by Adele Clee
Fabian searched her face. “You’ve always put Vane first. Is it not time to consider your needs? Is he not the reason you’re in this predicament? And I speak of your ruined reputation, not the fact I rescued you from a tedious existence.”
A weak chuckle escaped her lips, although he was right in one respect. Life was exceedingly dull. “I’ve never been selfish. What I want, you cannot give me.” She wanted love, devotion and trust but the Raven’s tainted heart lacked the capacity for anything other than vengeance.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He closed the gap between them, reached into her coiffure, pulled out the pins and discarded them on the floor. “I know exactly what you want.”
“What are you doing?” Her knees almost buckled as the pads of his fingers tangled in her hair. She should have slapped his hand away but the intimacy of the moment fed the starving loneliness within.
“Here, you can do as you please.” He caressed one ebony curl as it slipped through his fingers. “There is no one to judge you. Wear your hair down, let the wind blow every strand free. Dress in breeches if you so desire.”
He stood too close. The unique scent of his skin teased her nostrils, a combination of leather, spice and the salty sea air. Dark stubble covered his sculpted jaw. The sound of his voice proved hypnotic.
What was it he promised if not love?
“Here, you need not wear silk.” His fingers skimmed the sleeves of her gown, and she shivered when they drifted towards the base of her throat and settled on her gold locket. “You have no need for trinkets or baubles.” He wrapped his fingers around the chain, and for one heart-stopping moment, she thought he was about to rip it from her neck.
Fear gripped her, crushing the last breath from her lungs. “Get your damn hands off my locket.” The words came out exactly as she intended: a low, menacing growl.
Fabian jerked his head back and pulled his hand away as if he’d touched metal fresh from the furnace.
“You may do what the hell you want to me.” To some extent, she’d given up caring. “But touch that locket again, and you’ll be begging for Vane to come and save you.” Bile burned in her throat when she thought of losing her prized possession. “Do not test me, Fabian, else you may discover that I am no longer the sweet young girl you remember.”
Sucking in a deep breath, he inclined his head by way of an apology. “What is so precious—”
“And don’t ask me about it,” she interjected, “not ever.” Only one person knew what she kept close to her heart, and he would never betray her.
The muscle in Fabian’s cheek flexed, but he said nothing. An uncomfortable silence ensued, the deafening sound only broken by the crashing of waves on the rocks below.
“I can offer you the one thing you desire above all else.” Fabian spoke softly, all arrogance abandoned. “I offer you freedom.”
For a lady, the power to make decisions was a treasure beyond that of gold and jewels. But she’d had naivety knocked out of her by a cold-hearted devil. She knew the words men used to manipulate situations to their advantage.
“You cannot offer marriage and freedom. It is a contradiction in terms. Marriage is a means for a man to exert his control. A wife must do her husband’s bidding.”
“Not if you married me.”
“I would be your property, a commodity to exploit in any manner you saw fit.”
“I demand nothing from you.” He gestured to the vast landscape stretching beyond the castle walls. “I offer you an island, a place to live and roam freely. I can have a house built if you’d rather not live with me in the castle.”
To live away from society proved tempting. Fabian made no promises. All he wanted was a means to control her brother. “But to gain my freedom, I must betray Vane.”
Fabian pushed his hand through his hair. “It is not betrayal if Vane doesn’t give a damn about me. Had he bothered to reply to my missive, we would not be standing here. I am the one who bears a grudge, and rightly so.”
“What happened to Estelle was not Vane’s fault.” Vane would have disobeyed their father and married Estelle if only she’d given him a chance.
“Damn right it was.” Vehemence brimmed in his voice. “Vane could have saved her, but he let pride and arrogance get in the way.”
“And how will marrying me help you now? Do you think revenge brings peace? Because let me tell you it does not.” She stared at him, and he struggled to hold her gaze. “Tell me the truth, Fabian. You owe me that at least.”
