Johanna Lindsey Read online

  The duke glanced back to ask curiously, “Why the name Raven? Why not The Panther? Or The Tiger? You have the eyes of a cat, after all.”

  Sebastian looked directly at him, his tone expressionless as he replied, “I have the eyes of a killer.” He paused, waiting for the last of his bonds to slip away. “You should have guessed that,” he added as he shot across the room and locked one arm about Leopold’s neck in a position that would require no more than a slight twist to break it.

  The guards reacted quickly, drawing their pistols, but they appeared hesitant about firing in the direction of their employer. And it didn’t take but a moment for Sebastian to position Leopold in front of him.

  “Drop them,” he said, looking at each guard in turn, “or I break his neck right now.” They hesitated, not wanting to give up their advantage.

  The duke snarled, “Do it!”

  The pistols fell on the hard dirt floor almost simultaneously. One discharged. The bullet ricocheted for several long moments, finally coming to rest in one of the guards’ legs. The man screamed, probably more in surprise than pain, and fell to the floor. From the looks of it, the wound was minor. The bullet hadn’t hit an artery. But another guard bent down to help him.

  “Tie that wound off,” Sebastian told the man kneeling by his friend. “Fetch the rope you used on me to do it. The rest of you start removing your shirts, and be quick about it. You’re going to use them to tie each other up. I’ll check the knots. If even one is loose, I’ll shoot the lot of you, rather than leave you.”

  Ten minutes later, the last guard to be bound presented his wrists and one of the cut strips to Leopold, there being no one else left to do the honors. Sebastian loosened his hold on the duke slightly, so he could accommodate the fellow. There were several long moments while Leopold decided whether he should or not, but in the end, he did.

  With that done, Sebastian told the tyrant, “You, I’ll give a choice. I can smash your head against the wall to put you out for a while, tie you up with the rest, or I could just break your neck, to assure I’ve seen the last of you. Which shall it be?”

  “You’ll never get out of here alive,” the duke spat back.

  “Never mind, I’ll choose.” Sebastian moved closer to the wall.

  “No!” the duke exclaimed.

  Sebastian wasn’t going to give the man a reason to come after him again. He merely dragged him over to the cot, forced him facedown on it, and wrapped up his wrists with the remnants of the cut-up shirt.

  “There’s a man like me in Vienna at the moment looking for work, a chap I’ve crossed paths with from time to time. Name of Colbridge. And that’s the extent of my ‘sympathy’ help, more’n you deserve.”

  Sebastian checked all the bindings before he left the cell and locked it. He almost laughed when he found the last fellow, whom the duke had tied up, with loose bonds. A few minutes later, he was letting John and Timothy out of their cells.

  “Did you kill him?” John asked as they hurried out of the dungeon. One guard at the top of the stone stairs had to be punched unconscious.

  “No,” Sebastian said, rubbing the fist he’d just used. “I probably should have, though, just to save a lot of people a lot of grief.”

  “You don’t think he’ll try to retrieve us, then?”

  “No. I’m not the only one available for such work. He knows that now. In fact, I steered him to Colbridge, that incompetent fellow in Vienna who should have no trouble failing. Baum was determined to hire me merely because I was already here and could have started immediately—if I’d been willing to work for him. I actually hope his wife continues to elude him. I have the feeling he’d rather kill her than go through the bother of a divorce.”

  Chapter 3

  A KITCHEN WASN’T A BAD PLACE TO LIVE. It contained pleasant aromas—usually—and warmth to counter the chill of old stone. Deep in the heart of the keep’s ruins, it was the only room that Sebastian had refurbished. The old armory, located on the eastern side of the ruins, had been paneled, furnished, and divided into three rooms that served as bedrooms.

  They had been back in France for almost a week. Mme. LeCarré, the mother of the farmer who lived down the road, came each day to make their meals. They kept no servants other than old Maurice, the caretaker, who lived in the only intact guard tower that was still attached to the crumbling outer walls.

  They had tried hiring a maid a few years back to tidy up their rooms, but they couldn’t get one to stay more than a week or two. The local women simply had an aversion to working in a pile of old stones.

  John had been spending most of his time in the conservatory since their return. He’d built it himself. His flowers had gone to seed as usual while he was away. Maurice refused to tend the flowers while John was gone and had to be bribed to at least keep the braziers burning during winter so the flowers didn’t all die. Many died anyway from neglect.

  Since he had joined them, Timothy had taken over the task of caring for the horses, which were kept in the old great hall. A small portion of it still retained a bit of ceiling, enough to shelter the horses from rain and snow. Timothy didn’t like the ruins and was always somewhat gloomy while they were in residence there. Today he was pouting, having failed, once again, to draw Sebastian’s attention for more than a moment.

