by Ruth Owen
Miss Winthrope was weaving herself into the fabric of his life. And he resented the hell out of her for it.
“She’s an impostor, Cherry—I can see it as plainly as I see you. There must be some way to prove it. There must be.”
“Yes, well, I shall do my best,” the solicitor promised as he stuffed his damp handkerchief back into his pocket. “Uhm, on a different note—have you reviewed the plans for the new tunnel?”
Edward’s hard expression relaxed as his mind moved to the safer subject. “I did. The men have made a promising start. In a few weeks we should well be along the coast, and smack in the middle of the new vein of tin.” He spread a map of the coast out on his desk, tracing the progress of the tunnel with his index finger. “‘Tis very interesting. If we keep digging as we are, we’ll end up tunneling under Fitzroy Hall.”
“You have the right. Your father bought the mining rights from Fitzroy’s father years ago.”
“Along with half of Fitzroy’s land, and two estates in the north. My father had a head for business,” And precious little else, Edward thought as he rubbed his tired forehead.
Cherry was squirming in his chair, clearly anxious to be away. Edward sighed, realizing he could use some relaxation himself. “We have been at it all day and much of the evening. Why don’t we call it a night?”
His solicitor was only too glad to agree. He leapt out of his chair with surprising alacrity and headed for the door. “I am glad we finished early, my lord. Miss Winthrope is telling one of her stories tonight.”
“She’s what?”
“Telling a story. She tells the most marvelous—” As if recalling who he was speaking to, Cherry’s enthusiasm faltered. “I know you do not like the lady, but I must tell you that she has a real gift for tale-spinning. One of the children gives her a sentence, and she creates a wonderful story out of thin air. It is quite remarkable and shouldn’t be missed…that is, unless you miss it because you do not want to acknowledge Miss Winthrope in any way. In that case, missing her story is perfectly understandable. I…will not attend if you do not wish it.”
For a moment Edward said nothing. “Go if you like, Mr. Cherry. Somehow I have no trouble believing that spinning a tale is something she excels at.”
Delighted, Cherry sprinted out of the room. Edward returned to his mountain of paperwork, telling himself that he was glad for the time alone. He enjoyed his solitude, and this room was his own private kingdom. But on this particular evening, his kingdom seemed rather dull. His paperwork failed to grasp his interest. He picked up a book, but fared no better. He lit a cigar and poured himself a glass of fine brandy, but even these pleasures failed to interest him. Finally he decided he needed a walk on the cliffs. He left his rooms and strode down the hallway toward the front door, but as he passed the sitting room his child’s voice caught his attention.
“That was too short,“ David wailed. “Tell us another.”
“I have already told you two,” Miss Winthrope’s voice replied. “It is time for you and your sister to go to bed.”
“No,” the children protested, their cries echoed by older, but equally distressed, voices.
“You must tell us another,” his grandmother’s elegant voice stated.
“Just one more,” chorused Amy’s light, enthusiastic lilt. “Please, Prudence.”
Silence filled the room. Then Miss Winthrope gave a long, honeyed sigh. “All right. But this is the last one for tonight.”
Edward paused by the door in the hallway shadows, out of sight. Telling himself he was merely curious he bent closer, listening.
“Someone must give me a starting sentence,” she stated. “How about you, Sarah? I believe it is your turn.”
Though he could not see her, Edward had no trouble picturing his daughter biting her lip in careful thought.
“I know. There was once a handsome knight, who was in love with a beautiful princess.”
After a moment Prudence picked up the story. “But the knight could not speak of his love, for the princess was bound to an evil sorceress, who vowed that the day the princess found true love would be the day she died…”
Edward listened as she spun her tale, weaving words of fire and fancy into a magical tapestry. Her husky, passionate voice curled through him, drawing him deeper into the tale with every enchanting word. He stood in the shadows, savoring the rich tale of love and adventure like a schoolboy savoring his first stolen kiss, until the story reached its bittersweet end.
David piped up. “But why did the knight’s squire have to die? Why couldn’t the knight save him, too?”
“Because he could only save one of them, and the squire told him to save the princess.” She paused a heartbeat before adding, “Not even the bravest knight can always save everyone he loves.”
In the shadows, Edward felt an arrow pierce his heart. Blindly he sought and yanked open the front door, never stopping until he reached the edge of the sea. Below him plumes of dark water crashed up the cliffs into the moonlit night. But the violence of the ocean was nothing compared to the violence in his soul.
Years ago he’d believed in knights in shining armor, and princesses whose love was eternal and undying. He’d clung to those dreams as a boy, when an indifferent father and a self-absorbed mother had made a barren waste of his childhood. He’d followed his dreams and found his princess, and she’d filled his home with a love more wonderful than any of his imaginings. But her love had been neither eternal nor undying. And after she’d gone he’d cursed his dreams, and spent the next years proving to himself that there were no such things as love, or honor, or hope.
