by Anne Mallory
“Well?” he asked, a touch impatiently.
In her imaginings, vampires weren’t impatient. They tended toward guile and seduction. Hence, the intruder obviously wasn’t a vampire, but a…
“Thief!” She exclaimed. A thief obviously touched in the head. In the latest novel she had read, the heroine had successfully negotiated with the insane madman and appealed to his better nature. “Go on, leave now before they arrive, and you won’t get hurt or jailed.”
Firelight illuminated sardonic features. “You’re going to hurt me with those?” He pointed to the statues before turning his back, completely ignoring her.
“Wh-what, yes!” She waved them, not needing to hold them crossed anymore since she had ruled him out as a vampire, but he didn’t seem impressed or concerned.
What to do next? As a guest at the castle, she felt obliged to prevent a robbery, but she wasn’t foolhardy enough to think she could do this man bodily harm. He outweighed her by at least four stone. A well-muscled four stone from the breadth of shoulder and fit of his trousers. She would need help in her adventure.
The thief lifted two logs from the firebox and placed them on the coals. Grabbing a poker, he shifted the wood and stirred the embers, nursing the fire to life. Patience shivered. The long trip, the chill of the night, and her nerves finally caught up with her.
He must have seen it. “Miss Whoever-You-Are, put those statues down and come sit by the fire before you collapse.” He ran a hand through his drenched hair, spraying droplets of water in every direction. Clumps of raven locks fell across his face in a decidedly wicked manner. He turned and opened a lacquered cupboard.
Thieves did not light fires, then rummage through liquor cabinets. At least none in her frame of reference. Her imagination once more disappointingly turned to reality.
He seemed to find what he was looking for and poured himself a glass. “Port?”
She shook her head, and he sat down and swallowed a healthy portion. “I’m not going to harm you. The door is partially open, and you can always scream for assistance. A loyal retainer is bound to come running,” he said softly, but added with a sneer, “I can assure you that my intent is not to steal any of the viscount’s priceless relics.”
He motioned to her. “Come and sit down. I don’t bite. Much.” He raised a mocking brow and revealed a mouth full of straight white teeth without a point in sight.
Intrigued, despite herself, with the miscreant, who was obviously not a thief or vampire, she sat in a chair across from him and maintained a firm grip on both statues.
He wasn’t classically handsome, but there was a definite virility to his features, a rakish quality, that probably earned him a faithful following among her gender. Dark, slashing brows and brooding features. Perfect for a dark, yet heroic and redeemable vampire. Yes, the kind of man who would love deeply, and perhaps tragically. The kind of man—
“Invited by Caroline, were you?”
Caught in her musings, she looked at him in surprise. “Ah, yes, were you invited as well?”
He snorted, but continued to drink. “I’m sure to be on the morrow. Can’t have female guests at the castle without my attendance.”
“I’m not sure I understand, sir.”
He waved a hand in dismissal without answering. He drained the glass and set it down on the table with a thud. Lounging back in the chair while tapping a finger on the arm, he openly studied every detail of her traveling attire. She stilled her hand from smoothing the skirt. She now understood how the antiquities she examined would feel if they were animate—cataloged from top to bottom. His eyes lingered on her lips, then rose back to search her eyes.
“What are you doing back here, in any case? Shouldn’t you be with a chaperone?”
Patience shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, well, it was a long trip and the servants disappeared before they could direct me to the necessary area.”
His eyes lit with amusement. “So you endeavored to find the ladies’ area on your own?”
“Yes,” she said a bit defiantly.
He leaned forward and did another slow perusal of her body. “I don’t know that I believe you. Seems more likely that you were looking for someone. A rendezvous, perhaps?”
His words were no worse than any of the others in the last few months. But still, they stung. Patience stood. “I did no such thing. But I think I’d best find someone who knows you. I have only your word that you should be here.”
His hand shot out and gripped her chin before she even realized he, too, was standing. “Oh, but I can’t let you leave just yet. You are the first interesting woman Caroline has brought this way.”
Despite her pique and general, although sometimes skewed, preservation instincts, the scent of something spicy and warm and the touch of his hand as he dragged it along her jaw caused fairies to dance in her stomach.
“I’m not sure…” Patience’s voice faltered as he leaned toward her. The firelight slashed across his features, and the mischievous look in his eyes mesmerized her as if she were in a vampire’s enthrall. The fairies began a rousing jig as she was drawn to him.
Knock, knock. “My lord?”
The man drew back and looked at the door, his hand still moving across her jaw, his thumb skimming her bottom lip. “Yes, Kenfield?”
About to move into his fingers’ caress, she froze in sudden recognition. Startled eyes locked with his. “You—you’re the viscount?”
One eyebrow rose. “At your service, Miss…?”
“Harrington,” she whispered, shock holding her immobile.
Kenfield pushed open the door, and only a slight twitch belied his own shock at seeing Patience with the viscount in a nearly closed room. “My lord, Lady Caroline is in the drawing room attending to some of the guests.”
“Ah, yes. I saw the coaches. I suppose you came with them?” The viscount directed the question to Patience.
