by Cheryl Holt
Over the past few weeks, after her building had been sold out from under her, she’d found alternative places for every child in her care—but for Noah and Pet. She refused to accept that there might not be a solution for them, and her temper flared. It had been flaring ever since she’d first written to Mr. Sinclair’s mother and had been ignored.
Now, after seeing him reveling with doxies in the middle of the day…well!
It was the limit. It really, really was.
“I believe I’ll tarry for a bit,” she apprised the footman. “How will I know Mr. Sinclair? I haven’t previously met him.”
“Why, he’s quite the grandest gentleman in the land. You’ll recognize him on sight.”
Sarah whipped away and went into the room. There were about thirty people present, and the duet had begun to sing. It was a bawdy tune with bawdy lyrics, and the crowd chimed in on the chorus.
She scanned the faces, and the footman had been correct. She recognized Sebastian Sinclair, both because he was simply the handsomest man ever, but also because he looked exactly like his half-brother, Noah: blond hair the color of golden wheat, striking blue eyes.
With Mr. Sinclair seated on a sofa, it was difficult to judge his height, but she was sure he’d be six feet tall or perhaps even taller than that. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
He was sipping a brandy, appearing regal and magnificent, like a lazy king who was bored. There were two men standing behind the sofa. They appeared tough and dangerous, as if they were guards, though why he would need to be guarded in his own parlor in rural England was a mystery.
Maybe they were always vigilant, watching for trouble, and they never acted any other way.
The song ended, the spectators chortling and clapping, and he perused the room, finally settling his attention on her. He grinned a wicked, delicious grin and signaled for her to approach. She didn’t move, and he patted his thigh, inviting her to saunter over and sit on his lap.
The whole incident was disgusting, and she couldn’t decide the best course, but one thing was certain. She had to confer with him and wouldn’t give up until she had. She marched over so she was directly in front of him. He didn’t rise to greet her as was appropriate, being so disrespectful that she yearned to shake him.
He scrutinized her as if she were a harem girl sent to entertain him, his insolent gaze starting at her head and meandering down, lingering at several spots he had no business evaluating. She might have been parading before him without her clothes, and she could hardly keep from squirming, but she stood very still, being positive he would enjoy disconcerting her.
His stunning blue eyes were locked on hers, and she couldn’t look away. He was waiting for her to state her purpose, but she—who was never discomposed by any situation—was utterly discomposed.
He was a celebrity, renowned for his spunk, courage, and daring-do. Since he was ten, he’d traveled the Dark Continent with his famous father, exploring the wildest, most isolated locales. He’d been honored by kings and commoners alike. He’d even written acclaimed accounts about his adventures, and his books were so gripping that they’d been serialized in the newspapers.
In journeying to Hero’s Haven, she hadn’t wondered what it would be like to actually confront him, and the reality wasn’t like she’d imagined.
He oozed virility and power, much like an ancient god who could destroy worlds or fly to the heavens. It was like stumbling on an angel or a saint. Humiliating as it was to admit, she was completely agog.
They seemed bound together by an odd spell, as if the universe was marking their meeting. It was very strange, but she felt as if she’d always known him, and there was a peculiar sense in the air that it might be the greatest moment of her entire life.
But if she was a tad overwhelmed, he definitely wasn’t. He was a pompous ass, and he wrecked the thrilling perception quickly enough.
“You’re pretty,” he said. “I’ll give you that, but was it Maud who sent you out from town? I’ve notified her that I’m weary of all the blonds she’s provided—even if you are more arresting. I hate to have had you come all this way for nothing.”
“I’m so sorry to disappoint you,” she churlishly snapped.
“I’m not disappointed. You’re just blond.” He waved over her person. “And you’re dressed like a frumpy nun. How will you entice me when you’re garbed like such a drab?”
“I’m not trying to entice you.”
“That much is obvious.”
“Is there somewhere we could speak privately?”
