Her Dark and Dangerous Lord

by Anne Herries

  ‘It will be a happy occasion, but I have hopes that Anne may be found. I was able to give Harry some news and he is searching for her.’

  ‘I shall consult with my wife,’ Rob said. ‘If Lady Melford agrees, I shall travel to Normandy and see if I can help Harry search for her. I would not have him blame himself for this, and I know he must soon return to his duties at court.’

  ‘If you wish it, I would come with you,’ the Comte offered. ‘Claire would be happy to stay here and offer what comfort she can to Lady Melford until we return.’

  ‘I shall not refuse your offer,’ Rob said. ‘The more of us that search the better, for Anne might be anywhere.’

  ‘I had wondered if you might have received a ransom demand,’ the Comte said. ‘I did not mention it to Harry, but it was one of the reasons I decided to bring Claire on ahead. Whoever has Anne has either kept her for some purpose of his own or he is ignorant of her identity.’

  ‘Unless she has since died,’ Rob said and his expression was bleak. ‘After being in the water for some hours, as she must have been, it is likely that she did not recover her senses before she died.’

  ‘In which case she may have been buried in an unmarked grave.’

  ‘I would pay just to know where she is,’ Rob said and groaned. ‘Had she died at home of a fever it would have broken our hearts, but not to know if she is alive and safe or dead is a cruel thing. I do not know how her mother will bear it.’

  ‘Harry has been devastated,’ Comte St. Orleans said. ‘I gave him a letter to a gentleman I know slightly—the Comte De Vere. Henri has some influence in the district and may use it to discover any news of her. I think our best course would be to call on him first and see if he has heard anything of your daughter…’

  Anne entered the house fresh from her morning ride with Maria. Immediately the scent of lavender greeted her and she smiled, for she could see that the servants had been working hard. Furniture that had been dull and neglected had been polished until the surfaces shone enough to reflect your face. The tapestries had been taken out into the yards and beaten until the dust flew and then re-hung, and the floors had been scrubbed clean. There was now an air of activity about the house, giving it a lived-in feeling, which had turned an empty, neglected house into a home.

  Anne had found herself growing more content as the days passed. Stefan seemed to smile more and there was a different atmosphere in the house. Everywhere she went, the servants and men-at-arms greeted Anne with pleased looks and the deference they would normally show to the lady of the manor. Anne supposed it was because she had helped to nurse some of them when they were ill, though it was her duty to help them—at least, it would be her duty if this were truly her home.

  It was odd, but she had had no more disturbt ng dreams of late. Since the talk with Stefan in the garden and her new friendship with Charles and Maria Renard, she had felt much calmer. She believed it possible now to contemplate a life here. She sometimes felt sad when she thought about the mother who had taught her all the skills she had used to turn Stefan’s house into a home, but the ache inside her had eased a little. She could remember a house and she believed she had had more than one brother or sister, though perhaps she had not been truly close to all of them—but she had loved her mother. She missed her mother and wished she could remember her. However, she had begun to enjoy her life here at the Chateau de Montifiori.

  Anne thought that she could happily live here if… Stefan cared for her enough to take her as his wife. She knew that he had a score to settle with his enemy, and sometimes when she watched him train with his men, she feared for his future. There was no doubt in her mind that he intended to find and punish his enemy. She could not forget the wild ride through the forest when their lives had been at risk. Stefan had not told her anything more about that day, and she was not certain whether he believed there was a risk of a further attack.

  Stefan was courteous to her, even gentle at times, and the look in his eyes told Anne that he felt something for her. She could not be certain whether it was love or merely the lust any man might feel for an attractive young woman living in his house. She knew that she was attractive, for she had seen herself in a small mirror provided for her use. The sunshine suited her and her skin had begun to glow with health, because of the long rides with Maria and her brother Charles, and also the time she spent in the walled garden tending her herbs.

  Anne had discovered that she knew a lot about herbs. She knew what they were and their uses in cooking and in medicines. Ali had shown her some new ones that he had brought with him from his homeland, and he had praised her for her knowledge.

