by Gaelen Foley
She shook her head. “You must be mistaken. I know Papa is dead.”
“How? ”
“Because if he were alive, that would mean he just—left me all those years ago!” She winced at the mere suggestion of it. “It’s impossible. He would never do that. He would not just abandon me. What, falsify his own death? Trick me? You don’t know what you’re talking about. My father loved me!”
Indeed, as a little girl, she had been very close to her doting sire. The whole crew had known that when the hard, weathered captain was in a foul temper, the one person who could always melt his heart was his “wee barnacle.”
“Kate,” Rohan murmured, staring at her.
Seething, she refused to look at him. What a heartless brute he was. At the moment, she despised him for even daring to suggest that the person who had loved her most in this world had not cared about her.
She shook her head. He would make her feel as if she did not matter at all. “Contrary to what you are suggesting, Your Grace, my father would never abandon me. He would never have just walked away from me without a backward glance.”
“Perhaps he had good reason.”
“Like what?” She shot him a furious look, lifting her head again.
“To lead his enemies away from you.”
Her eyes widened. “What enemies?” She felt the blood drain from her face. Oh, God, this can’t be happening. “Why would someone be after him?”
“Hard to say at present,” he answered guardedly. “But I think it’s clear that the only way we’re going to get answers is to play this thing out.”
“How? ”
“We wait for O’Banyon’s letter and follow his instructions when it comes. The letter should give us our next step. Where we are to rendezvous.”
“You mean go to him?” She stared at him incredulously. “Walk into a trap?”
“With our eyes open, of course.”
She looked at him in dismay, then turned away without answering. God, if there was any chance she could ever see her beloved papa again, she absolutely wasn’t leaving Kilburn Castle.
She lowered her head again, mulling it all, then she suddenly looked up. “Could this have something to do with one of those treasures my parents were always chasing?—but they never found anything.”
“That you know of,” he murmured, then he shrugged. “Anything’s possible. At this point, I don’t think it’s wise to jump to any conclusions. We are at a standstill until we hear from O’Banyon. Once his letter comes, we’ll know our next move. Until then, we will just have to be patient.”
She realized, like it or not, he was right, but her head was spinning as she let out a rather shaky sigh. Blast. A few hours of peace today, and once more, her world was in chaos.
Could her beloved father really be alive?
Rohan approached, regarding her with a slight frown of concern. He crouched down before her chair and laid his hand over hers in reassurance. “Are you all right?”
“Other than not even knowing my own name—yes, I’m perfectly splendid.”
“Kate. You know I’m not going to let anything happen to you, don’t you?”
Chastened by his patient tone, she met his steady, blue-gray gaze, and instantly regretted her sarcasm. She nodded in reluctance, then looked down at the simple touch that joined them. His right hand gently covered both of hers where they rested, anxiously clasped, on her lap. His hand was so much larger and more hardened-looking than hers.
In the silence, she relived those horrible seconds on the cliffside when his right hand, so gentle now, had stopped her from falling to her destruction.
“I’m sorry,” she forced out. “I’m just—a bit confounded by all this.”
“I know. But everything is going to be all right. Come. Let me show you around the castle since you are to be our guest here for a while. You might as well learn your way around your temporary home.”
She gazed gratefully at him, but he barely noticed as he rose and leaned toward the table, picking up the candelabra. He nodded to her to follow before stalking out of the dining room ahead of her.
Kate gazed after him.
He’s kinder than I ever would have thought. She shook her head to herself. One moment he was scaring the stuffing out of her, and the next he was playing the perfect host. But she had to admit he seemed genuinely concerned for her well-being.
Warily, she rose and followed him.
The light from his candle branch flickered over the carved stone arches of the dark corridor beyond the dining hall, where he showed her some of the chambers behind the various closed doors: two different sitting rooms; a music room; a morning room for the ladies; a billiards rooms for the gentlemen; a stately formal parlor.
When they reached the last pair of large wooden double doors at the end of the hallway, he cast her a half smile. “This one I think you’re really going to like.” With that, he opened the door and lifted up the light.
Kate’s jaw dropped as she stepped past him into the castle’s magnificent library. “Oh . . . my . . .”
She could barely believe her eyes as she scanned the long, shadowy walls lined with tall Gothic bookcases. The dark wood shelves were crammed with tomes collected over several centuries. Her heart soared.
There was a partner desk and a library table with a large globe on a stand beside it, and far away, down at the end, a wonderful reading nook tucked into the bay of mullioned windows. A large grandfather clock could be heard ticking away steadily by the wall. Kate thought it quite possible she had died and gone to heaven.
“This ought to help you pass the time while you are here, don’t you think?” he drawled.
She turned breathlessly to Rohan, who leaned in the doorway, watching her in amusement.
“Oh, it’s . . . do you mind if I . . . ?” She pointed eagerly at his candle branch. “Um, may I?”
“Be my guest.” With a hospitable nod, he handed over the candelabra.
