He’d been warned of witches, of evil, of sorceresses that absconded with the members of unwitting men who dared to succumb to their charms. At that point, he’d felt compelled to ask what in the world a group of women would want with the severed genitals of a man and the answers had ranged from the macabre to the absurd. Rumors and speculation appeared to be the primary currency in the small village of Penwickett. Then they’d turned to talks of ghosts and long dead witch hunters. There had been mention of strange lights in the woods and dark goings on. In all, it was just too much.
Regardless of their fears of curses, witches, and the evil that lurked within the walls and on the grounds of Evenwold, bribery was still an effective tool. With enough coin in the right hands, he’d not only been given direction and led straight to the door by a local farmer only to face the lusty sea-creatures before him.
“Miss Anne Everleigh?” he asked.
Both of the women made a moue, their full lips turning out into seductive pouts. But the one draped in indecently thin layers of white muslin said, “Anne is no fun at all. Why don’t you join us in the drawing room instead?”
“Because I was sent by the Marquess of Blackraven to provide assistance with managing the estate… I must speak with her, at once,” he insisted. He could only hope that she would be somewhat more—no, he corrected mentally. She did not need to be anything more than the women before him. He needed, desperately, for her to be less. Much, much less.
“Anne!” The more dramatically dressed of the two, a woman draped in colorful scarves and what appeared to be her weight in jewelry, had yelled out with all the subtlety of a fishwife. Her voice rattled the rafters.
Within seconds another woman appeared in the doorway. She looked harried, her dark hair curling wildly as it escaped from its chignon. With cheeks flushed and a fine sheen of perspiration glistening on her skin, it conjured images that were uncomfortably carnal for him. She wore a simple dress of printed muslin, old but not worn. It stretched taut over her breasts, as if it had been made for her when she was much younger. She was, in comparison to her companions, a dowd. The dress, the hair—everything about her appearance was intended to be purely functional. And yet she was, within a second’s glance, the most appealing woman he’d ever lain eyes on.
Blackraven had called her ward, but it was apparent to him that there was a kinship there. She had the look of the Ravenner family about her. It was a curiosity to say the least. While all of the women had lush figures, hers was displayed more modestly but was no less appealing for it. And looking at her, feeling the intensity of the pull to do so much more than simply look, Sebastian knew he’d been a fool. No amount of money was worth the hell a woman like her could create or the havoc she would reek on what should have been his well-ordered life.
“The Marquess of Blackraven sent me to assist you. He felt that you might be in need of some guidance,” he finally managed. “I have come in his stead.”
***
Anne stared at the ridiculously beautiful man before her and wished fervently that she’d not laced her stays so tightly. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe. He’d spoken, the deep baritone of his voice resonating within her in such a way that it made her skin tingle, and yet she couldn’t fathom what his words had meant. Her ability to comprehend them was muted by the rushing of blood in her ears.
Allowing her gaze to travel over him, she noted how dark his skin was. Bronzed by a sun hotter and brighter than any that shone on English soil, she could only surmise he’d been traveling. His dark hair was shot with streaks of red and gold, bleached by the same sun that had darkened his skin. And yet his Patrician features were entirely English, even to the piercing and glacial blue of his eyes. Those eyes appeared to be staring right through her and she felt the heat of a blush rising to her cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” she uttered softly. It was an honest response if not a very clear one. She could hardly tell him that lust had rendered her stupid.
“Your guardian, The Marquess of Blackraven,” he said, “was unable to travel to Sussex at this time and asked that I come in his stead to help you with managing the estate. He felt that you might require his assistance.”
“Oh,” she said, her lips parting around the syllable as it escaped her on a rushed breath. “I wrote to him, but I can’t imagine that he would have even received the letter yet. I only just sent it three days past!”
Minerva made a sound, something between a giggle and a cough that put Anne immediately on alert. Anne stared at her aunt in dawning horror and then back at their guest. “Pardon us for just a moment, won’t you?”
“Certainly,” he replied, eyeing them all rather speculatively. Why would he not, she thought? They gave every appearance of being ready for the mad house.
Grasping Minerva’s arm, she pulled the other woman from the hallway and into the drawing room. In a low voice, she whispered, “What did you do, Minerva?”
Minerva shrugged, a slight lifting of her colorfully clad shoulders. “I burned it. You didn’t need to write to him, Anne. He knew you needed help and he sent it! I’ve been telling you all along that you have the gift! All of us do!”
Anne wanted to choke her. “I wrote to him in confidence! Did you read the letter before you burned it?”
Minerva bristled at her tone and Athena, who was standing in the doorway smiling beatifically at their guest, began wringing her hands in dismay, knowing that a quarrel was brewing.
“Of course not!” Minerva replied hotly. “I’m not a snoop, Anne! I just didn’t see the point in wasting that effort when it’s quite clear that Blackraven already had the issue in hand! Franking that letter would have been a waste!”
Anne felt her temper rising, but checked it. While they stood there quarreling, their guest was standing in the middle of their entryway and could undoubtedly hear them screaming at one another like banshees. It was hardly the kind of hospitality that a man—no, not just a man but a gentleman—should be greeted with.