He’d given himself over to every kind of sin and debauchery, falling into a well so black and deep it had no bottom, going from woman to woman until Isabel’s lovely, deceitful face was wiped from his mind. In the end, he’d crawled out of the hole enough to perform his business duties, and to see that his family was properly cared for. But his soul had never risen from that pit. In a way, he was still falling.
His duty to his family was the only decent thing left in his life. He meant to protect them, from pain, from want—and from a silver-tongued charlatan who spun pretty tales of magic and passion. He would not let her build up their dreams, only to destroy them as Isabel had done. And he would not let her build up his own dreams, even if part of him wanted to believe again.
He fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands, exhausted in body and spirit. Not even the bravest knight can always save everyone he loves.
Hell, he couldn’t even save himself.
Sabrina began to be quite pleased with herself for pulling off her daring bluff. Then, one evening at sunset, she looked out of an upstairs window, and saw the earl walking alone along the cliffs.
The ruddy twilight gloom wrapped his form in shadows. Unconsciously, Rina’s hand tightened on the sill. She remembered the story of how Trevelyan’s wife had deserted him and their children, and recalled the haunted look she’d seen in his eyes.
He was arrogant and cold, and she disliked him completely, but she couldn’t deny the sorrow she’d seen beneath his harsh facade. Nor could she completely dismiss his kindness to Clara Hobbs. He was a complicated man. He had reason to distrust women, and the fact that she herself was even more of a cheat than his faithless wife brought an ache to her heart that she hadn’t felt since her father died.
Sabrina was still watching Trevelyan when she heard a jaunty voice behind her. “We’ve struck it, Rina. The mother lode!”
Sabrina spun around and glanced worriedly down the corridor. Then she placed her hands on her hips, and gave the exuberant Quinn a censuring glare. “You used my true name. If someone had heard—”
“Now don’t fuss. I’m not a grinagog, you know. I checked the hall proper before I came. The servants are having their meal and the swells are in the drawing room. There’s not a Christian soul in earshot. And I’ve news, wondrous news!” He leaned closer. “One of the dowager’s personal maids is cousin
to the sweetheart of one of the stable hands. I overheard ‘em talkin’. Seems the old woman is planning to have a ball at Ravenshold on Saturday next, to introduce you to the other swells in grand style.”
Rina’s eyes widened in alarm. “A ball? But I know nothing about balls. I don’t know any dances save the steps Mother taught me, and that was almost ten years ago. I’d be laughed out of the county. Not to mention that I haven’t a suitable gown—”
“The gown don’t enter into it!” Quinn sighed, and stroked back what was left of his copper hair. “Lass, for all your wit, you’re a mite bottle-headed. Whether you caper like a nob or step on every toe in the place, it don’t matter. Balls mean finery, and finery means jewels. The dowager’s giving the ball, so she’s bound to be at it. And I’d wager my teeth that she’ll be sporting the Dutchman.”
The necklace. Unconsciously, Sabrina’s hand rose to her throat, almost as if she had the diamonds on. She’d lost count of the times during her weeks of Quinn’s coaching when she’d imagined lifting the diamonds from the dowager’s dressing table. It has seemed so easy when Lady Penelope had been only a name to her, a caricature of the self-centered aristocrats she so despised. Now Rina knew the dowager to be a kind, caring woman who would be heartbroken when she learned that her “Prudence” was just another impostor.
Quinn’s gaze narrowed. “What’s the matter, gel? You look a mite green around the gills.”
“I am fine. I just…I mean, ‘tis just so sudden.”
“Sudden! Lass, we’ve been waiting near a month for a chance like this. And don’t act so hangdog. Spicing these swells should be a pleasure for ya, not a chore.”
She and Quinn had been hoping for this opportunity ever since she’d agreed to his plan. She should have been as excited as he was. But all she could think about was how decent the dowager had been to her, and how Lady Amy had gone out of her way to be her friend. “I know it has got to be done. I just wish I didn’t have to hurt them. They’ve been so kind to me.”
“They’ve been kind to Prudence, not you.” Quinn gripped her shoulders, and looked at her with a softness she’d never seen in his canny eyes. “These ain’t your people, my girl. Now, I got eyes. I seen you getting all cozy with the nobs. And I know you got a soft heart, and that maybe you feel sorry for ‘em. Well, don’t. They’ll sell you out in a second when they find out you’re not one of them.”
“I used to think that way, too. But now—”
“Now they’ve had two more weeks to look like fools when they find out the truth. Never feel sorry for the mark. It’s easy to do, and many a good bloke’s gone to the gallows for it. They seem all kindness, but their flowery talk won’t mean nothing when they find out you’ve been putting ‘em on. Keep your eye on the prize, my girl. Just like your da always did.”
“Not always,” she countered. “He left off cheating my grandfather when he fell in love with my mother.”
Quinn’s lips edged up in a slight smile. “‘Tis true enough. But your sainted ma were worth far more than the gold he would’ve nipped from Lord Poole. A chance like that happens once in a lifetime—ten lifetimes. Hearts are fickle as smoke in the wind. Count on gold and diamonds, Rina-lass, not true love. It don’t happen often in this world—especially to the likes of us.”