  ‘Someone has taught you well, lady,’ he said. ‘You could be of great help to me while you stay here.’

  ‘I should love to help you tend the herbs and in the preparation of cures,’ Anne told him wistfully. ‘I wish that I might—’ She had stopped suddenly, for her wish had been that she might stay at the chateau for the rest of her life, but she was not certain it was possible.

  Ali had smiled in that knowing way of his, but said little. He was not the only one to notice the changes in the house and its master. Stefan de Montfort laughed more and shouted less, though there were times when his mood changed abruptly and he became harsh, angry without reason. Those who knew him best understood the tussle he was having with himself.

  He was smiling as he greeted Anne on her return that morning. She had blossomed in these past days and he could hardly recognise the woman he had pulled from the sea more dead than alive. Sometimes he felt that he might have seen her before the day he pulled her from the sea, but it was an elusive memory and would not come to him. Perhaps he did not wish it, because he might then know who she was and would be honour bound to return her to her home.

  ‘You enjoyed your ride, Anne?’

  ‘Yes, as always,’ she said. ‘But it was lovely to come home and see how good the house looks now. Do you not think so?’

  ‘I hardly know it,’ Stefan admitted ‘I have not seen many of the things you have used to transform it. Where did you find them?’

  ‘So much had been stored away,’ Anne said. ‘I was not sure whether the chests we unpacked were things you brought here or the last owner had packed away.’

  ‘I believe much of the brass and pewter was brought from the east, though I had never seen it all, but I collected things as I travelled and had the chests stored. Some of the furniture must have been here.’

  ‘Yes, it is French, I think,’ Anne said. ‘It is strange how well the different styles contrast and yet blend together.’

  ‘That is your magic touch,’ Stefan told her. ‘I should probably never have bothered to have the chests unpacked. Even had I done so, I should not have known what to do with the contents.’

  ‘It is a woman’s place to make a house a home,’ Anne said and laughed. ‘Are you ready to greet your friends tonight, my lord?’

  ‘Yes, of course. It is strange, but I find myself looking forward to it,’ Stefan said. ‘I had forgotten what it felt like to be a gentleman, Anne.’ Something in his eyes at that moment made her feel light headed. The longing to be in his arms, to feel his lips on hers was so strong that she almost swayed towards him, but he stepped back and she felt the barrier come down once more, shutting her out. He frowned. ‘I must tell you that my enquiries have come to naught. The man you saw did ask for his sister—and you may be her, Anne—but no one seems to know his name or where he may be found. He must have moved on. I am sorry that I cannot give you better news.’

  ‘I am grateful that you have taken so much trouble on my behalf,’ Anne said. ‘I should like to remember my family, but sometimes I think…’ She shook her head. ‘Of course I must not expect it. You have been more than generous, but I do not belong here.’

  ‘Do you not?’ Stefan asked, and the tone of his voice made her eyes fly to his face. ‘There are times when I think this is just where you belong, Anne. If you were to leave—’ He broke off as
Hassan came up to them, his attention caught by the man’s manner. ‘You have news?’

  ‘Cowper was seen at Cherbourg,’ Hassan said. ‘He was heard making arrangements for a ship to England.’

  Stefan’s expression was grim. ‘Has he given up, do you imagine, or is he simply slinking back to his lair to lick his wounds?’

  ‘Or is it a trap? Does he want us to believe he has gone so that we relax our guard and call off the search?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Stefan said. ‘Perhaps we should put it to the test?’

  ‘What are you suggesting, my lord?’ Hassan frowned.

  Stefan looked at Anne and his eyes held the coldness she dreaded once more. ‘Excuse me, Anne. Hassan and I must talk. I shall look forward to your company this evening.’