He gave a curt nod of resignation. “Come, let me show you to your room. It’s growing chilly, and the hour is late. I’ll explain everything on the way.”
The stairs seemed steeper on the descent. Twice she almost slipped on the worn stone steps. Fabian reached up and captured her hand. The sudden jolt of awareness only unbalanced her further. As he firmed his grip, she could feel the callouses on his palm. The Raven didn't sit on a throne and bark orders. She imagined him working alongside his men, standing at the helm of his ship during long, perilous voyages, risking his life to restore the family fortune.
They reached the door to the landing, and he released her hand. “We do business with merchants in Paris,” he suddenly said. “Recently, one of my most trusted men journeyed to the city to deliver important documents.”
Did he speak of Mackenzie? There was something in the Scot’s voice that instilled confidence, something solid and dependable.
Fabian gestured to the long corridor, candles in iron sconces lighting their way. He clasped his hands behind his back as they fell into a slow pace. “Mackenzie has seen the miniature I have of Estelle. While leaving the merchant’s house in a hurry, he bumped into a woman and knocked her books out of her hand. He stopped to help her, but it was only as he watched her scurry away that he noted the likeness.”
Lillian’s heart sank. Oh, she wanted to believe Estelle was alive, not just for Fabian’s sake. Vane had not been the same since the day Estelle ran away from Prescott Hall. He nurtured a darkness deep within, a hardened heart and an utter lack of sentiment for the fair sex.
“When one longs to reunite with a loved one, the mind can play many tricks,” she said. The painful lump in her throat was a precursor to the well of tears filling her eyes. She glanced away quickly. “When we are desperate, we will believe anything.”
He remained silent for a moment, and she could feel the heat of his gaze drifting over her. “I’ve spent the last eight years staring at women with black hair and mesmerising eyes, hoping they were someone else.”
“I imagine you see Estelle wherever you go.” She found the strength to look at him.
“Indeed, although it is not only the dead who haunt our dreams.” He stared into her eyes and then blinked and shook his head. “Despite doubting Mackenzie, we returned together to Paris, took the miniature and knocked on doors in the quarter, asked at circulating libraries, at cafes, walked the promenades.”
“Is the miniature a good likeness?”
“You may judge for yourself.” Fabian strode to a door further along the corridor and had to duck slightly to clear the stone lintel.
Lillian waited outside. A lady did not enter a gentleman’s bedchamber. And yet she wanted to see where Fabian slept, what trinkets lay on his side table, what the intimate surroundings said about the man.
Fabian returned and handed Lillian the oval miniature. “It is all I have of hers.”
The artist had captured Estelle’s likeness perfectly. She had a face one instantly fell in love with. It had nothing to do with her classical beauty: porcelain skin, full pink lips and wide dark eyes. When one looked at Estelle, they saw kindness, sincerity, a generosity of spirit.
Lillian traced the outline of the picture with her finger. “You must miss her terribly. You were always close.”
“Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her.”
“I understand.” Oh, she understood in a way he could not comprehend. “I take it you had no luck finding h
er in Paris.”
“On the contrary, we discovered she was working as a governess for a wealthy merchant. The man’s wife recognised her instantly and confirmed that Estelle had lived with them for a year. But she packed her things and left the day Mackenzie encountered her in the street. I have reason to believe she boarded a ship to England, but the trail ends there.”
Lillian could hear the frustration in his voice, the anxiety that came from fear and uncertainty. “And you want Vane’s help to find her?”
Fabian took the miniature and glanced at the image of his sister. “Vane spent time with Estelle before she left Prescott Hall. I must know what they discussed. What happened between them to make her run away? In London, men fear your brother. No man is more equipped to find Estelle.”
Everything Fabian said made perfect sense. Vane commanded attention wherever he went. He had friends in high places, an equal amount of lowlife acquaintances occupying the backstreet dens and rookeries.
