by Cheryl Holt
“It seems she made quite an impression on you.”
“And not in a positive way. I don’t care for uppity women.”
“Then you’ll love me,” she sarcastically said. “I’m the most biddable, sweet-tempered female in the kingdom.”
“There’s no such thing as a biddable female.”
“You have a very low opinion of my gender.”
“It’s all deserved. Since you’re not the odious Miss Robertson, what is your name? You have to be a Robertson too. How are you related to her?”
“I’m not related to any Robertsons. I’m a Carter.”
At the revelation, he assessed her even more meticulously. “You are a Carter?”
“Yes. This headland is part of the Carter Crossing estate, so don’t be surprised to find a family member walking by.”
“You don’t resemble Clayton in the slightest, so you can’t be his sister, Millicent.”
“No. I’m a cousin.”
“Not with those eyes, you’re not.”
She scowled. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”
He scoffed in a manner that might have meant anything, then he spun away to gaze out at the ocean.
“It’s amazing up here,” he said.
“Yes. It’s always been my favorite spot.”
“I’d forgotten it was so spectacular.”
“Are you from the area?”
“No.”
“Then how could you have forgotten it was spectacular?”
She waited for him to explain himself, but he didn’t. They were at the top of the promontory. In one direction, the trail led down to the Carter manor house. In the other, it led down to the abandoned Oakley mansion. No one stumbled over the hill by accident.
“What sort of cousin are you?” he asked.
“The usual sort, I guess.”
“Indicating what? You’re an orphan, so you must have moved in as a little girl who had nowhere else to go, and you never left.”
She nodded, irked by how swiftly he’d deduced her situation. She liked to think she was a tad mysterious, but evidently, she wasn’t.
“You’re very perceptive,” she said.
He looked her up and down, his appraisal nearly impertinent. “Women are never hard to figure out.”
“You’re a bit rude too.”
“I’ve heard that accusation occasionally.”
“Were you raised in the forest by wolves?”
“Close enough.” He noted her scuffed shoes, and he snorted. “You’re the poor relative, aren’t you?”
“You don’t have to insult me.”
“I wasn’t insulting you. I was stating the facts.”
He leaned a hip on the bench, his arms folded across his chest. He appeared as if he had all the time in the world to chat, but she didn’t.
She worked like a dog for Beatrice, managing the servants, managing the house. She was like an indentured servant, but one who had no contract, so she could never buy it out and have her term of servitude end.
Beatrice didn’t warrant any kindness, but Rebecca placated her anyway. It was an impulse she couldn’t shake. Her stubborn attitude was deeply ingrained from listening to Beatrice’s repeated complaints that Rebecca was lazy and foolish and would, no doubt, turn out just as awful as her immoral, sinful mother.
Rebecca had grown up chafing at Beatrice’s derision, but she’d slowly developed a very thick skin and a very entrenched need to prove that Beatrice was mistaken. She constantly tried to please Beatrice, but there was no pleasing her.
Rebecca never snuck off for long, not wanting an incident to arise where Beatrice would blame her for some minor catastrophe. As Beatrice never ceased to remind her, she stayed at Carter Crossing because Beatrice let her stay. If Rebecca enraged her, or if Beatrice got tired of supporting her, she could be kicked out, and her predicament was no different than it had been when she’d first arrived. She still had nowhere to go.
When Rebecca had been small, Beatrice had frequently terrorized her with threats of eviction. She’d suffered for years, planning how she might be able to live on the beach or in the woods, but it had gradually dawned on her that Beatrice simply enjoyed being horrid and would never follow through.
Besides, the property was actually Clayton’s, and his sister, Millicent, was cordial. If Beatrice ever became overly vile, she could prevail on Millicent to make her mother behave.
Then again, Rebecca wouldn’t court trouble. She would never rock a boat or initiate a quarrel. In all circumstances, she was the happiest, most helpful person ever.
But it was difficult to maintain such an agreeable façade. On the inside, she was boiling with fury over the injustices she’d endured. Every so often, she started to feel as if she couldn’t breathe in the manor, as if she was suffocating, and she’d dash off for a walk—like the one she was engaged in at that very moment.
She was anxious to sit on her bench and relish the solitude before she had to head down to supervise the preparations for supper. Why didn’t he leave? How could she persuade him to depart so she could have a few minutes to herself?
She glowered to inform him that he was loafing where he shouldn’t be, but he was an obtuse oaf, and he didn’t budge.
“How old were you when you were brought to Carter Crossing?” he asked.
“Three, and I have to categorically state that you are very nosy.”
“How did it happen that your Carter cousins took you in?”
“My parents died. How would you suppose?”
“Who were they? Were they Robertsons—like your twin, Sarah Robertson? Or were they Carters?”
“My mother was a Carter.”
“Who was your father?”
Her father had been Matthew Blake, Viscount Blake, but Rebecca never mentioned it. He’d seduced her mother, Mary, when she’d been young and gullible and far from home. He’d been a widower with a baby son—Rebecca’s half-brother, Nathan—and he’d hired Mary to work as Nathan’s nanny.