  Anne nodded. She went on past him, walking up the wide stone stairway to the gallery above. Glancing down at the men in the Great Hall she saw that Hassan was shaking his head as if disagreeing with something Stefan was saying to him. She was thoughtful as she went into her chamber. Stefan had seemed as if he had something important to say to her before Hassan’s arrival, but the news about Lord Cowper had interrupted him. She knew that he could not afford to neglect such news, because of the attack that had been made on them the day they went to the fair. Until Lord Cowper left the country—or was dead—they could not feel safe whenever they left the manor.

  ‘I want him dead,’ Cowper said, scowling over his wine cup. ‘I do not understand how he managed to escape that day. There were ten of you and only four of them and a woman. You should have taken him easily.’

  ‘In the woods they scattered and we could not follow the trails—and the land was boggy. Our horses refused to go on. Had we been on foot, we should have been sucked into it.’

  ‘Damn you for lily-livered cowards,’ Cowper snarled. ‘I should hang the lot of you.’

  ‘He is too well protected,’ Fritz said. ‘But there was a woman with him. She rode with him and I think he fled to protect her. She may be his weak spot…a chink in his armour at last.’

  Cowper stared at him, a gleam of malice in his narrow-set eyes. ‘She must be guarded day and night. We could never get into the house to snatch her.’

  ‘She has friends,’ Fritz said, smiling inwardly as he saw he had his master’s attention. ‘She rides out with them sometimes—just a man, two grooms and the two women. If there were enough of us, we could snatch them.’

  ‘We only want de Montfort’s woman,’ Cowper warned. ‘The others should not be harmed if it can be avoided. Thus far we have not attracted the notice of the French court or the nobility, but if one of their number were harmed it might go ill with us. We are not on English soil here.’

  ‘I have heard a rumour that she is not who she pretends to be,’ Fritz told him. ‘Her friends call her Mademoiselle de Montfort, but in a tavern I heard that she was found in the wreckage of a ship more alive than dead and that his physician nursed her back to health.’

  ‘If that is true, she must be his mistress,’ Cowper said, a glint of excitement in his eyes. ‘So much the better. If she means something to him, he will come after her.’ He glared at Fritz. ‘Bring her to me alive. We shall take her to England with us. If he wants her back he will come for her—and then we shall have him.’

  ‘What is in it for me?’ Fritz asked, the gleam of avarice in his eyes. ‘I have served you well, my lord. I want more than life as a servant. I would be my own master.’

  ‘You want freedom and gold, I suppose?’ Cowper smiled nastily. He would teach the fool a lesson, but not until he had the girl safe. ‘Get de Montfort’s woman for me; once I have what I want, you shall have your just reward.’

  Fritz inclined his head and left the tavern. He had not missed the gleam in Cowper’s eyes and knew that his master was not to be trusted. He also knew that several of the other men in Cowper’s pay were dissatisfied with their lot. His plan was a good one. He was certain that Lord de Montfort would pay well to recover the woman, and he would pay even more for information that might lead to Cowper’s downfall. The late Lord de Montfort had never signed his manor away. The signatures were false, and Fritz had the proof—Cowper had practised Lord de Montfort’s hand many times, carelessly discarding the parchment afterwards. He, Fritz, had seen the moment when the proud old man realised that he had been duped, and the wicked murder that had taken place that night. He had a letter in the late Lord de Montfort’s own hand, written to his son begging him to return and help him.

  Fritz had kept these things secret, waiting for his chance to use them. Cowper was a ruthless, brutal man, and while his cousin Sir Hugh lived it had been impossible to destroy him. Sir Hugh was a clever, devious man, but Fritz had lost all respect for his master. Cowper did not deserve all he had acquired through murder and deception. It would give Fritz pleasure to see him pulled down. He had had enough of watching his sister being treated almost as a slave. If Fritz had enough money he could take her and his family away, somewhere they would all be free of Cowper’s brutality.

  But there must be some profit in it for him. He needed to think about this carefully—he must not be implicated in the kidnap of Lord de Montfort’s woman.