A look crept into his eyes— a sad, sweet gleam that made him look at once desperately young and impossibly old. Instinctively, Sabrina lifted her hand to his cheek. “Quinn? Have you…ever been in love?”
He shook off her touch and his expression at once. “Me? Moon around like a lovesick calf over some silly miss? I’d sooner be boiled in a Christmas pudding!”
“But for a moment I thought—”
“Well, you thought wrong, didn’t ya?” He backed away and yanked down the hem of his yellow-striped waistcoat, his shrewd glance returning. “Gold and jewels is my love, girl, and I suggest you look to the same. Keep your eyes on the prize—and off of dangerous blokes like Lord Trevelyan.”
He glanced past her shoulder at the window, the one she’d been gazing through when he approached. Apparently the sharp-eyed Quinn had seen the earl as well—and seen Rina looking at him. An embarrassed blush stained her cheeks. “I wasn’t…it is not what you think.”
Quinn rocked back on his heels. “And what is it I’m thinking? That you are falling under the Black Earl’s spell like all the rest.”
“I am not falling under anyone’s spell, least of all his. Lord Trevelyan is the vilest, most ill-mannered brute I have ever had the displeasure to meet. I look forward to stealing the necklace because it means I can leave here and never lay eyes on him again.”
For a long moment Quinn studied her face. The he gave a sharp nod, apparently satisfied with her answer. “Sorry, my girl, but I had to be sure. The earl’s known for his prowess with the fairer sex.”
She turned to the window and stared out at the dying sun. “He has no prowess with me, I assure you.”
“I can see that.” Grinning, Quinn glanced down the hall. “I’d best be going. The servants will be about soon, and we’d have a devil of a time explaining what a stable hand is doing in the family corridor. I’ll be leaving the stables tomorrow, just to put some distance between us. It’ll be safer if we don’t meet again until after the ball.”
Rina’s eyes widened in panic. “But, what if something goes wrong? How will I know what to do?”
Quinn smiled and chucked her chin. “It’ll come to you, my girl. Now, the dowager’s got a habit of leaving parties by ten—or so her maid told her beau. I’ll be waiting with the horses at the main gate at straight up midnight. You nick the Dutchman, and we’ll leave this place behind like a bad dream.”
He started down the hall, but glanced back just before he turned the corner. “You’re a queen, you are. My Queen of Diamonds. But the swells don’t think anyone ‘sides them is worth a damn. We’re dirt to them, Rina-lass. Less that the dust on their boots.”
He opened his mouth to say more, but at that moment Sabrina heard the sound of footsteps from the other end of the corridor. Turning, she saw Amy’s slim, satined form running toward her down the hallway. “Oh, Prudence, I have been looking for you everywhere. For the first time in years Grandmother’s opening Ravenshold for a ball. A ball in your honor, Cousin. Oh, it shall be so grand!”
Rina spared a quick glance down the hall, and was unsurprised to find that Quinn had vanished. She returned her gaze to Amy, and acted appropriately astonished and pleased about the ball. Within minutes she was swept up in a whirlwind of plans involving fans, flowers, gloves, dresses, and all the various and sundry articles that had to be procured to make them successes at the party.
On the outside Rina matched Amy smile for smile, but inside her heart had turned to stone. No matter how kind these people seemed, she could never let herself forget what they were, and what she was. They were gentry, rich and titled. And she was a fugitive from the law who was playing at a dangerous deception.
As they walked down the hall Sabrina stole a quick glance out the window. She needn’t have troubled—Lord Trevelyan’s figure had been obscured by the twilight mist rolling in from the sea. So much of what she’d believed had been swallowed up in mist. She could not allow herself to feel sympathy for him again—or for any of them. She’d let her fantasy of being a part of a family blind her to the facts. But, Quinn had spoken the truth—they’d hate her when they found out who she really was, and how completely she’d deceived them.
One hint of trouble, one single misstep, and she would land in a prison cell. Or be dancing from the business end of a rope.
Chapter Eleven
Amy’s initial excitement quickly changed into a holy mission: to turn her “country cousin” into a lady of the first water overnight. She was aided in her endeavor by an equally enthusiastic Lady Penelope. Before Rina knew it, the dowager had engaged a modiste, who proceeded to poke and measure her until she felt like a giant pincushion. Amy deluged Rina with a flood of fashion books and
magazines, discussing everything from the balm of Mecca for the complexion, to the virtues of seemingly endless varieties of gloves, fans, and slippers, to the most advantageous man to be standing next to when the opening quadrille was announced. When Sabrina mentioned that she didn’t need to worry about quadrille partners because she didn’t know the steps, a dance instructor appeared at Ravenshold within hours.
It was an exhausting, magical time for Sabrina, and she was human enough to enjoy the attention and gifts being showered on her. But she never forgot Quinn’s warning. Every morning when she woke up, she glanced at the stuffed bear Ginger that sat on her trunk, and thought how easily she could have picked the wrong toy.