She took it from him and lifted it high. Treading deeper into the library, she looked this way and that in a state of wonder. She had never seen so many books all in one place! Back at home, her entire collection of books, so precious to her, could all have fit easily on about four of these endless shelves.
It was sublime.
“Do you mind if I take a book up to my chamber to read for a while before bed?” she asked hopefully.
He arched a sardonic eyebrow. “Take as many as you like. No one else is using them.”
“Oh, thank you.” She turned back to the shelves with a dreamy smile.
“You’d think I was lending you diamonds.”
“Who cares about diamonds, I’d rather have these. Don’t you like books, Your Grace?”
“I prefer life.”
She did not care for his answer, but shrugged, not looking over. “You’re a man. That’s your prerogative,” she answered under her breath.
“Excuses,” he replied.
“I beg your pardon?” She turned to him in startled indignation.
“If fear is holding you back in life, you must attack it, Kate. Not make excuses about why you cannot attempt what you wish to do. That you can’t because you’re a woman. Especially you, given that your parents educated you as a son.”
She blinked. “Well, thank you for your opinion, Your Grace,” she answered rather primly. She was surprised he had paid that close attention to what she had confessed about her fear of leaving the familiar safety of her cottage after Charley had died.
It was true, she had wanted adventures, but once she found herself alone, she had only seemed to have the nerve for those contained in books.
She was not sure she appreciated him holding her to account for her private flaw and gave a low snort. “At least I’m not afraid of ghosts.”
His white grin flashed in the shadows. “You will be, after you’ve slept a few nights in this haunted old pile.”
She sent him a pointed glance, but could not help returning his smile. It
was obvious he’d meant no offense. He just seemed very sure of knowing what advice he ought to give her. Men.
She shook her head, then stepped up onto the sturdy library stair nearby, examining the contents of the next shelf. “Heron of Alexandria! I’ve never read his treatise on pneumatics and hydraulics!” she cried in excitement.
“What luck.”
She barely heard his droll comment, gasping aloud when she spotted the rarest of tomes. “You have Al-Jazari’s Book of Knowledge of Ingenious Mechanical Devices?”
“Do I?”
“I don’t believe it! Is this the original fourteenth-century Latin translation from the Arabic?”
“Couldn’t tell you.”
She handled the aged manuscript with awe. “You mean you haven’t read it?”
“Alas.”
“Oh, Rohan! Sir Isaac Newton wouldn’t have been able to formulate the laws of motion if it weren’t for writers like this.” She turned away as another volume on the shelves caught her eye. “Oh, that looks intriguing. Hullo—Medieval Mathematicians. And this one . . .” Taking three, then four books down, she piled them into her left arm, still holding the candle. “Perhaps just one more—”
“Let me help you.” He strode toward her.
By the time they left the library, Rohan was carrying the candle branch, as well as a few books for her, while Kate hefted another several in her arms.
“Any sign of the Gray Lady?” she asked, as they climbed the stairs.
“None so far,” he answered, his brief smile askance etched with wry, self-deprecating charm.
Cautiously, she smiled back, though she supposed he must think her a thorough quiz and a bluestocking, as well. She supposed she was, but she would never be embarrassed of her brains.
When they reached the bedchamber, he carried her books into the room and piled them atop the squat bombé chest, also leaving her the candelabra.
“There you are.”
Kate was right behind him. When he turned around, she was taken off guard by the power of his nearness. His masculine aura of strength engulfed her; she was suddenly all too aware of the bed nearby. Without warning, the air between them was charged with overwhelming tension.
Her heart slammed in her chest. His hard face was shadowed by the candles’ glow as he gazed almost wistfully into her eyes. In spite of all his assurances, his hunger for her was palpable in the room, confusing her. She drew back from him a little, once more doubting his intentions.
He lowered his gaze with a wry look and retreated to the threshold of the hallway, where he paused. “Well, good night, then.”
“Good night, Your Grace.” She hesitated. “Thank you—for tonight.”
He turned back to her, slowly bracing one hand against the doorframe. “You’re welcome.” He gazed into her eyes. “I, ah, I’m sorry if I frightened you earlier. I had to make sure you were telling the truth. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”
“You didn’t. I understand.” Folding her arms across her chest, she leaned her shoulder against the frame of the doorway. “I enjoyed this evening.” She shrugged. “I want you to know, I appreciate everything. I realize you didn’t ask for this.”
He nodded. “It’s no trouble.”
As he stared into her eyes, she went motionless, her skin flushed with heat. She was certain in that moment that he was going to lean down and kiss her.
But for the second time tonight, he apparently decided against it.
Her heart was still pounding as he smiled faintly in the shadows. “Well, good night, then.”
“Oh, wait, let me give you back the candelabra—”
“Keep it. You’ve got a lot of reading to do.”
“See you tomorrow!” she called.
Already walking away, he sent her an idle salute.
Still blushing scarlet, Kate closed her chamber door; her heart was racing as she leaned against it. Hm. I wonder why he didn’t kiss me. She chewed her lip, pleased with the Beast’s restraint, but as she moved away from the door and began undressing, she couldn’t seem to wipe the silly smile off her face.