  A threat to Timothy’s life might have moved Sebastian to action in Austria, but ironically, the boy meant nothing to him. John had grown fond of him, but Sebastian barely noticed Timothy when he was around. Nonetheless, he’d chosen to be responsible for him, and he took responsibility seriously. Which meant the boy couldn’t come to harm while he lived under his protection. What had happened in Austria he’d seen as a failure of his responsibility, which harkened back to the sense of familial duty that had been instilled in him in his youth.

  John viewed his relationships from a simpler perspective. He came from a small family with no siblings, just him and his father. His father had been a butler for the Wemyss family for many years, had groomed him in the same line of service, though John preferred a more personal level of commitment.

  Actually, he simply didn’t like the high responsibility and authority of the butler position.

  The Wemyss family was very closely associated with the Townshends. The eldest sons of each family had been the best of friends, their fathers were the best of friends. And as servants will talk, John was one of the first to know when Sebastian lost his valet and he jumped at the opportunity to take his place. He never dreamed that choice would lead to such adventure, but he didn’t regret it for a minute.

  He had enjoyed working at the Townshend estate, had been there for a little more than a year when Sebastian left England. He wasn’t asked to go into exile with him, he volunteered. He’d formed an attachment to the young lord, thought of him as family, and couldn’t bear for him to go off with no one to care for him properly.

  But truth be known, John thrived in his second line of work, derived immense satisfaction from it, and had fallen into it almost naturally. He simply had a way with people, of getting them to open up and reveal things that weren’t common knowledge. He wished he’d put that talent to work in Felburg before they’d been incarcerated in that dungeon. But they hadn’t planned to be there more than one night, so he’

  d taken the opportunity to rest instead. His mistake.

  They’d done some hard, fast riding, escaping from that area. “I really don’t think he’ll send anyone after us, but I don’t want to be tempted to go back to make sure of that,” had been Sebastian’s last words on the matter.

  John was more pragmatic. “We could have just saved ourselves the trouble of making a new enemy and losing a country of opportunity—we won’t be able to return to Austria now—by accepting the job. You probably could have gotten triple your normal fee from him.”

  “Go to England? No.”

  John had expected the curt reply. It had been worth a try. Not once, in all these years, had Sebastian been tempted to
return to England, not even to find out how his father and younger brother fared, if they were even still alive. When his family had disowned him, Sebastian had disowned them.

  Timothy was late for luncheon today. The two men didn’t wait for him.

  “Shall we do a little refurbishing while we’re in residence this time?” John asked as soon as Mme.

  LeCarré left to return to her home.

  Sebastian raised a brow. “Why do you ask that every time we’re here?”

  “Well, sir, this is a large property, yet only the kitchen and bedrooms are up to scratch.”

  “Exactly. What more do we need than a place to sleep and eat while we’re here? We don’t stay here for very long.”

  “But this place has such potential!”

  “It’s a bloody ruins, John,” Sebastian said dryly. “Let’s leave it that way.” John sighed. He’d hoped to bring Sebastian out of the ennui he’d fallen into since leaving Austria by giving him something to do besides brood. Unfortunately, Sebastian fell into a dark mood whenever England came up in a conversation, which had occurred too frequently during their stay in Felburg. Word had been left with Maurice about three new job possibilities, but Sebastian had yet to inquire about them.

  John went back to work in his conservatory behind the ruins. It was midafternoon when Sebastian wandered out, a glass of brandy in hand. A bad sign, that brandy. The brooding was getting worse.

  “Tell me, John, is it luck that has followed me all these years, or merely coincidence?” Sebastian asked, his tone somewhat bored.

  “In what regard, sir?”

  “My career, of course. I can count on both hands the number of times I probably should have died, or at the very least been maimed for life, yet I’ve received no more than a nick or two, despite the numerous times weapons have been turned on me. And these jobs I take, no matter how bizarre or seemingly impossible, I always manage to accomplish, and usually with minimal effort. So your honest opinion, is it luck or amazing coincidence?”

  “You’ve neglected to include skill in the choices,” John pointed out.

  Sebastian snorted. “I’m no more skilled than the next man. I wield a pistol well enough—”

  “With exceptional aim,” John added.

  Sebastian waved that aside as inconsequential, continuing, “Hold my own in a fight—” John cut in again. “Have you ever looked at the unlucky man’s face after your fist has been there?”

  “These are not remarkable talents, John,” Sebastian said with a tinge of annoyance. “And quite unrelated, as it happens.”