Now that she had time to assimilate the information, she couldn’t believe she had missed the obvious. Of course, his entry through a window had thrown her for a loop. Why in Hades had he not used the door? The viscount was reputed to be eccentric, but Patience hadn’t heard he was crazed.
The viscount was eyeing her, obviously amused, and she realized he had asked her a question. “Er, yes, we all came together.”
“What was the excuse this time? Come to see the summer wildlife? The rose garden? Aunt Caroline’s collection of posies?”
“Pardon me? I don’t understand.” Then it dawned on her what he was implying. She pulled herself upright. “We are here to catalog George Ashe’s collection.”
The mocking smile, and in fact all of the amusement, abruptly dropped from his face, a cold, chilly look replacing it. He looked at the butler. “So the catalogers have arrived?”
“Yes, my lord, I was going to remind you earlier, but you were out. We tried to find you when they arrived.” He didn’t have to repeat “but you were out,” but it lingered in the air. Where had the viscount been on such a night? And why had he returned through a window?
“Thank you, Kenfield.” He turned back to Patience, a cold mask in place. The mocking look had returned, but without any of the earlier warmth. “So you are here to catalog my uncle’s relics. We should return you to the drawing room, Miss Harrington. Surely your fellow travelers are worried.”
He moved toward the door, and she followed, confused and trying to reason why he had gone from amused seducer to forbidding lord so quickly. Was he upset over the donation of the collection? But, no, George Ashe had been dead for over a year. It was reputed that the viscount was on excellent terms with Lady Caroline, George’s widow. Surely if Blackfield had wanted to keep the collection, Patience’s group would not be there to catalog and transport it. Had he changed his mind? She had never heard of him being interested in antiquities.
The butler shut the door behind them and followed the viscount, who was walking quickly, almost as if he were trying to put as much distance as possible betw
een Patience and himself. When they reached the main hall, the viscount mockingly swept his arms toward the drawing room.
“Enjoy your stay at the castle, Miss Harrington.”
Feeling completely confounded by his behavior, she nodded and walked to the drawing room. She was within five paces when a whispered voice near her ear stopped her. “If I could have my Canovas back, Miss Harrington.”
She turned quickly to find him right behind her, his features cold and inscrutable. Flustered, she thrust the Canova statues into his outstretched hands and walked into the room.
Thomas Ashe, tenth Viscount Blackfield, watched her disappear into the drawing room, obviously confused by his abrupt change of demeanor. He admired the regal way she moved, shoulders back and head held high, spectacled dark eyes staring straight ahead. She moved with poise, not even the black tendrils escaping from her floppy bun disturbing the picture of quiet confidence.
It was good that she was an antiquarian. He had felt something. A spark. And sparks were dangerous.
He had forgotten himself for a moment. Yes, dangerous indeed.
Thomas glowered at his sedate-looking butler and thrust the statues into Kenfield’s outstretched hands. His valet hurried down the stairs, and Thomas’s scowl changed to gratitude at how quickly Kenfield had informed his man of the need to change garments. Grumbling about the indignity of dressing his master in an entrance hall, his valet assisted him into a dry jacket, tied a loose cravat, and fiddled and fussed with his clothing. Thomas knew that if he were to return to his quarters to dress, he would never make it back to greet his guests before they retired. And Miss Harrington was suspicious already.
Thomas heard the last bit of conversation in the drawing room, shooed away his valet’s ministrations, and muttered, “Let’s get this done.”
He walked into the drawing room.
Chapter 2
Feeling a bit flustered from her encounter with the viscount, Patience smiled nervously at the elegant woman standing near John and the Teckings.
Lady Caroline was an attractive, diminutive woman with upswept deep brown hair generously streaked with silver. She had friendly light blue eyes and a gracious manner.
Lady Caroline glanced behind Patience, and Patience wondered if the viscount had been seen by any of the room’s occupants. When the lady’s eyes focused back on her, a speculative gleam appearing in their depths, Patience concluded at least one person had observed Blackfield. Patience held her breath, waiting to see if Lady Caroline’s expression turned to disdain.
Instead, she was rewarded with a genuinely warm smile. “Ah, you must be Miss Harrington, Arthur’s daughter. Welcome, my dear, to Blackfield Castle.”
Patience returned her smile and walked across the plush red-and-brown Aubusson rug. Her hand was clasped warmly by the older woman, and Patience felt drawn to her immediately, understanding at once why her father had always spoken well of her. “Lady Caroline, it’s a pleasure finally to meet you. My father has spoken so highly of you.”
Color flushed Lady Caroline’s cheeks as she sank into a high-backed burgundy armchair and motioned for Patience to sit next to her. “Oh, my husband George and your father maintained a lively correspondence and friendly rivalry. I have continued to communicate with your father since George’s passing.”
Patience arranged her celery green skirt as she sat in the chair next to Caroline’s, the smooth velvet feel of the chair’s upholstery was soothing even through Patience’s gloved hands. “He sends his warmest regards and regrets that he was unable to accompany us. Nothing but an emergency would have prevented him from personally accepting your generous invitation and bequest.”
“I hope he is well?”
“He is, thank you. He was summoned to appear before Parliament on behalf of the museum. He requested that I issue you an invitation to dinner the next time you are in London.”