“I’ve apprised you that I’m not in the mood to fuss with you. Why would we traipse off?”
“I’m not here to…to…frolic, you dolt.”
At her calling him a dolt, his two guards stiffened. They might have rounded the sofa and grabbed her, but he raised a hand, halting them in their tracks.
“If you’re not here to revel,” he said, “why are you here?”
“I told you: I need to talk to you.”
“I never waste time talking to women.”
“Well, I think you should talk to me. In fact, when you learn of my mission, I’m sure you’ll deem it vital.”
“I very sincerely doubt it, and I’m busy.” He glanced over his shoulder and said, “Raven, this harpy is annoying me. Escort her out and spread word among the staff that she shouldn’t be allowed to return.”
The noise had diminished as people noticed they were quarreling. They watched the exchange as if it were a humorous theatrical play.
She’d been chucked out of rooms before by rich, important snobs. When pleading an orphan’s case, she could be a bit of a nag, so it wouldn’t kill her to be evicted. But she’d come for Noah and Petunia, and she wouldn’t waver in her resolve merely because their older half-sibling was arrogant and unlikable.
“Should I voice aloud what I have to tell you?” she asked. “Would you like everyone to hear it? I can guarantee you don’t want that.”
“Raven!” He gestured toward the door. “Hurry please.”
The man, Raven, towered over her. To match his name, his clothes were all black, which added to his sinister demeanor. His gaze was severe, his manner frightening, and he could probably be very dangerous if provoked.
In three hasty strides, he’d seized her and was pulling her away.
“It’s about your father,” she tossed over her shoulder to Mr. Sinclair.
“Isn’t it always?” he snottily retorted.
Then she was yanked out, as behind her, the guests tittered and snickered.
“Did you let her in?” Mr. Raven asked the footman who’d initially greeted her.
“Yes, sir. She’s quite fetching. I thought Mr. Sinclair would approve.”
“Take a good look at her,” Mr. Raven said, “so you don’t forget her face. Don’t ever admit her in the future.”
“I won’t, sir. I promise.”
Mr. Raven stomped outside, his grip on her arm still very tight.
“You don’t have to keep holding onto me,” she complained. “I understand plain English, and I realize I’ve been thrown out.”
“You’re too stubborn to realize it,” he scoffed.
“Release me, or when you’re through, I’ll likely have bruises.”
“Be silent.”
They reached the driveway before he finally relented. She rubbed her arm and, even though he’d warned her to be silent, she wouldn’t be. “I am Miss Sarah Robertson.”
“I don’t care who you are. Mr. Sinclair has asked you to go, and I expect you will. Immediately.”
“What if I don’t?” Her tone was just as snide as his. “Will you send me to bed without supper?”
“I will count to ten,” Mr. Raven said. “If you’re not walking down the road by then, I will hog-tie you and drag you off the property.”
“You’re as awful as your precious Mr. Sinclair, so I’m certain you would behave just that
despicably. Do you always manhandle females when he orders it? Or are you simply rude and horrid all on your own?”
“I’m horrid on my own, and I do whatever he tells me.” He leaned down so they were nose to nose. “Now go!”
She never heeded overbearing, obnoxious men, and she wasn’t about to start with him.
“I am proprietress of the Robertson Home for Orphaned Children,” she announced. She wouldn’t be for much longer, but for the moment, it was her title. “Inform Mr. Sinclair that I have custody of two of his father’s bastards.”
Mr. Raven blanched and lurched away as if she’d struck him. “What did you say?”
“Don’t pretend to be deaf. Sir Sidney’s clerk was paying their fees, but upon his death, the money suddenly ended, so I’m owed a small fortune in arrears. Also, the orphanage is closing, and they’re about to lose their home. I’m sure Mr. Sinclair would hate to have rumors spread that they were tossed out in the street.”
He studied her with a mix of revulsion and rage. “You’re serious.”
“Serious as a poisonous viper. My facility is in London. Sir Sidney’s clerk knows where it’s located. Mr. Sinclair may call on me at his earliest convenience.”