Stepping back out into the foyer, Anne offered him a cool but welcoming smile. “Forgive me, sir, I fear did not get your name. Regardless of it, you are welcome to all the hospitality we have to offer here at Evenwold, limited though it may be.”
“Lord Sebastian Strong,” he said, and again that rich, deep voice seemed flow through her, moving beneath her skin like water beneath the earth, a force of nature to be reckoned with.
“Well, Lord Strong, welcome to Evenwold. We are glad of your assistance… Now, please, pardon me, but our humble dinner may burn if I do not return to attend it.”
He frowned at her then. “Have you no servants left at all to attend you?”
“No, Lord Strong,” Anne replied evenly. “They have all gone. We will discuss it over dinner if you like. I’m sure Minerva or Athena would be happy to direct you to a room.” Under her breath, she added, “Their own, undoubtedly.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Nothing, my lord. Merely mumbling to myself about things that I need to take care of in the kitchen,” Anne offered with a wan smile as she turned to depart. She was filled with the awful sinking feeling that rather than remove chaos and disorder from her life, she’d invited more in.
***
The village of Penwickett was quiet in the aftermath of the fancy lord traipsing through. It meant trouble for all of them and they knew it. In a darkened corner of the village’s only inn, two men sat at a low and none too clean table. They spoke in hushed whispers.
“He ain’t gonna like it none,” the first one said, his voice breaking with fear.
“Don’t reckon there’s much he do like,” the second one replied. Older, more weary and worn, he seemed resigned to his fate. “If’n he wants it found, he needs to get us more help. We can’t search ever inch of the place on our own, now can we?”
“Yes, you certainly can!”
The hissed response came from the lone woman in the taproom. Seated at a table near them, she sipped from a
tankard of ale and surveyed every one around them. There was an air of authority about her and no one dared question it. “That is,” she continued, “what he paid you to do. And since you were foolish enough to take his money, you’ll deliver or pay it back in blood.”
“What’s he got on you?” the older of the two men asked. “He’s got me good… forever. I’ll be working for the bastard till I die or till he’s done wiv’ me. But I can’t quite figure it out… a high and mighty lady like yourself getting caught up wiv’ the likes of him.”
She glowered at him over the rim of her cup. “Never you mind why I’m working with him! It’s none of your concern. We’ll all do as we’re told and if those women get in your way, you’ll do whatever is necessary to stop them… and him. He’s a nuisance to be rid of. Hopefully those old bats with their spells and potions will be enough to scare him off without any need of interference from us.”
“Not likely. Don’t know as I’d call ‘em old bats, neither,” the younger man said. “They’re right fine looking ladies if you ask me.”
“No one did,” the woman replied coolly. “It’d do you well to learn not to speak until you’re spoken to. Get to work, gentleman. He wants that item found and I for one have no wish to be the bearer of disappointing news!”
The two men watched as she rose and left the inn. “She’s got a regular bee in her bonnet.”
“It’s cause of Miss Everleigh,” the older man said. “She’s not just working for the man, boy. She’s done gone and fallen in love with him while he’s only got eyes the other one.”
“Miss Anne?” The younger man said with raised eyebrows. “I reckon the two older women are better looking.”
“Aye, they might be. But they don’t shine like she does and he knows it.”
The younger man didn’t question that. He knew what it meant when his companion said shine. It wasn’t about looks or how fashionable a woman was. It was about power. And after his encounter with Anne in the barn, he was certain his companion was right. She’d looked right at him, straight into the dark corners of that barn like she’d known just where he was. It had scared him like nothing else ever had. Still, he hadn’t meant to hurt her, but he’d reckoned it had been him or her in that moment. Whatever else happened, he meant to get out with all his bits intact.
Eyeing his companion’s hands, specifically eyeing the missing fingers from his left, the young man swallowed convulsively. He was keeping all his parts and he didn’t much care what he had to do or he had to hurt to ensure it.
CHAPTER THREE
Sebastian had been shown to his room by Lady Athena who had giggled and tittered behind her handkerchief during the entire ordeal. As he unpacked his bags, he considered the state of things at Evenwold. He was the only male in the house. It was a daunting prospect.
Placing his meager wardrobe in the armoire, he reflected that it was a good thing the ladies lived in an unconventional household. Otherwise, they would surely toss him out with the refuse. He had no valet, but he was well used to traveling without one. The women of Evenwold, however, were not something he would ever become accustomed to. Ladies Minerva and Athena eyed him as if he were some pastry in a shop window and they were starving urchins. But it was Miss Everleigh herself who claimed his attention. No, not his attention. That was too mild a term for it. She drew him as surely as the snake charmers in India had held the cobras in their sway. A woman like that, a woman like her, was dangerous.
A spinster, quite confirmed. Recalling Blackraven’s description of her, Sebastian grunted under his breath. He’d been had. And what had his friend meant in referring to her as his ward? It was quite clear to him that the two were related. Even had that not been the case, it was glaringly apparent that she was related to the other women of the house. There was a commonality in their appearances that was unmistakable. It was quite possible that she was a Ravenner, but not a legitimate one. Still, he couldn’t fathom why Blackraven would not have said so.
