by Adele Clee
“Let us hope I’m fortunate enough to escape both,” the gentleman sneered with a level of arrogance often demonstrated in elite circles.
“Even if that were possible, the punishment for robbing a member of the nobility is death. You’ll both hang.”
“I doubt it.”
There was something familiar about the man’s arrogance and polished repartee. Perhaps it was time to make things a little more interesting, Sebastian thought, and so aimed his pistol at the second rider who’d sat motionless throughout the whole exchange.
“Get down,” Sebastian said. A quick glance at the shapely thighs encased in a pair of breeches confirmed his suspicion. The rider was a woman.
Alarmed, her head shot up in the direction of her associate, whose confident countenance had dissolved into a look of pure panic. Sebastian could feel the tension in the unspoken words passing back and forth between them.
“He … he cannot hear you. He’s deaf.”
Sebastian smiled to himself. “That is unfortunate,” he said feigning surprise. “If he’s deaf you must be blind. If I’m not mistaken, he is definitely a she, and this is the most ridiculous robbery I have ever had cause to witness. You’re not even armed.”
Sensing his master’s irritation, the horse became restless once again, shuffling backward and pawing the ground as though the earth had started crumbling away beneath him and he was unsure where to place his feet.
The gentleman muttered an angry curse.
Suppressing a grin, Sebastian took the opportunity to press him further. “What sort of man allows a woman to act as his right-hand in a robbery? You obviously care little for her welfare.”
“It was certainly not my idea,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Trying to get her to listen to anything I say is like … like trying to trap lightning in a blasted bottle.”
Sebastian could not hide his amusement. He could not recall the last time he laughed aloud. In the last six years, he had been involved in many dangerous encounters, but this one had to be the most bizarre encounter of his entire life. To Sebastian’s surprise, the gentleman sniggered, too.
“How dare you laugh at me,” the woman scolded. Straightening her back, she appeared much more robust than Sebastian first thought. She’d yanked down her disguise to reveal a pert little nose and a pair of rosy pink lips. “And if you think I’m going to sit here any longer and be ridiculed for … for caring … for wanting to make sure you didn’t end up dead in a ditch.”
She swung her horse around, dug her heels in and cantered off across the field towards a small wooded area in the distance.
“For heaven’s sake, Annabel, wait,” the gentleman cried. “Damn it, woman. Do you want me to shout your name out for all to hear?”
Sebastian studied the man’s frustrated countenance and almost felt sorry for him. “Now it’s just the two of us, let’s get back to this business of robbery.”
The gentleman sighed loudly. “This is not a blasted robbery,” he said, his gaze flitting back and forth between Sebastian and the woman in the distance.
“Then why in hell’s name were you following my carriage?” Sebastian asked, his gaze also following the woman until she’d safely entered the woods.
The gentleman swung his horse around ready to ride out in pursuit. “You may lower your pistol for I am here on an errand.” With one hand gripping the reins, he reached inside his greatcoat and removed a red velvet pouch. “Here, take this.” He threw it down and Sebastian caught it with his free hand. “I trust you’ll keep it safe. And if this damn horse kills me, you’ll know what to do.” The gentleman straightened and raised the brim of his hat. “And I suggest you get some sleep, Dane. Your eyes are as red as the Devil’s.”
Only his closest friends called him Dane.
Sebastian stared at the familiar face. “Beaufort?” he said, wondering why his friend felt it necessary to conceal his identity.
“And keep an eye on Sophie for me. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
Before Sebastian could utter another word, Beaufort galloped off across the field as though his life depended on it and disappeared into the woods.
Sebastian just stood there, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. Had it not been for the piece of red velvet lying in his palm, he would have believed he’d drifted off to sleep and imagined the whole damn thing.
As he strolled around to the carriage door, he glanced up at Haines’ hulking figure perched on his box seat like a stuffed bear. “It’s always good to know that when trouble strikes, I can count on your assistance.”
“I thought you were handling things just fine, my lord,” he replied, keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead.
Sebastian arched a brow. “And you knew that without even moving a muscle.”
Haines turned to face him, his weather-beaten face expressionless. “Like you said when you hired me, my lord. People see what they want to see. Just ‘cause you didn’t see me move doesn’t mean I wasn’t leaning over the top of the carriage pointing a pistol of my own.”
Sebastian grinned. His man had a fair point.
“Perhaps it’s time I started listening to my own advice,” he said looking out across the field before turning back to Haines. “Did the whole thing not strike you as rather odd?”
“Can’t say as I can ever remember being chased by masked riders desperate to give me something,” he said pushing the front of his hat up to scratch the top of his head. “And looking at the piece of cloth in your hand I’d say it’s something right important.”