She whipped away and sauntered off.
Mr. Raven actually shouted at her. “Hold it right there, Miss Robertson.”
“I’d really rather not.”
“You accursed shrew! Is there a man alive who can command you? Stop!”
She halted and glared over her shoulder. “I never listen to insufferable men, and I most especially don’t parlay with bullies. Mr. Sinclair can find me whenever he has a free hour. It would be such a tragedy if I had to talk to the newspapers about his lack of…concern for his poor siblings.”
She continued on, thinking it was an interesting threat—one she would never carry out—but it definitely had an effect on Mr. Raven. He spun and raced inside.
What would he say to Mr. Sinclair? How would Mr. Sinclair react?
She suspected, before too many minutes had passed, all of her questions would be answered.
CHAPTER TWO
Sebastian was seated on the sofa in his parlor, drinking brandy and generally being as lazy as possible. Most of the funereal proceedings were behind him, but his father, Sir Sidney Sinclair, had been very famous, and the tasks associated with his demise were draining.
As his only son, the burdens of planning the memorials and executing the Last Will and Testament had fallen on his shoulders.
He wasn’t a clerk though, so the menial chores were taxing. He was a man of action and adventure, of intrigue and danger. He liked journeying to wild places, confronting mysteries and perils and sliding through unscathed. He didn’t like picking the sort of flowers to have on the stage as his father was exhaustively eulogized.
It was the kind of job a wife should have handled, but he wasn’t married. Or his mother, Gertrude, could have done it, but she was wallowing in her new status as Sir Sidney’s grieving widow. She was hardly grieving though, and in Sebastian’s view, she was glad to be shed of her errant husband.
There was one more trial to weather: the final inquest into the debacle in Africa that had taken Sir Sidney from them. The National Exploration Society had paid for much of the trip, and they were entitled to a detailed explanation of what had transpired.
They would hear testimony, produce piles of documents, and render judgment on the actions of Sir Sidney, Sebastian, and their crew. Then the Society would disseminate an analysis on the causes of the disaster—all with the expectation that future expeditions would avoid a similar calamity.
Sebastian couldn’t and wouldn’t give them a full accounting, and he was working furiously with his team members to get their stories straight. At all costs, Sir Sidney’s reputation and legacy had to be preserved.
Suddenly, Raven stomped in, and he looked angry and upset, which was unnerving. Typically, he was steady and steely. Nothing vexed him. Nothing rattled him. What could have happened?
“What’s wrong?” Sebastian asked.
“We have a problem, but we shouldn’t discuss it in here.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“No.”
Now that Sebastian’s friendship with Nathan Blake had been destroyed, Raven Shawcross was his closest advisor. The fiasco in Africa was like a vortex that had sucked everything into it. Sir Sidney was deceased, their time together abruptly terminated. Sebastian’s bond with Nathan was severed, probably forever. There were lies to conceal, tales to alter, scenarios to invent, and Sebastian wondered how it would all conclude.
Raven was Sebastian’s same age of thirty, and for the prior decade, he’d traveled with Sir Sidney’s dedicated band of explorers. He would face any hurdle, fight any foe, and overcome any obstacle. In a battle, Raven Shawcross was the one you wanted guarding your back.
“Sebastian is busy, and he’s having fun.” This was from his other sentinel, Judah Barnett. “Leave him to it. Whatever it is, you can tell him later.”
Judah was age thirty as well, and he’d been with them for twelve years, first joining when he was eighteen.
Where Raven was reliable, dependable, and brave, Judah was hesitant, cautious, and never eager to leap into the fray. He could be a bit dodgy too, and Sebastian had already decided—if he went to Africa again—Judah wouldn’t be accompanying him.
Sir Sidney had liked Judah, but Sebastian didn’t share his opinion or his patience. Plus, there was the issue with Nathan and what had really occurred in Africa.
