Reckless Viscount

by Amy Sandas

  It was pieced together with several different architectural styles built around and on top of each other, assumedly over countless generations and several centuries. The most visible section of the edifice, constructed of honey-colored brick, was Elizabethan. Stretching in horizontal symmetry and rising four stories, it displayed its regal influence with boastful pride. Expansive windows spanned the front of the structure, likely covering the walls from floor to ceiling inside. The leaded glass was smoky and dark and Abbigael doubted they had seen a cleaning cloth in decades.

  Wide, sweeping steps flowed from the drive up to the front doors. They were cracked and crumbling with patches of green moss that had claimed hold of the damp corners. Stone pillars flanked the steps and had likely once been pedestals for statuary, but now stood cold and empty.

  Extending to the north and south of the Elizabethan centerpiece, the walls of an ancient castle rose with solid conviction and towered unabashedly over the newer structure. Made up of large crudely shaped stones that were beaten and rounded about the edges and containing narrow, deep-set windows spaced widely apart, the outer structure appeared to be the remnants of a medieval fortress. One stretch of the southern wall displayed a row of crumbling crenellations across the top that had Abbigael wondering if there might still be an existing parapet.

  Interspersed between the rough-hewn walls of the original fortress and the elegant mansion were elements of Gothic influence. Scrolling limestone lattice, pointed arches and wheeled windows were tucked here and there, like surprising showpieces. Three rounded towers of differing width and height, topped by ornate pointed spires, jutted into the sky like three ancient knights, worn and weary, but determined to defend their prize.

  And everywhere around the castle, trees and bushes that at one time must have been beautifully sculpted, had grown wild and unruly.

  The estate seemed to Abbigael to hold a sort of sleeping magic. The place had clearly been neglected, but an atmosphere of anticipation hovered around the formidable building and the surrounding landscape, as if it waited patiently for something or someone to bring it back to life.

  The carriage finally rolled to a stop, and at the sudden lack of motion after so many hours of jostling and rocking, Mrs. Helmstead snorted into wakefulness.

  “Wha…huh. Where…?”

  Abbigael turned back and smiled at the older woman, who had been a wonderful source of distraction during the trip if not a great help in the duties as lady’s maid. Her white servant’s cap had dropped over her left eye while she had snored in the corner and she shoved it back to perch more sedately on top of her grey curls as her sleep-bleary eyes darted about the interior of the carriage in confusion.

  “We have arrived at Dunwood Park, Mrs. Helmstead.”

  The old woman turned to look upon Abbigael with the innocent smile of a child.

  “Of course we have, dear. I would know my childhood home from miles away, though it has been nigh on forty years since I’d been here.”

  Abbigael opened her mouth to correct the poor woman’s mistake, but if she had learned one thing in the days of traveling with the whimsical scatterbrain it was that such interventions were useless and for the most part, unnecessary since the old woman rarely held to one misconception for long before jumping capriciously to the next.

  Smiling instead, she took a moment to straighten her own appearance before Jack opened the door and offered a hand in helping her from the vehicle.

  “Welcome, my lady. ’Tis a beautiful day in Sussex.”

  Abbigael gave the sometime footman a skeptical look since the overcast sky had just then chosen to release the rain in an unrepentant drizzle.

  The servant’s answering grin was a bit too open and his tone a mite too familiar, but Abbigael had gotten used to his unusual manner and sarcastic humor. She had garnered from Mrs. Helmstead’s near-constant prattle that Jack was a man of many talents and duties and that he was not confined to steady service as Leif’s footman. He served as needed and could fill the spot of footman, messenger, even valet if that was what Leif requested of him.

  Though his impertinence left something to be desired in a servant, Abbigael couldn’t find any fault in Jack’s obvious loyalty to her husband.

  Once on solid ground, Abbigael took a few steps toward the stone steps stretching before her, then stopped and tilted her chin back to feel the cooling wash of rain on her face. The sheep bleated their annoyance at the visitors and birds called to each other from the forest that surrounded the castle. By contrast, the sprawling structure before her was eerily silent and stoic. She scanned left to right across the immense front face of what she acknowledged with sudden acute anxiety was to be her new home.

  She had an illogical but almost visceral fear that she would be completely swallowed up by the place.

  Mrs. Helmstead exited the vehicle behind her and took a deep breath that swelled her bosom. Her bright eyes assessed the startling mash of architecture with obvious adoration. “Such a grand and interesting location, I’ve always thought,” Mrs. Helmstead asserted. “So much potential.”

  There was still no sound about the place and no indication that anyone within was yet aware of their arrival. They ascended the wide stone steps together and when they reached the large double doors, worn and desperately in need of fresh paint, Abbigael hesitated.

  Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that Jack and the driver were busy addressing the tack of one of the horses. Rather than call down to them, Abbigael turned back to the door and lifted the heavy brass latch with one hand while flattening her other palm against the surface. With a deep breath, she gave a hearty shove.

  The door gave a horrible groan and shudder as it surrendered to her will. Abbigael ignored the foreboding sound as she pushed her way into the dusky gloom of a very large front hall.