“Excellent. I look forward to seeing him again.” Lady Caroline gestured to the tea set. “Your trip was well?”
Patience accepted a cup. “As well as can be expected on such a difficult night.”
Lady Caroline extended a bejeweled hand in distress. “I apologize on behalf of the staff for not seeing to your comforts sooner. We had a slight mishap that required their immediate attention.”
Mrs. Tecking smiled obsequiously. “Their service was excellent, Lady Caroline. It was naught of their doing.”
Patience turned an apologetic smile on their hostess. “I’m afraid the trip was a mite long for me. I’m unaccustomed to traveling in a coach for such an extended period. I apologize if I overstepped myself.”
Lady Caroline smiled in understanding and patted her perfectly coiffed hair. “Nonsense. Unless we are hosting royalty, we tend to be quite informal here at the castle. Long carriage excursions can be quite tiresome. It’s one of the penalties of living so far from London.”
“When one is accustomed to the ways of the ton, such excursions are commonplace,” announced Mrs. Tecking, sending a pointed look in Patience’s direction.
John gave Patience an amused glance and diverted the conversation.
Patience’s smile grew somewhat pained. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know the decorum and ways of the ton. So she had her fair share of disasters. Didn’t every debutante and newcomer to the social scene?
It wasn’t her fault that she enjoyed discussing the adornments at a ball rather than the people. And really, one would think that a faux pas here and there would be forgiven and forgotten. She had not actually known the Countess of Lockely wasn’t pregnant. Or that the Earl of Montooth wasn’t really interested in a dissertation on the role of cats in Egyptian society during her first (and last) night at Almack’s.
After all, the man had expressed interest in antiquities. How was she to know that people said things they didn’t mean? Her father hadn’t raised her to simper and bandy platitudes.
And if she had known that the old Marquess of Antleberry was nicknamed “Randy” for a reason, she would never have followed him back to look at his “antiquities.” Antiquities, indeed. It had just been her bad luck that a group of people had chosen that moment to enter the solarium, just when she herself had turned around to see the marquess’s antiquities in full view.
Traversing London society had been an enlightening disaster. But honestly, one would think, judging by John’s expression and Mrs. Tecking’s mutterings that they expected further faux pas.
Lady Caroline smiled. “Now that you are here, we can discuss your plans for the next few weeks.”
Patience nodded, and Lady Caroline refilled her cup with a dark Darjeeling tea, her favorite.
“Your father speaks very highly of your abilities to organize, catalog, and lead. Quite a compliment from such an astute scholar. It is very unusual for the responsibilities to fall on the shoulders of one so young, but I’m delighted that you are here, and the work can begin.”
Patience felt a warm burst of love toward her father. Since he was in London attending to business, the task of coordinating George Ashe’s bequest fell to her. As Lady Caroline expressed, this was an unusual appointment for one of her age and gender. She knew that her father had wanted her on the assignment, in part to get her away from the gossip associated with the Antleberry incident. However, he had praised her skills to the museum director and board, and they had announced that in his stead, she was to be in charge of the project.
Patience looked over her group, gauging their responses.
As usual, Mr. Tecking looked lost in thought. He had a brilliant mind but couldn’t be bothered with details or planning. There was little doubt that he would hate a lead position, hate the time and energy taken from his studies. Lock him in a room with Roman or Greek statuary and feed him an occasional meal and the man needn’t emerge for days. No, Mr. Tecking didn’t resent her status as project leader.
John was a specialist in antique weapons and, as she knew, eager to study Ashe’s vast collection of medieval European and Asian wea
ponry. John and she had worked together on several projects and were able to help one another seamlessly on their respective tasks. She wondered if her cousin begrudged her the higher position, but if he did, it was carefully hidden behind friendly smiles and light banter.
As a recorder, Mrs. Tecking kept very detailed notes on certain aspects of the project. Without instruction from the team, she had no actual skill to research or catalog. Her position was necessary, but alas for her, she was not knowledgeable enough to assume lead position. Unfortunately for Patience, their working relationship was strained because Mrs. Tecking believed all of the negative gossip surrounding Patience and made little secret that she found her behavior objectionable.
Patience turned back to Lady Caroline. “On behalf of the British Museum, I’d like to thank you again for donating your husband’s collections. A special dedication ceremony will be held during the season next year.”
Lady Caroline smiled cordially, but this time it seemed somewhat strained. “George loved his antiques. He would want them to be appreciated by others in your field.”
There was an undercurrent to her words, and only by the slimmest margin did Patience resist making further inquiries. Her father kept reminding her that someday her curiosity was going to land her in real trouble. After the Antleberry fiasco he had just given her a fatherly look and shake of his head and had muttered something about someday seeing her wed and saving his sanity.
She brightened. “We can begin tomorrow. It would be helpful to make an overall perusal of the collection. By doing so, we can determine where each of us will begin, and create a schedule for the work.”
Patience elaborated on the different specialties of the team members.
“And what is your specialty, Miss Harrington?”
“Please call me Patience. I have some familiarity with all areas of your husband’s collection, but Ancient Greece, Egypt, and the occult are my specialties.”