According to Beatrice, Mary had been beautiful, but stupid and naïve too. She’d fallen for the Viscount’s charms, and Rebecca had been the result. It was why she’d likely never marry. No man worth having would pick a bride with such sordid bloodlines.
She changed the subject. “You haven’t told me who you are or why you’re up here.”
“No, I haven’t,” he maddeningly retorted.
“It’s not exactly a popular trail. Should I be worried about you?”
“Yes.”
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected as an answer, but it hadn’t been that. She sputtered with amusement. “Yes? Setting aside the fact that you look sinister as the Devil, why should I be concerned about you?”
“I’m tough and dangerous.”
“I’m certain you are, but there is no menacing situation for you to encounter on this promontory. It’s simply peaceful and serene, so it invites contemplation.”
He tsked. “It’s hardly peaceful. The wind could blow a cow off this cliff.”
“I like it anyway. I like to watch the ships passing by.”
“When you espy one, do you yearn to be on it?”
“Yes. I’ve never been on a ship before. How about you?”
“Yes. I’ve journeyed to the wildest places on the globe.”
He casually tossed out the remark, as if he’d trekked great distances, but he was attired like a laborer who needed to locate his barber as quickly as possible. How could he have traveled? How could he have afforded it?
She was betting that London was the farthest venue in his itinerary.
“I can’t decide if you’re being truthful or not,” she said.
“Why would I lie?”
“You’re very enigmatic, so there are probably a dozen reasons.”
“You think I’m enigmatic?”
“Well, you won’t tell me your name or your purpose.”
“Perh
aps I’m merely rude and unsociable.”
“Perhaps,” she concurred.
“Is Beatrice Carter your aunt?” he asked.
“She was my mother’s cousin, so she’s mine too.”
“Millicent and Clayton are your cousins as well?”
“Yes.”
“You poor girl.”
She clucked her tongue with offense. “I won’t listen to you denigrating my relatives, especially when you and I haven’t even been introduced. You’re being positively surly.”
“I’m a surly fellow.”
“You definitely are. Do you always dress all in black?”
“Yes.”
“It makes you appear quite ominous.”
“That’s the point.”
“You like to frighten people?”
“Yes. Am I frightening you?”
“No, you’re annoying me.”
“I have that effect.” He was almost bragging.
“I’m not surprised to hear it, so you should be on your way before it occurs to me that you’re lurking where you shouldn’t be.”
“I don’t feel like leaving.”
“If you won’t go away, I will have to depart.”
“Why? You said I don’t scare you.”
“I have to get back. I have chores.”
“I thought you were a cousin. Why would you have chores? Or are you treated like a servant?”
He was such an astute wastrel, and he’d nailed her position exactly. She couldn’t mask a frown, and he crowed, “I was correct! I should have guessed.”
“They don’t force me to pitch in. I simply like being helpful.”
“Sure you do. How hard are they making you work?”
“They don’t make me work. I run the manor for Cousin Beatrice, and I enjoy having so much responsibility. I’m useful and valued for my contributions, and I’m lucky to have such an important post.”
He pushed away from the bench, and he stepped in so they were toe to toe again. Stunning her, he clasped hold of her hand, and he lifted it so he could examine her palm. It was covered with calluses.
He stroked his thumb over the roughest spot, and his touch had her wishing she were a damsel in a fairytale so he’d think she was beautiful and spoiled. But from the condition of her skin, it was obvious there had never been any chance of that.
She peered up at him, and for a moment, she was drowning in his riveting gaze. His eyes were so blue, and he was so tall. She liked how he towered over her, how she felt small and insignificant next to him. He had wide shoulders, the kind a woman could lean on if she was weary or distressed.
What would it be like to have such a strong, strapping man by her side? What changes might it render? How comforting might it be? She couldn’t imagine.
She drew her hand away and tucked it in the folds of her shawl so he couldn’t grab it again.
“You’re too pretty to be so abused,” he said. “I hate that you are.”
“I’m not abused. My life is fine, and I should go.”
“Don’t leave because of me. How about if we tarry for awhile and see how many ships we can count?”
“I’ve frittered away all the minutes I can for one afternoon.”
“That’s too bad.”
She should have turned away then, but she didn’t. She studied him, committing every detail to memory so she could reflect on them later. It seemed as if something was supposed to happen or as if she should offer a profound remark, but she couldn’t fathom what it might be.
“Goodbye,” she told him.
“I hope I’ll bump into you again someday.”
“And I hope you won’t. You won’t tell me who you are, so you shouldn’t be sitting on my bench.”
“Your bench?”
“It’s as much mine as anyone’s.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He smiled at her, and it was a wicked, sinful smile, filled with temptation. It was the type of smile that could drag a girl into all sorts of trouble. It was very likely the type of smile Rebecca’s father had flashed at her mother all those years ago.
How did a woman deflect that look? Why would she want to?
She whipped away and started down the hill, figuring she should warn Beatrice about him, but it would mean having to admit she’d been woolgathering on the promontory. It would simply bring about a sound scolding for her being lazy and unreliable.