  Anne was wearing the dark emerald silk gown the seamstress had helped her to fashion and sew. She had done much of the needlework herself, including the embroidery about the squared neckline and on the cuffs of the hanging sleeves. The full skirt was cut so that it flowed to a little train at the back, and Anne had a sash of gold, which matched her cap. She wore slippers of black leather embroidered with gold, and Stefan had sent her a gold chain to wear about her neck that night.

  She looked what she was, a young gentlewoman, a lady of quality, and the chatelaine of a large manor. All she lacked was the ring on her finger that would proclaim her the wife of the lord of that manor.

  Going downstairs to meet Stefan, she felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach. So far she had managed to keep up the pretence that she was Stefan’s cousin—but supposing one of the guests knew the truth? If she were exposed as an impostor, everyone would believe the worst and think her Lord de Montfort’s mistress. Her reputation would be gone and it would shame her.

  She almost wished that she had told Maria Renard the truth at the start, but had she done so Maria would have withdrawn her offer of friendship. No, she must continue the masquerade, at least until she remembered who she really was.

  What if she never remembered? Would Stefan declare his feelings? Would he ask her to become his mistress— or his wife?

  There were moments when Anne felt that she would willingly be either. He could be harsh and his anger was terrible at times. However, the longer she stayed in his house, the more she felt herself drawn to him, and wished he would speak to her of love.

  Stefan was in the hall as she entered. He turned to look at her as she entered, his gaze intent as it swept over her. Anne’s heart fluttered as she saw the richness of his dress that night. She was used to seeing him dressed simply, but that night he wore the robes of a nobleman, embroidered with gold thread and jewels. He looked handsome, proud, even arrogant, and she knew that she was happy to be his lady for the evening, his hostess, standing by his side to meet the guests he had invited.

  He called himself a mercenary, and perhaps he was, but she was proud to be the mercenary’s lady.

  Stefan watched the way Anne greeted his guests. If he had ever doubted that she was a lady, he could not do so now. Her manner was almost regal and he felt pride in seeing her dressed the way she should be dressed. He knew a fierce desire to make her his own. If his plan worked and Cowper was fooled into making a move against him, the feud might at long last be over. He might then be able to think of a future that included all the things he had denied himself.

  He was not sure that he was worthy of the beautiful young woman who had wormed her way beneath the shield he had for so long kept in place, but it seemed increasingly unlikely that she would remember her identity. He could not abandon he
r to her fate. Perhaps it might be the best solution to wed her.

  ‘Your cousin is a beautiful woman,’ a voice said at his side and Stefan turned his head to look at the Comte De Vere. ‘She is English, of course, as you are.’

  ‘Yes, Anne is English,’ Stefan agreed. ‘Her French improves daily. She is intelligent and knows she must learn the language if she is to live here.’

  ‘It is your intention to keep her here, then? Has she no family of her own?’

  ‘Anne recently lost her family,’ Stefan said. He realised that he had given more information than he had meant to concerning Anne. ‘She came to stay here, for she had nowhere else to go. We may wed if the idea agrees with us both.’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ Comte De Vere said. Something about de Montfort’s cousin intrigued him. He felt there was some mystery about the girl, though he was not sure why he did not quite believe his neighbour’s story. However, he found the young woman charming and was loath to think badly of her. He knew that some whispers had started, which inferred that de Montfort had a mistress, but he thought the girl innocent. She was fresh and wholesome and beautiful, and he felt a strong attraction to her. ‘Well, I wish you happiness of her, de Montfort.’

  Stefan cursed beneath his breath. De Vere’s tone told him that he thought Anne could be Stefan’s mistress. His brow furrowed as the Comte moved away to greet Charles and Maria Renard. Had it been a mistake to invite his neighbours to the chateau? Or would the stories have begun to circulate anyway once it became known that a young woman was living at the manor?

  Stefan’s gaze narrowed as De Vere approached Anne, engaging her in conversation. He did not know his neighbour well, and yet there was something about him that Stefan found odd, a certain look in the eyes, as if he were calculating the odds. Hassan had told him about frequent visitors to the Comte’s chateau and he wondered why a Frenchman should have so many Spanish friends.