Sir Sidney had been hacked to death by natives, and Nathan had been mortally wounded too. After the chaos had calmed enough to mount a search, Sebastian had sent three men to stealthily hunt for Nathan, in the hopes that he might have survived his maiming.
The trio—led by Judah—had returned to camp, claiming they’d found Nathan dead in the foliage, but with the situation so hazardous, they hadn’t been able to retrieve his corpse. All three of them had sworn to it, and Sebastian hadn’t doubted them.
Except Nathan wasn’t dead. Much to Sebastian’s stunned astonishment, he was in England and home at his Selby estate where he was Earl of Selby. Sebastian had no idea how he’d lived through his ordeal or how he’d staggered to England on his own.
He’d spoken to Nathan about it precisely once, and Nathan had heatedly insisted he and Judah had chatted on that fateful day in the jungle, that Judah knew he was alive and had walked away. Trauma could affect a man’s reasoning, so what was the truth? Had Judah and the others lied to him? Or were Nathan’s memories clouded by tragedy?
Would Sebastian ever have the energy to find out?
He hadn’t dealt with the dilemma on his end. He’d been overwhelmed by family matters, so he hadn’t pried any answers out of Judah, but it would have to be addressed. He was terribly afraid—after he accepted Nathan’s version of the event—he’d have to lash out at Judah in a very brutal way.
Yet he couldn’t exactly commit murder in England, could he? There were laws against it, but he’d spent too many years in places where there were no laws, and he’d been able to extract punishment like a violent king.
“It can’t wait,” Raven said. “Come out to the foyer.”
The ladies at the front of the room were about to sing again, and Sebastian would rather have listened to them, but Raven was adamant.
He pushed himself to his feet and, his displeasure clear, he marched out and down the hall to his library. Raven followed, Judah too, a pair of sentries whose only job was to keep him safe. It was important in Africa, but—in his own home in rural England—it seemed silly. He had them continue with it though.
He’d never admit it, but he received enormous comfort from their hovering. After what had happened in Africa, he was suffering the oddest ill-effects.
He jumped at the slightest sounds, and his temper frequently exploded. He was surly and antagonistic, and he didn’t trust anyone. His insomnia was rampant, and because he never slept anymore, he w
as drinking to excess, using liquor to force himself into a stupor so he’d get some rest.
He’d always viewed himself as a very manly man, and it was humiliating to realize he’d become a trembling ninny. He had to work very hard to ensure none of his crew noticed his deteriorated condition. If they did, how would he maintain his authority?
“What is it?” he demanded as they trudged in, and Judah shut the door.
“It’s about that harpy I escorted out of the house,” Raven said.
“Why am I not surprised?”
“You won’t believe what she told me.”
“Yes, I will. The vixen had a smart mouth and an even smarter attitude. She’s capable of any nefarious conduct.”
“She runs an orphanage.”
“Well…ah…good for her.” What other comment would be appropriate?
“Brace yourself.”
“I’m braced, I’m braced,” Sebastian snidely retorted.
“She claims she has custody of two of Sir Sidney’s bastards.”
“What!” Judah gasped.
Sebastian gasped too. “That’s not possible!”
Raven shrugged. “The facility is about to close, and they might be tossed out on the street. You’re to contact her about them.”
“The cheek of the wench!” Judah huffed.
Sebastian waved him to silence and asked Raven, “Where is she now?”
“When I last saw her, she was walking down the lane toward the road.”
“Where was she headed?”
“I suppose to London. I didn’t inquire.”
“What’s your opinion? Was she telling the truth?”
“She seemed to be.”
Sebastian was very rich, as Sir Sidney had been, and there were always schemers slithering in to declare they were owed money. Since Sebastian had returned from Africa, a dozen shady characters had approached him, insisting they’d been Sir Sidney’s partners in various furtive ventures, and he never ceased to be amazed at the penchant of human beings to cheat and swindle.
“I probably ought to question her,” Sebastian said.