Perhaps she’d corner a stable boy and ask him to climb up and chase the man off. It was a better idea.
She wound down the trail, determined not to glance at him, but every fiber of her being was urging her to catch a final glimpse. At the last bend in the path, she stopped and peeked back.
She’d expected him to be watching her depart, maybe as bewitched by her as she’d been by him, but he’d already forgotten about her. He was over by the cliff, staring out at the ocean. His feet were braced, his fists on his hips, as he scrutinized the horizon. He was clearly in his element, as if he owned the whole world.
He was quite magnificent, and she could only pray he wouldn’t cause any problems. If he did, Beatrice would find a reason to blame Rebecca, and she’d never hear the end of it.
She sighed and continued down the hill.
CHAPTER TWO
“Don’t gamble with the stable hands.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“How about because you don’t need the money and they do. Besides, you cheat, and they don’t realize it. It’s not fair to them.”
Raven Shawcross glared at his younger brother, Lucas, trying to wear him down with a firm glower, but unfortunately, no one could coerce Lucas into behaving.
“Who said life is fair?” Lucas asked. “I’ve certainly never thought it was. If I steal a few pounds from them, they should consider it a lesson.”
“What lesson would you be imparting?”
“They shouldn’t gamble with a stranger from the city.”
Raven rolled his eyes, saddened that he hadn’t had a chance to act as a father figure to his brother over the years. Lucas had always required firm guidance, but circumstances had guaranteed he’d never received it. He was a shining example of how wicked propensities could fly free if they weren’t drummed out at a young age.
They were both driven and determined, but Raven had scruples. He wouldn’t deliberately lie or transgress, and he debated moral issues. His recent experience in London was typical.
He was a member of the famous group of explorers who’d traveled in Africa with Sir Sidney Sinclair. Sir Sidney had been murdered in a violent melee, caused by his fraternizing with a jealous tribal chief’s wife. Upon their return to England, there had been an inquest by the trip’s financial backers who’d felt compelled to dig to the bottom of what had occurred.
The team had worshipped Sir Sidney, and they would never have uttered a word to tarnish his legacy, so they’d concocted a false, but believable tale to explain his demise, and it hadn’t included any mention of illicit fornication or jealous tribal chiefs.
Normally, Raven wouldn’t have participated in that sort of subterfuge, but they’d fabricated for the greater good. They’d saved Sir Sidney’s reputation as a national icon, but they’d also saved his widow and daughter from having to hear the lurid facts surrounding his death.
Wasn’t that kind of sin allowed? Couldn’t a man be forgiven if he prevaricated for a principled reason? Raven had persuaded himself that the answers to those two questions were yes and yes. Their deception had been for the best.
Lucas, on the other hand, wouldn’t have suffered any qualms about lying. He wouldn’t have dithered over right and wrong. He’d have simply proceeded with his usual reckless abandon, and he’d have looked like an innocent choirboy while doing it.
Raven deemed Lucas to be the more dangerous sibling. A fellow with no conscience didn’t ever stop to mull the consequences.
“I met a Carter woman thi
s afternoon,” he told his brother.
“You crossed paths with Miss Millicent already?” Lucas asked.
“No, it wasn’t Millicent. There’s a cousin living here. Her name’s Rebecca.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Very pretty, but she’s the poor relative. I was left with the distinct impression that she’s lonely and unhappy.”
“Aren’t all poor relatives lonely and unhappy? You ought to be able to use her to pry out tons of information.”
“It’s what I assume.”
“I thought you were setting your sights on Millicent.”
“I’m a man of many talents,” Raven said. “I can pursue both females at the same time.”
He had many tasks to accomplish during his visit to Carter Crossing. One of them was to flirt with twenty-year-old Millicent Carter so her hopes would be terribly dashed when his attention vanished.
“You’ll trifle with one and toy with the other?” Lucas asked. “That seems awfully devious. Where have you hidden honorable, decent Raven Shawcross?”
“You constantly accuse me of being honorable, but your tone indicates you view it as a dubious trait. I have never been particularly honorable, but I wish I was. Most people would describe integrity as a positive attribute.”
“Not me or you. Where did honor or integrity ever take us?”
“Nowhere worth being,” Raven said.
“Precisely.”
They were in the barn at Carter Crossing, having been invited to bunk down in the hay loft. The hired hands lived there, and they’d emptied two cots to accommodate the Shawcross brothers.
Lucas was sitting on one of them and drinking a whiskey, but Raven was pacing. Now that the end of his scheme was so close, he was impatient to get moving. Typically, he was calm and composed. His prior adventures in Africa, where he’d been the expedition scout, had guaranteed he could focus intensely.
He supposed, after events at Carter Crossing were concluded, he’d regain his unruffled aplomb, but just then, he was eager and edgy.
They’d brought some horses to the estate for Clayton Carter and were pretending to be horse traders, utilizing the animals as an excuse to linger for a few days. They’d leave soon to head next door to the adjoining Oakley property Raven had recently purchased.