Lost in thought, Sebastian stared at the velvet pouch, his attention caught by the initials R.B embroidered in golden thread.
The sound of a cart rattling down the road disturbed his reverie and Haines gave a polite cough.
“Beg your pardon, my lord, but I think we need to be on our way. We’ve got a good day’s journey ahead, and there’s no telling what state the road’s in.”
“Very well,” Sebastian sighed, unable to resist one last glance over his shoulder.
He had missed Beaufort during the six years he’d been away. He had missed his witty banter and arrogant drawl, and he felt a stab of guilt for being absent during, what was obviously, a time of great need.
Returning to his carriage, Sebastian placed the pistol in the box, settled back against the leather seat and untied the string on the velvet pouch. There was another roll of velvet inside, and he opened it to reveal an elaborate gold and ruby necklace.
He had seen many enchanting things on his travels but had never seen anything quite like this. The chain consisted of a row of identical oval rubies encased in gold and joined together by a fine filigree design. It was so intricate and delicate in detail that it could have been spun by a spider. Transfixed by its beauty, Sebastian simply stared at it.
Why would Beaufort give him such a precious antiquity?
Perhaps his creditors were chasing his heels and he wanted to hide the heirloom. It would certainly explain the shabby state of his horse. Yet he knew Beaufort still owned the estate next to his and he’d not been told of any money worries.
The thought of going home to Westlands brought a hard lump to his throat, and he swallowed deeply in an attempt to dismiss the years of guilt.
The past no longer mattered.
All the years of pain and hard work had been worth it. His estate was thriving. Now, he intended to take his rightful place, to relax and enjoy the peace and tranquillity.
He glanced down at the necklace in his hand, the weight of its burden pressing down on his shoulders. Whatever problem Beaufort had, he could not get involved. Then he felt the familiar stirring in his chest, the thrum of excitement that always lured him towards dangerous and mysterious escapades.
Damn it.
The quicker his friend returned to claim the pretty necklace, the better.
Chapter 2
“Mr. Potts, I think he’s here, Mr. Potts.”
Sophie Beaufort watched the old woman scurry
out through the door behind the glass counter and then continued to examine the box of ribbons.
“Your mother seems rather excited today,” she said, pulling out a length of red satin.
She did not need new ribbons, or threads, or buttons, but her regular walks to the village made the days seem shorter.
“She has been like it all morning,” Emily said shaking her head. “She thinks the marquess is going to come in and buy her whole stock of gloves. I’ve told her he probably buys all his apparel in London, but you know how she gets.”
Sophie swallowed a few times hoping it would help to correct the problem with her hearing. “I thought I heard you say the marquess,” she chuckled. She really was spending far too much time on her own.
“I did.” Emily bent down, removed another draw and placed it on top of the glass counter. “I know how you hate to tie it up, but I think the forest green would look wonderful with your ebony hair.”
Feeling an odd flutter in her chest, her mind oblivious to whatever it was Emily had just said, Sophie placed her hand on the counter and inhaled deeply through her nose.
“Why … why would your mother think that?”
Emily glanced back over her shoulder and then leaned forward. “Mother said it’s the least he can do. She’s spent the last six years moaning and complaining about him, and there she was yesterday morning, a smile spread right across her face, waving her handkerchief at him as his carriage rattled by.”
A hard lump formed in Sophie’s throat, forcing her to swallow deeply. “The marquess has come home?”
“Yes,” Emily beamed. “Isn’t it wonderful? Lord Danesfield has returned to Westlands.”
“Wonderful,” Sophie repeated, fear and loathing hiding within that one feigned word.
Emily gave a teasing wink. “He’ll probably call on you today, what with you being his closest neighbour. Course, he’ll be expecting your brother to be home.”
Sophie’s stomach twisted into gut-wrenching knots as she recalled her last encounter with Sebastian Ashcroft. The image conjured was so real that she smoothed her hand down the front of her dress, expecting to feel the evidence of the dumpy fourteen-year-old girl.
“Just make sure there’s someone with you,” Emily said as her gaze drifted over Sophie’s hair. “You know what the gossips say about him. Though I don’t believe it myself.”
Sophie smiled and nodded in acquiesce: a bid to maintain her fragile composure. Her heart thumped violently in protest, desperate to tell the world that he was everything people imagined him to be: a coward, a rake, and a debauched fool.
“He’s here. He’s here. I knew he’d come,” Mrs. Potts said running up to the front window. She turned to Emily. “Don’t just stand there. Make yourself presentable, girl.”
