp as she recognized that voice.
Wraith!
She nodded, and he lowered his hand. Knowing she should acquiesce, she could not halt herself from asking, “Why must I be silent?”
“‘Twould be a shame if someone was hurt.” He stepped around her so they stood face-to-mask. His hand appeared from beneath his ebony cloak, and the starlight danced along the edge of a long blade. “Especially if that someone was ye, Miss Nethercott.”
“Did you come here to threaten me? If not, say what you must and be on your way.”
“Ye be a haughty one.” The knife disappeared beneath his cloak. “And bossy as well. I pity the man ye leg-shackle to ye. He shall suffer a curtain-lecture every night of his life, poor chap.”
She did not reply to his discourtesy. If she did, she would reply in kind with an insult about a man who hid behind a mask. She would not supply him with further ammunition. As well, she wanted to know why he was in the garden.
When she asked that, he replied, “I could use a kiss good-night.”
She laughed tightly. “Very amusing. Why are you really here, Wraith?”
“So ye know my name now?”
“I know what you call yourself, but Wraith is no true name. Did you take it to frighten people, or in preparation for what you will become after you are caught and sent to hang?” She clamped her lips closed. What was wrong with her? Why was she baiting this dangerous man?
“A man’s name is often what others choose to call him.” No emotion divulged his reaction to her sharp words. “While some have earned the sobriquets of hero or loving father or drunkard, Wraith is what I am called.”
“Not by all.”
“And what do those others call me?” He took a single step closer to her.
She fought her instinct to turn and run. Not only did she want to keep him from guessing how he unnerved her, but she was certain he would not allow her to leave until he said what he had come to tell her.
“A wrecker,” she whispered.
“And a murderer and a thief?”
“Yes.”
“But ye call me Wraith.”
“Yes.”
“So does that mean ye do not think I am a wrecker, a murderer, and a thief?”
“I know nothing of you.”
His expressive lips curled in an ironic smile. “And if ye have any wits about ye, ye will not ask questions to learn more.”
“Is that why you came here? To warn me not to ask about you?”
“Nay, I came for two reasons, but neither of them is that. The first is to bring this to you.” He reached beneath his cloak again, then held out his hand.
“My sketchbook!” She snatched it from him.
“Do not take my fingers with it,” he chided.
“I am so happy to see it again.” She held it close to her chest.
“And ye did not trust me to hand it to ye without asking for something in return.”
Even knowing that he could see little more of her expression than she could his, she lowered her eyes. She did not want her own face to confirm what he had said. “Thank you for bringing it to me. That was very kind of you.”
“I can be kind. When I choose to be.” He smiled coolly. “Pretty pictures in there. Yer drawings?”
“Yes, they are.” His praise pleased her more than she had expected. After all, a common wrecker did not have the education to appreciate an artist’s skills. But, somehow, she doubted Wraith was a common wrecker. That he had risen so swiftly to be the leader among his peers suggested he was uncommon.
“Very pretty, but ye need to take care so close to the edge of the cliffs.”
“How did you know. . .?”
“I know every inch of this shore, so I know where ye must have stood to draw the pictures in here.” He put his gloved hand over the top of the book. “If ye need to see the cliffs in their full glory, I can show ye a place where the ground is firm, so there is less danger of the stones cascading from under yer feet.”
She faltered, torn between wanting to see the spot and knowing the danger of going with him. She would be a sap-skull to leave the sanctuary of the garden with a man who concealed his identity behind a domino. Even so, she almost said yes. To be alone with him, far from any chance of eyes espying them, was an intoxicating thought. Intoxicating? She must be half in her cups to consider his offer when he had threatened her only minutes before. No, he had not threatened her. He had warned her. There was a huge difference, wasn’t there?
“Not tonight.” She wished her voice sounded more decisive. If he had any idea how close she had come to agreeing, she would be at greater disadvantage in deflecting the spell he was able to c
ast upon her with nothing more than words.
“Some other time soon?”
“Yes,” she said before she could halt herself.
His smile became even more sensual as his finger spiraled down the book to caress her hand. His gloves separated his skin from hers, but it did not matter. The teasing warmth of his finger flickered like stardust wherever he touched her.