  “La,” Mrs. Helmstead breathed in surprise behind her, the sound echoing through the barren hall.

  Abbigael wasn’t sure if it had been an expression of delight or disappointment.

  The hall was expansive, and though it had likely been quite grandiose at one time in its history, it was now a cold cavern coated with the dingy veneer of age and disuse. Their traveling boots resounded on the hard floor Abbigael suspected was made of marble as they tentatively made their way farther into the space. Abbigael intentionally left the door open in spite of the rain that pelted over the threshold since there was no interior light source to illuminate the space.

  Stopping in the center of the hall, Abbigael made a slow turn, perusing her surroundings. She squinted her eyes, narrowing her gaze until the details faded away and all she saw were the general outlines of the majestic curving staircase that rose on one side of the hall and turned beneath an enormous chandelier hanging from a vaulted ceiling to continue to the second floor. At the back of the hall, directly opposite the front doors, there was a fireplace wide enough and tall enough for five men to stand within. Large doors made of dark mahogany flanked the fireplace. They were currently closed tight, but Abbigael imagined they might lead to a library perhaps or the lord’s study. Continuing in her slow circle, Abbigael saw more imposing doors lining the right wall. A dining room, perhaps? A parlor or armory?

  The possibilities were endless in a place such as this and they had only gotten into the front hall. Remembering the sheer size of the place from the outside, Abbigael could well imagine it could take weeks to truly explore every secret Dunwood Park held in its shadowed depths.

  A spark of inspiration flared to life in her chest.

  Making another circle in place, this time she imagined the place lit by a thousand candles in the chandelier above, the floors waxed and polished, the rich wood paneling and doors gleaming, the fireplace lit with glowing flames casting warmth throughout the space. She saw antique tapestries on the walls and mirrors in gilded frames. She saw the many doors opened to beckon guests into the rooms beyond.

  By the time she finished the second turn, excitement burgeoned with unexpe
cted force within her, quickening her pulse, and a strange twinge of rightness settled into her bones.

  Swift footsteps sounded from the back of the hall and Abbigael turned to see Leif striding from the darkness that reached behind the grand staircase. He headed across the hall with direct purpose, slowing only when he noticed the front door wide open and the steady rain beyond. He altered his route to head to the door and his scowl of annoyance flipped to one of startled shock when he finally noticed Abbigael and Mrs. Helmstead standing silently in the center of the hall.

  His steps slowed and his expression shifted again into a placid expression of welcome.

  He was dressed casually. In spite of the chill that pervaded the house, he wore no coat. His buckskin breeches and mud-caked boots suggested he had just come in from outside and was confirmed by the fact that his hair was damp and mussed, as if he had just rubbed a towel over it.

  He looked so far removed from the polished London rogue that Abbigael experienced a rushing onset of nervousness, as if she were meeting a near stranger rather than her husband and lover. Had it really only been four days since they had danced together at the ball?

  “I wasn’t expecting you until later this week,” he said as he started toward her.

  There was so much formality in his tone, a strange distance. Abbigael smiled past the trepidation that filled her at the lack of warmth in his reception.

  “We made good time, I suppose. I was anxious to arrive.”

  Leif arched a brow ruefully and gestured with his hand in a circular motion that generally indicated the space around them.

  “I bet you wish you had slowed your pace.”

  “Not at all,” Abbigael replied quickly. “This place is magnificent.”

  Leif paused and eyed her with an odd look, as if he didn’t quite believe her.

  “Well, given time…” His voice trailed off as he looked around. Then clearing his throat, he pushed his hand back through is hair, ruffling the damp locks. “Mr. and Mrs. Davies, the caretakers of Dunwood Park, are occupied today with a wedding in the village. I had planned on interviewing for other servants tomorrow so we are on our own until morning.” He gestured toward the stairway. “Several bedrooms have been aired and cleaned. I hope,” he muttered with suppressed exasperation, then continued on a lighter note. “The kitchen is in working order and stocked with some basic items, so we won’t starve.”

  “Excellent,” Mrs. Helmstead interjected with a clap of her hands. “I will just go to my room and refresh myself, then head to the kitchen to fix us all a light repast.”

  Without waiting for a response, the old bird strode confidently toward the back hallway from which Leif had previously appeared.

  Taking a few steps after her, Leif called out hastily. “Ah, a servant stair leads up to the second floor where you should find a room to suit your needs. The kitchen is on the ground floor in the south wing. When you come back down the stairs you will need to turn down the hallway to your right.”

  Mrs. Helmstead’s chuckle bounced around the empty hall. She called back over her shoulder as she turned the corner out of sight. “Goodness, my lord, it’s as if you expect me to get lost. I know where I am about.”

  Leif looked to Abbigael with his brows raised in question and she smiled.

  “Mrs. Helmstead believes she has returned to her childhood home.”

  Leif nodded in understanding. “I probably should have sent you a word of warning about what you’d find here. The place is in worse shape than I expected. The last fourteen years have done significant damage.”