Emily skittered over to the window. “Mother’s right,” she said as her eyes grew wide. “The marquess is here, and he is heading in the direction of our shop.”
The world suddenly tipped off its axis, and Sophie gripped the counter to steady her balance. Little lights flashed before her eyes and the room melted into a hazy mist.
Emily rushed over to her. “The marquess is here,” she said, her mother’s excitement obviously contagious.
Sophie thought to put her handkerchief to her mouth lest she catch it, but there was no danger of that. Excitement was definitely not what she felt.
She gripped Emily’s hands, the blood rushing from her face and pooling at her feet as though expecting an army of heathens to suddenly burst through the door. “I don’t want to see him,” Sophie cried. “You must hide me, Emily.” Fearing she sounded like a raving lunatic and in a bid to infuse an element of logic into her plea, she added, “I don’t want him to ask about my brother. I don’t want him to know I am on my own. At least not yet.”
Emily gave her a knowing look. “Well, there’s no sense in taking chances,” she said. “Quick, you can hide behind here.” She directed Sophie to the concealed dressing room, pulled back the red curtain and ushered her inside. “Wait in here until I come and get you. Mother is too busy flapping to even notice.”
Emily closed the curtain, leaving her alone in the shrouded space and Sophie could hear the heavy beat of her heart thumping in her ears.
The sound of scraping wood and the tinkling of a bell preceded the heavy thud of booted footsteps.
“Good day, my lord,” Mrs. Potts chirped. “May I say, what a pleasure it is to have you home at last.”
“Good day to you, Mrs. Potts. It is certainly a pleasure to be back.”
Sophie closed her eyes tight and placed the palm of her hand over her stomach in a bid to stop her traitorous body responding to the warmth of his tone, to the slow, purposeful drawl.
You hate him, she cried silently, chastising her fickle heart.
“Indeed, I am in desperate need of new gloves,” he continued, no doubt much to Mrs. Potts delight. “And I can see you have an excellent selection.”
In the small confines of her curtained prison, Sophie did not hear the rest of the conversation. Her mind drifted back to the study, to the young girl hiding behind the drapes desperate to hear more from the handsome buck.
“I will speak to Sophie,” her brother James had said. “Every time I turn around she is nipping at your heels like an annoying little dog.”
He spoke then, and she remembered her tummy flipping somersaults. “That is what country girls do, James. They are tedious and tiresome and will not rest until you die of boredom. I can picture your sister married to a vicar, listening to him drone on about the righteous and eating supper at six. She will sit with her hands in her lap and only speak when spoken to.”
James chuckled. “What you desire, is someone more seasoned.”
“Precisely. Did I tell you about the lady I met in London recently? She had the sweetest mouth …”
Sebastian Ashcroft broke her heart that day.
And the irony of her current situation was not lost on her.
With a deep breath, she opened her eyes and glanced at her reflection in the mirror.
Her long black curls were tied loosely at her nape as opposed to the ridiculous knots she wore as a girl. Her slender, shapely figure no longer resembled an over-sized dumpling. No one thought her weak and insipid; the whole village knew her to be strong and fiercely independent. The silly little girl had grown into a woman, and she did not need to hide behind curtains anymore.
With renewed confidence, she straightened her back, lifted her chin and threw back the velvet curtain. “The bonnet is divine, Emily,” she said striding out of the dressing room. “I shall call and collect it tomorrow.” As she approached the door she could feel the heat of his gaze, and he rushed forward to hold it open. She refused to look at him directly but decided to be civil. “Good day, Mrs. Potts. Good day, my lord,” she said, resisting the temptation to run all the way home.
Lost to the Night
The Brotherhood Series
Book 1
“a recommended read for anyone seeking to escape into an elegant and magical world of timeless passion” - The Romance Reviews
An earl with a terrifying secret ...
Alexander Cole was a man ruled by his voracious appetite for carnal pleasures until a golden-haired devil in the guise of a goddess lures him into an encounter that costs him his humanity. With nothing left but bitterness in his heart, he locks himself away in his dilapidated Elizabethan mansion and chains the gates to all intruders.
A lady hoping to prove love conquers all ...
When her aunt suffers an injury in a carriage accident, Evelyn Bromwell rushes through the forest in search of help. Drawn to the mysterious old mansion, she is left aghast to find such a frosty reception. Yet despite the earl’s rude and brusque manner, Evelyn is eager to discover the reason behind his austere façade.
Once desire begins to burn, Alexander and Evelyn are unable to deny the soul-deep connection that exists between them. But Evelyn must make a choice — marry the
kind and affable Mr. Sutherby or risk everything in the hope of thawing an immortal’s frozen heart.