“The second reason I came is that ye dined with Lord Pitchford tonight, did ye not?”
“Y-y-yes. . .” She hated how she stuttered on the simple word. Taking a deep breath and drawing her hand from beneath his, she said, “Yes, I did. Your network of spies must be very efficient.”
“They serve me well, and ye should know that my spies are not the only ones who watched where yer carriage went, how long it stayed there, and how ye spoke with the younger milord before ye left the cottage.”
“Who else?”
“Our common enemy.”
Cold washed along her, and her heart froze in midbeat. “The leader of the other wreckers?”
“Aye. Ye need to be far less careless.” His fingers stroked her cheek, and she stepped away.
She did not want to be tempted by him again. She was not shocked at his audacity, for she could expect nothing else from him, but she was distressed how her heart thundered at the thrill of his touch. She must not succumb to his seduction so easily.
As if she had spoken aloud, he said, “Be wary, sweetheart.”
She said nothing when he paused, as if waiting for her to retort. She would not be unnerved by his insolence. Maybe she should tell him about the faceless ghost she had encountered in Yorkshire. She had not run away from it, so why would she run away from a man who dared not show his face?
“Be wary,” he said again. “When ye live in St. Gundred, ye cannot walk both sides of the law.”
“I am on one side of the law. The right side.”
“Ye may think that, but ye speak a greeting and stop to talk with all ye pass when ye amble about the countryside.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you saying I must not be polite?”
“Polite, yes.” He chuckled. “A fine lady like yerself believes she must always be polite to her inferiors.” When she started to protest, he held up his hand. “Listen to me, sweetheart. Ye cannot see the lines that divide St. Gundred or even Bannatyne Hall. Ye may not know that everyone watches ye, waiting to see which side ye shall take. Talk too long to a person, and ye will be labeled that one’s ally and someone else’s foe.”
“That is absurd. I want no part of your crimes, and I am in no position to put a halt to them.”
“Wise words. Do not ever forget them.”
“You sound exactly like Lord Lastingham and Lord Pitchford and Mr. Trembeth and, no doubt, every other man in St. Gundred.”
He shook his head. “Nay, not every other man. There are some who would not hesitate to cause ye harm for the simple pleasure of it. As I warned ye, not everyone who witnessed yer conversation with Lord Lastingham was yer ally.”
“Were you watching me?”
“I was privy to yer words.”
She took a half-step back, astonished at his easy admission of spying on her. “Why?”
“Only a fool would not watch everyone around him. I am no fool.”
“Oh.” She released the breath she had been holding. “So you watch everyone?”
“Aye. Everyone, but most especially ye.”
“Why most especially me? I told you! I want nothing to do with your horrible crimes.”
“I watch ye because I enjoy it.” He grasped her hand and pulled her up against his chest. As her sketchbook fell to the ground, unnoticed, his mouth captured hers, kissing her with an easy mastery that sent a lightning bolt through her. His hands settled on her waist before his arms curved around her, holding her even closer.
She slid her own hands up his brawny arms and across his shoulders as his tongue darted into her mouth and away, as if he invited her to play. She did not need further urging. Letting her tongue explore the slick, silken secrets of his mouth, she heard a soft moan. Hers? His? She was unsure, then realized it did not matter in this moment when all of her being was centered on the spot where their mouths melded.
Her fingers edged around his nape to bring him even closer and deepen the kiss. Suddenly, her wrists were seized in manacles of flesh and thrust down to her sides.
“Satisfying yer curiosity would be the most dangerous thing ye could do.” His eyes glittered in the faint light. “This mask protects ye, sweetheart, as much as it does me.”
He gave her no chance to reply as his mouth pounced upon hers. Discovering he had been holding himself in restraint before, she was overmastered by the craving she tasted in his hard, demanding kiss. He did not release her wrists, but his fingers ran across her sensitive skin on her inner arms, tickling and teasing, in tempo with how his tongue caressed her mouth. Pulling her back against him, he bent to scatter kisses above the modest décolletage of her gown. When his tongue laved the curve of her breast, the heat that had been building flowed like liquid fire deep inside her. This time, she knew the groan was hers because even as close as they stood, it was not enough. She wanted those exhilarating kisses everywhere along her. And she wanted to do the same to him.