Chapter 10
Within a fortnight, the Coast Guard agents arrived and took the smugglers into custody, all but Peter Doyle. Rohan had bargained to spare Caleb’s nephew from arrest in exchange for Pete’s cooperation when it came time to deal with O’Banyon—from whom there was still no word.
Meanwhile, as the days unfolded, waiting for O’Banyon’s letter to arrive, Rohan remained perplexed by his own contradictory reactions to Kate.
He hated to admit it, but her effect on him was not, well, it was not normal.
Perhaps it was merely that he was not at all accustomed to having a young lady constantly in his house, underfoot, especially one whom he forbade himself to touch.
But the strangest part was he did not entirely mind it. His growing hunger for her made him restless, yet he soon got used to having her around every day. Before long, he even began waking up in the mornings looking forward to seeing her smiling face and wondering what bizarre thing she might say today. The chit amused him.
Her influence in his home was undeniable. She brought a sweetness and simplicity, a disarming warmth that made the cold, foreboding stronghold of Kilburn Castle begin to feel like a slightly more welcoming place.
Still, he found his own preoccupation with her slightly disturbing. It would have helped his peace of mind if he could have been sure his fascination with her was strictly physical, if he could have seen her as he usually chose to see women, as little more than a beautiful assemblage of alluring curves to be explored.
But with Kate, this approach proved impossible. He found too many real traits to admire in her character—courage, independence. With all of the needy, clinging ladies waiting for him back in London, he particularly liked her sturdy self-reliance. Gerald Fox’s daughter was as sharp as a tack and yet quite down-to-earth.
She did not weary him with mindless prattle; did not simper, grovel, or pry; did not even seem to know how to toady to a man of his consequence. She did not play the coquette, either—a tactic he had enjoyed from women but had never trusted. Instead, she spoke her mind almost as plainly as a man, and as a result, her conversation actually held his interest.
Kate peppered her language with witty observations, occasionally made at his expense. He found her saucy impudence oddly refreshing, and instead of minding it, served it back to her. It was great fun to jest and needle each other in mutual irreverence, as they had that night at dinner; one thing they had in common was a willingness to mock their own foibles. Kate laughed at herself for a bluestocking, while he knew very well he was a superstitious fool.
But even all of this did not get to the heart of her effect on him.
Growing up out there on the moors, isolated from the world, she had an untouched quality about her that made him ache in ways he could not explain.
He was so drawn to her.
It made him rather uncomfortable. But that night at dinner when she had described her solitary mode of life at her cottage, he had realized that, unlike so many others, she, too, understood the degree of loneliness that he knew all too well.
Deep down, he knew his heart had never been in such jeopardy before, and considering both their bloodlines, this was a very bad state of affairs. His instincts whispered that her arrival here was destiny. It remained to be seen, however, if she was to be his doom or the answer to his curse.
Given his reputation among his brother warriors as the Order’s most expert killer, all he knew was that his team-mates would have been utterly stunned to see the way he was with Kate.
He was also rather sure they would be horrified to learn that the little “present” who had so captivated him came from Promethean bloodlines. But of course, the Order still knew nothing about Kate, a fact over which he suffered serious pangs of guilt.
He knew bloody well that he should have written to his handler in London about her by now. He had composed the letter to V
irgil and had even gone through the tedious process of putting certain parts of it into the necessary code. But he had no sooner written it, than he crumpled it up and tossed it into the fire. He did not want to give Virgil the chance to order him to bring Kate in for questioning.
He had promised to protect her.
An interrogation by his colleagues would not be a pleasant experience, and by God, the girl had already been through enough. If he handed her over to them, her fragile trust in him would be destroyed. She needed him. Right now, he was all she had. If he did not help her, no one would, and perhaps . . . in a way, he might just need her, too.
He was fiercely committed to protecting her; that she openly appreciated it and trusted him to keep her safe sealed his resolve. Her utter reliance on him for her very survival had somehow renewed his whole sense of meaning.
For once, he had taken up a mission to preserve a life instead of snuffing one out. No wonder everything in him took hold of the mission as if his soul depended on it.
Thus he made up his mind that the Order could wait until he knew more about who exactly was after Kate and what their plans might be. Virgil would be furious—to be sure, it was practically unheard of for any dutiful Warrington to ignore protocol.
But as her protector, he determined that Kate was still too fragile after her kidnapping ordeal to withstand his colleagues’ questioning. And this was the same reason why he stuck to his decision not to touch her.
Honor required it, though he burned for her. He had given his word that she would not be made to pay for her safety with her body, so he stifled fantasies of laying her down in his bed for a second interlude.
Perhaps a part of him wanted her to see that, on occasion, he could be more than a Beast.
Still, her tantalizing nearness was exquisite torture, having had a fleeting taste of her that first night, only to be denied the fullness of the feast.
He was not sure if Kate was aware how closely he was watching her. He hoped not. Surely, she sensed his deepening hunger, but she, too, kept a careful, friendly distance, occupying herself with the library books.