“And yet you say you’ve contacted him and he has refused to offer his assistance.” Of late, Vane appeared morose and withdrawn. He was drinking too much, struggled to sleep. Did the change in him stem from the sighting of Estelle?
“As requested, Vane sent his reply to the Eight Bells in Wapping. He refuses to believe my sister is alive and insists I leave him the hell alone.”
“I see.” Vane did not want to dwell on painful memories of the past. Who could blame him? “And so instead you sent the pock-faced man to scare me out of my wits. You spirited me away from home and brought me here to force my brother’s hand.”
Fabian frowned. “My men were under strict instructions to ensure no harm came to you. If they’ve—”
“They drugged me, Fabian.” The fruit punch contained some sort of sleep-inducing medicine so she would be more compliant. “You have harmed me in more ways than I can count. Heaven knows who saw them carry me to the rowboat. Because of your idiotic plan I cannot go home.”
Frustration made her heart race. What was she to do now? She clenched her fists and contemplated punching him hard in the chest. As if she’d not dealt with enough these last two years, God sought to punish her further.
“The solution to your problem is evident.” Fabian’s tone carried a hint of arrogance. “Marry me and live here.”
Damn him. If she were a man, they’d settle this dispute with pistols. “And that is what you offer for the trouble you’ve caused?”
“It is a damn sight more than Vane offered Estelle.”
Unable to control the sudden burst of anger, she lashed out, but Fabian caught her by the wrist.
“I know you so well I can predict your every move.” A mischievous glint flashed in his coal-black eyes. He held her so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “I know you chew the inside of your cheek when you’re nervous. I know the hitch in your voice when you’re lying.”
“You know the girl, not the woman.” Lillian’s breath came too quickly. Tragic events had changed her, and she would never be that carefree girl again. “I’m not the same person you remember.”
Fabian's gaze drifted over her face. “I think you are.”
Lillian almost chuckled. How could he claim to know her when she no longer recognised herself? “I’m tainted, ruined, a poor example to womankind.”
A growl rumbled in the back of his throat. “And I blame Vane for his lack of guidance.”
Oh, they were going around in circles. “You cannot blame Vane for everything.” Lillian pulled her arm free from Fabian’s grasp and stepped away. “Show me to my room. I’m tired. My head hurts, and I cannot think anymore.”
“As you wish.” Fabian gestured to the door situated a little further along the corridor. “You’re in the room next to mine. Come.” He strode past her, opened the door and disappeared inside.
With some hesitance, she followed him. Upon entering, her gaze moved to the four-poster bed with gold curtains, to the low beam ceiling and the wrought iron chandelier. Someone had been in to light the fire in the stone hearth and to turn down the plush coverlet on the bed.
The medieval-inspired room made Lillian feel as though she’d stepped back in time. This enchanting castle was so far removed from the ugly world she knew. One could lose themselves in the romantic idea of knights and damsels, of gallant gentlemen who knew how to treat a lady.
“The room has been cleaned and aired in preparation for your arrival.” Fabian strode over to the oak bookcase. “I assume you read. The books may not be to your taste, but speak to Mackenzie, and he’ll purchase whatever you need. If you’d like a frame and threads, I can have them sent from the mainland, too. The few female servants who work here only possess the tools to darn stockings.”
She glanced at the door connecting her chamber to Fabian’s suite. “Are you keeping me close because you fear I might run away?”
He brushed his hands through his hair, brushing it back off his shoulders, and the beginnings of a smile touched his lips. “I’m keeping you close for a variety of reasons.”
The heat in his tone made her cheeks flame. Surely he didn’t expect her to share his bed. “You said if we married I would be free to make my own decisions.”
“Yes.”
“What if I agree to your proposal but choose never to consummate our alliance?”
His mocking snort echoed through the chamber. “You want the truth, Lillian, and so I shall refrain from spouting flowery words of sentiment. The only hope I have of controlling Vane is through you. If we’re married, and I mean in every sense that makes our partnership legal, he cannot take you away from here.”