“Wraith?”
He did not answer, but instead claimed her mouth once more. Then he released her.
She stood, her arms against her sides as if he still held them, waiting for him to kiss her again. Slowly she opened her eyes and saw she stood alone in the garden. Not even a ripple of leaves or the sound of a breaking twig told her where he had vanished while she was enraptured by his kiss.
She had never felt so alone as now when her body craved his touch. Bending, she picked up her sketchbook and knew that sleep would be impossible tonight when no dream could be as luscious as what she had shared with Wraith. She wondered when or if he would return, and knew she would be waiting eagerly.
Chapter Seven
“Lord Lastingham is calling,” said Tibbet, the footman, from the arched doorway of the small solar. “Would ye like me to bring him here?”
Sian brushed her hands against her pale cream gown and came to her feet. The solar was in the oldest section of the Hall. Its stone floors and thick rafters marked its age. Walnut paneling softened the walls where grim portraits suggested that Gideon’s sense of humor had not been shared by his long-dead relatives. She wished a mirror hung among the gilded frames, so she could be sure that she did not look a complete rump.
“Please show him in, Tibbet,” she replied. “And alert Mrs. Jenkin that we would like tea and whatever sweet is available in the kitchen.”
The footman nodded and left.
“Do not fret, Miss Nethercott,” said Helen from where she sat by one of the chamber’s tall, narrow windows. She was mending a garment Sian did not recognize. Her maid was already close friends with Mrs. Jenkin, the housekeeper, so Helen might be helping with the household’s chores.
“Fret?” she asked.
“Ye look lovely. Lord Lastingham will be as dazzled as ‘e was when ye were in London.”
“You are biased, Helen.” She laughed as she went to another window to check her reflection in the glass.
She froze when she saw a furtive motion in the garden. Who was skulking through it? Or was it only the ever-present wind off the sea? It had bamboozled her before into believing someone was by the hedgerow. Each time, she had been disappointed because, even though she did not want to own the truth, she hoped Wraith had returned.
She should be relieved he had not, because tangling her life with a criminal’s would only embarrass her family. That was what her reasonable mind warned her, but her lips craved his kisses and her body ached for his strong hands sweeping along it, exciting her in ways she had never known.
“Lord Lastingham,” announced the footman.
Sian turned from the window with a smile. Constantine would help her forget Wraith. Not that the
earl could guess she was obsessed with the shameless attentions of a criminal. He thought she was a proper miss.
And he looked the proper gentleman on a call. His black coat was not blemished by a hint of dust, so she guessed he had walked from the village. In the sunlight pouring through the windows, his red hair glistened and so did his knee-high boots. She imagined how imposing he must have appeared in his military uniform because there was an aura of power about him in his civilian clothes.
“Good afternoon, Constantine,” she said.
He came forward and bowed over her hand with the grace of a man accustomed to the ways of the ton. She wondered if his kiss would be as exuberantly sensuous as Wraith’s. What would Constantine think if she tried to find out?
“Sian, it is a pleasure to have an opportunity to speak with you again so soon. Lord Pitchford asked me to express his thanks that you joined us for dinner last night.” He gave her a scintillating smile that reminded her why she had waited so long for the letters that never came. “I trust we may speak freely here.” His eyes shifted toward Helen.
“Yes. I have ordered tea, and it should be delivered soon. After that, we may speak freely.”
He scanned the room. “This is a very interesting house, isn’t it?”
“It would seem that every generation has had a desire to leave its mark on the house.”
“A common conceit among the ton.” He smiled. “My own family may be a bit more conservative, but the house has dozens of rooms that have little use for us now. Even worse are the gardens. My grandfather had illusions of grandeur with a collection of follies and waterfalls and exotic plants that require a great deal of work and offer little in enjoyment.”
“You could redesign the gardens.”
“I may, once I have the time.”
“Oh, I should have thought of that.”
His smile grew taut. “Be grateful that you did not need to think of wreckers before you arrived here.” He turned toward her maid. “How do you fare after your encounter with Wraith and his men?”
“I am fine now.” Color climbed Helen’s cheeks. “I thank ye for askin’, my lord.”
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