  “It has been that long since you were last in residence?”

  “Since anyone had been in residence and another decade more since my father had spent any time here,” he replied in a distracted tone. His sharp gaze roamed over the details of neglect that surrounded them. Stalking to the fireplace in long strides, he smoothed his palm over an area of carved granite that had been chipped violently away by some long-ago striking force.

  “Finally, I have the means and the freedom to change that,” he said quietly enough that Abbigael could barely make out the words. But she did hear them and understood that he was referring to the fortune her father had released to him the day of the ball. “When I am finished, Dunwood Park will no longer be a godforsaken reminder of our family’s cursed history.”

  “Not godforsaken,” Abbigael argued gently. “The years have not done so much harm as to hide the natural strength and beauty still present all about.”

  She stood silent as her husband turned to face her.

  His eyes were guarded in a way she had not seen before. There had always been a shadow behind the sparkle of mischief and teasing seduction that shone in his gaze. Here, at this monolithic castle that was his childhood home and the legacy he was clearly desperate to restore, the sparkle was all but extinguished. And the shadow had grown, welling up from that place within himself he had not yet chosen to share with her.

  Sadness filled her for the little boy who had been left to grow up as neglected as the cold, dark castle itself and she shivered with the chill of recognition that swept through her. She understood the darkness in her husband. The same loneliness resided within herself.

  She had always believed the adage that said the eyes were windows to the soul. And since she had met Leif, though he was far better than most at only revealing what he wished to, she had felt as though somehow she had been able to see beyond the façade he presented to the rest of the world.

  But now, he was more guarded than he had ever been before. His eyelids were lowered, shielding his gaze from her view.

  And she felt the loss of intimacy deep in her core. A choking sadness urged her to retreat, but Abbigael couldn’t bring herself to deny her own desires.

  Because she wanted him.

  Because sadly, she realized in that exact moment that she loved him.

  She lowered her gaze, anxious to conceal the unexpected emotion, too tender and too vulnerable to share.

  “I have kept you standing in the hall long enough. You must be cold and weary from travel. I will show you to the room that has been prepared for you.”

  Abbigael had no desire to rest.

  Four days away from Leif had been an unexpected lesson in a new kind of longing. She hadn’t realized how much she had grown accustomed to his presence until it was gone.

  She had missed him and she had no patience for being coy.

  “I would rather you showed me to yours.”

  At her honest declaration, a flicker of something unrecognizable appeared in his gaze then flitted away. But not before Abbigael saw it and stiffened at the chill she felt in that fleeting moment.

  Leif lowered his eyelids over his gaze then lifted them again as he smiled.

  Abbigael knew him well enough now to realize it was a practiced smile.

  Her heart skipped a beat, but she wasn’t sure if it was in anticipation or apprehension. There was little warmth in the sensual smile that spread his lips. He had never looked at her in that way before and her stomach twisted uneasily even as her body reacted with instinctive readiness to the suggestion in his gaze.

  Stopping before her, he lifted his hand to sweep the back of his knuckles against the curve of her cheek. Then he took her hand and brought it to his lips. Kissing her chilled and sensitive palm, he lifted his eyes to meet hers. The swirling colors were dark with mystery.

  “If that is your wish.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Leif pushed open the door to his bedroom and gestured for Abbigael to enter.

  As she passed by, he caught a whiff of her scent. Her sweet freshness in the midst of the crumbling decay that surrounded them struck him as terribly incongruent. She didn’t belong in this dank and wretched place.

  Dunwood Park was in far worse shape than he had expected. His father had succeeded in his goal of ensuring that nothing of value would pass to his only son. The jumbled collection of ramparts and towers and wings had been ba
ttered and rundown during Leif’s youth, but he was surprised by how much the place had deteriorated in the years he had been gone. Very little of the house’s current state recalled Leif to how it had been when he had left it for the last time to make his way through the boudoirs of London.

  Even his old bedroom had been stripped bare when he’d arrived. He had been forced to go on a hunt through the house for his old furniture and other personal possessions. Luckily, the items held no real monetary value and had just been moved to storage rather than sold. It took an entire day, but his room nearly looked as it had when he was young. A large bed dressed in muted blue-grey coverings took up one wall. Across from it was a modest chest of drawers, a bookcase lined with heavy tomes and an old padded-leather chair that was turned toward the fireplace.

  Leif watched from the doorway as Abbigael walked slowly about the room. Seeing her here hit him in the gut with a jolt of discomfort. He was prepared to face the hardships of living in the empty stone shell of Dunwood Park until it could be made suitable for human existence. The majority of the work would take months. She would be miserable within a fortnight of struggling to retain her footing in this uncertain place.

  She didn’t deserve this, he thought as he watched her inspect the details of his bedroom. Did she find the room lacking? Of course she did. It was lacking.

  Leif pushed his hand back through his hair and stepped forward into the room. “The master suite is in an older part of the house and is currently uninhabitable,” he said in a voice harder than he intended in his attempt to keep from sounding apologetic. “We will have to make do with using the lesser apartments for the meantime.”