Placing his bag on the bed, Sebastian turned toward the wardrobe but frowned as the chamber door rattled against the frame. The door handle moved as if someone were trying to enter. A feeling of dread settled within him. It wasn’t simply fear, but something far beyond it. Malevolence. Terror. The unfailing certainty that horrible things were just on the horizon. It was a dozen different and unpleasant emotions that combined within him.
Forcing himself to act, to do something beyond stand there and ring his hands like a hysterical woman, he faced the fear. “Can I help you?” he called out. His voice was firm and did not quake in spite of his fear.
Immediately, the door stopped moving. An unnatural stillness settled in the room and he could see his breath in front of him. The cold didn’t just surround him, but seeped into him, spearing deep and leaving him with the quiet certainty that he’d just been touched by something otherworldly. What was happening?
He struggled for an explanation for the strange sensations that were overtaking him, the cold and dreadful fear that seemed to swell and grow inside him. It was as if he were sinking into it, becoming mired in it.
Just as suddenly, the sensation vanished. It dissipated from him and he was left shaken in the aftermath.
A noise caught his attention. Sebastian turned toward the window and closed the distance quickly. Parting the curtains, he peered out and the sight that greeted him left him even more befuddled. In the garden below, the elder two aunts, though they could certainly not be called old, were spinning in circles, dancing about and giggling like children.
They could not have been the ones at his door, they could not have been responsible for the strange feelings that had overtaken him if they were below. There would not have been time. He didn’t imagine that it might have been Miss Anne Everleigh. Those sorts of tricks were beneath her dignity he would wager. And there were no servants. She’d said as much. So who then had tried to open his door? Another option presented itself. It had not been a who but a what.
“I have wandered into bedlam,” he whispered to himself and shook his head in dismay. “A thousand pounds is not nearly enough for the havoc these women and this house are set to reap.”
Returning to his chore of unpacking, he focused on the one thought that would keep his mind from the strange sensations he’d just experienced— Miss Everleigh’s appearance. She was beautiful, but it was quite clear to him that without having servants in the house the work had all fallen onto her lovely shoulders. Why? What strange and bizarre things were actually happening at Evenwold? Could all the rumors and speculation that he’d heard in town been true? Given what he’d just experienced, it was seeming more and more likely. Yet he was reluctant to cleave to that. He was a man of the world, having traveled to strange and distant lands. Surely there was some logical explanation for what he’d just experienced. There had to be.
As there were no servants to fetch him water for washing, and going into the garden to fetch it himself from the well would put him once again within reach of the lusty aunts, he elected to find his way to the kitchen instead. Perhaps if he could have a moment alone with Anne to discuss the matter—and only to discuss the matter and not to give in to any temptation he might feel—then he might have an answer.
Grabbing the pitcher from the washstand, he headed back down the stairs and followed the scents and sounds of cooking. Had that failed, the muttered oaths and her grumbling of discontent carried with ease down the corridors, clearly giving away her position.
Sebastian paused in the doorway to observe her. She was transferring the stew from the cooking pot to a tureen. It seemed a prudent choice not to startle her in that moment, so he waited. It also provided an opportunity for him to study her.
She was beautiful but not in the fashionable way. No one would ever mistake her for some wilting miss who would faint dead away at the mere hint of difficulty. With a stubborn chin and a determined jaw, she was more akin to an ancient warrior queen than a society miss. It was precisely that which drew hi
m, he realized.
He thought of Portia, the woman he’d nearly wed, the woman who was even now preparing to present his brother with an heir of his own. Delicate, blonde, lovely and always in the throes of hysterics about something, he couldn’t fathom that Portia would even know what to do in the kitchen, much less do it capably. But then why would she? That had been her primary reason for throwing him over, though she’d couched it more prettily than that. He could only offer her a life of genteel poverty, and she wanted more. So she’d tossed him aside and married his eldest brother who would claim the title and who would give her the life of luxury she was accustomed to.
Recalling the afternoon when it had happened, when Portia’s carriage had broken down and his brother Stephen had rescued her, he could imagine how prettily Portia had cried. And how heroic Stephen must have felt. It was easy to see why he’d been swayed. There was something about having a woman look at a man as if he were the bravest and most dashing of heroes. But Miss Anne Everleigh would certainly never look at a man that way. It was glaringly apparent from the stubborn tilt of her chin and the hard set of her jaw.
This was not a woman who would sit idly by and wait to be rescued. This was a woman who would head for the front lines herself. Had she been confronted with the icy spectre upstairs she would no doubt have faced it down with all the courage of Boudica herself.
So what then was occurring at Evenwold that made her seek assistance? Was it the same for her as it had been for him a moment ago? Or was there something else afoot that prompted her to reach out? It would have to be dire in deed. The exchange she’d attempted to have so discreetly with her aunt had been a dismal failure and he’d heard every word. She’d sent to Blackraven for help, something that he assumed was incredibly out of character for her, but the aunts had elected to intercept her letter. And yet Blackraven had known and sent him regardless. It was most odd. A
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