Her bruised heart screamed for her to run from Fabian Darcy, as far away as her tired legs could carry her. What good could come from a loveless marriage? But her logical brain saw the sense in forming an alliance. Though Vane swore otherwise, she was a burden to him. A guilty reminder of every mistake he’d ever made. The passage of time made matters worse. His need to atone meant he rarely let her out of his sight. If either of them had any chance of finding happiness, something had to change.
Marrying Fabian might not save her, but it would give Vane his freedom. She would just have to hope and pray her brother forgave her.
“If I’m to remain here, I have a list of demands.”
“I expected nothing less.”
Lillian folded her arms across her chest. “I have no use for frames and threads. To secure my co-operation, I want a rapier, sharpened, preferably with a bowl hilt. I want a pair of silver-mounted duelling pistols, preferably John Twigg and in a mahogany case.”
For the first time in their long history, Fabian appeared shocked. “You don’t need an armoury to protect yourself from me. I only take willing women to my bed.”
The thought of him carousing and frolicking with tavern wenches caused an odd tightening in her chest. “If I’m to live amongst seafaring men, I insist on having a means of protection.”
“It is one thing to own weapons, quite another to use them effectively. I would be foolish to grant such a request.”
Lillian suppressed a smirk. She could shoot a target from a hundred yards, fence with skill, too. After the incident with Lord Martin, Vane insisted upon it. “Then I’m thankful my betrothed has granted me the freedom to make my own choices.”
“Does that mean you accept my proposal?”
Lillian closed her eyes briefly and said a silent prayer. “If it means we might find Estelle alive, then yes, Fabian, I’ll marry you.”
“Is that the only reason?”
She didn’t want to acknowledge the odd fluttering in her chest whenever he came near. This was a marriage of necessity … a marriage of minds, nothing more.
“Yes, that’s the only reason,” she whispered, hoping he'd failed to detect the hitch in her voice, the telltale sound that said she was lying.
Chapter Four
Fabian left Lillian in her bedchamber, closed the door and paused in the dimly lit corridor. He resisted the u
rge to punch the air triumphantly. Events were proceeding as planned. Once they were wed, he’d make sure Vane knew where to find them. The marquess would do anything to secure his sister’s happiness. He would agree to help in the search for Estelle, and they stood a better chance of finding her if they worked together.
The need to save Estelle had forced him to harden his heart to all emotion. Marriage was nothing more than a business transaction — a case of bartering and exchanging commodities. So why was his pulse racing? Why did every nerve in his body spark to life at the thought of making Lillian Sandford his wife?
In his dreams, he’d asked her to marry him once before. He’d taken her to the orangery at Prescott Hall, proposed amid exotic flowers, promised to show her the world — not kidnap and blackmail her into submission. She’d smiled at him, not the scornful smirk she’d given tonight, but an expression of affection and respect. And the rightness of it all had penetrated deep into his soul.
But Fate had other plans.
Her father’s greed and her brother’s selfish pride had helped to dampen his desire. But while her acceptance to partake in his plan brought a sense of relief, it reawakened feelings long since buried. The powerful tug in his gut upon seeing her again was a testament to that.
Damn.
Sleep would elude him tonight. How could he rest knowing Lillian lay but a few feet beyond his bedchamber door? With a huff of frustration, he made his way to the kitchen. A man with Mackenzie’s appetite and size would be filling his face.
“You’ll find him in the brewery, my lord.” Mrs Bell wiped her hands on her apron. “He treats those kegs like they’re his children. Happen he’s covering them with a blanket and singing a sweet lullaby.”
Fabian laughed. “If I find him pushing one around in a perambulator, then I’ll worry.”
Mackenzie wasn’t singing to the beer barrels, but Fabian found him sitting on a milking stool, one arm draped over a keg while he supped from a tankard.