  John frowned thoughtfully before he asked, “What brought on this bout of introspection?”

  “I risked four pistols being fired at me, at close range, no less, to get my hands on that blasted duke back in Austria. The odds were that at least one of those guards would have been quick enough to fire before I reached my target. My phenomenal luck has lasted eleven years. I’m beginning to feel uneasy about it. It’s bound to turn soon, don’t you think? A man can’t go on being lucky indefinitely.”

  “Are you thinking of retiring?” John asked. “You certainly don’t need to continue in this line of work. Time to start a family perhaps?”

  “A family?” Sebastian scowled darkly. “No. I wouldn’t wish myself on my worst enemy. But I was thinking of putting it to the test.”

  “What?”

  “This extraordinary luck of mine.”

  Good God, the brooding had gone too far this time, John realized with alarm. He knew that a part of Sebastian had a death wish. He’d had it since they’d departed England. And nothing in all these years had occurred to alter his belief that he should have died instead of his friend Giles. Honor hadn’t been satisfied that day at The Dueling Rock, it had failed miserably.

  “How do you plan to test your luck?” John asked worriedly.

  Before Sebastian could respond, Maurice showed up to announce, “You have a visitor, Monsieur.

  A lady. You want I should show her to the kitchen?”

  It was said with a snicker. The caretaker thought it was hilarious that a man as rich and renowned as The Raven was living out of a kitchen.

  Sebastian didn’t even notice Maurice’s tone, or he chose not to. “A lady?” he said. “Or one of those tavern wenches trying once again to win their bet? You called them ladies, too, as I recall.” Maurice flushed. John managed to hide a smile. The day the three tavern lovelies had shown up had been rather entertaining. They’d had a wager going, on which one of them could entice Sebastian to sample their wares. Sebastian would have been accommodating—all three were rather pretty—but none had won that day because they’d ended up fighting over him, literally.

  Quite a few repairs had had to be made to the kitchen after they’d departed. And the wager was now as renowned as The Raven was, at least to the locals, since the women had continued their fight after they’d returned to the tavern. It wasn’t just a three-way bet now. Half the town, or more by now, had placed wagers as well.

  “This one, she dresses like a lady,” Maurice assured. “And she is as English as you.” John groaned. Maurice could be wrong. The woman might not be English at all. But it didn’t matter. Sebastian’s former homeland had been mentioned and now his brooding would only get worse.

  He would send her away without even finding out why she was there.

  Predictably, Sebastian snarled. “Tell her the kitchen is closed and will remain closed—to her.” Looking puzzled, Maurice turned to John. “Monsieur?”

  Sebastian might not be the least bit curious about their visitor, but John certainly was. “Run along, Maurice. I’ll take care of it.”

  Chapter 4

  M ARGARET LANDOR STARED AT THE PILE of crumbling stones and wondered if she was wasting her time. Three times they had passed this ruins, having determined it simply couldn’t be what they were looking for. But they’d found no other ruins in the immediate area, and finally, on the fourth pass, when they were heading back to town to get better directions, they’d seen the man in the ruins and stopped.

  Incredibly, this was where The Raven lived, which was why Margaret was now having doubts.

  After all the glowing reports she’d heard of the man, and especially that his fees were extremely high, she simply couldn’t fathom why he’d live in a place like this—unless everything she’d heard about him were lies.

  That was a possibility, of course. Maybe the locals had been trying to amaze the English visitors with tales of the local hero. But for a whole town to be involved in the lie? No, she couldn’t credit it.

  Besides, the town had been abuzz with his name merely because he was back in residence nearby.

  Apparently he wasn’t often at home, his work taking him far and abroad. So if he hadn’t been at home, she probably wouldn’t have heard of him at all.

  Margaret was traveling with her maid and footman. Edna and Oliver were a married couple who had been working for the Landors long before Margaret was born. Edna hailed from Cornwall and had been hired as nurse for the Landor children, first Eleanor, then Margaret. Brown hair, pretty blue eyes, she’d been working at White Oaks for only six months when she married Oliver.

  Oliver, now, had grown up at White Oaks, the entailed manor of the earls of Millwright, which was currently in Margaret’s possession. His father had been a footman there, his grandfather before him, and even his great-grandmother had served the second earl of Millwright. Tall and strapping, Oliver came in right handy when a bit of muscle was needed.

  Both middle-aged now, they made fine chaperones for Margaret’s shopping expedition. German lace, Italian silk, restocking her wine cellar, and new lilies for her garden had been on her European agenda, as well as a little touring, since she’d never been to the Continent before. But that wasn’t why she’d really come to Europe. It had merely been the excuse she’d used. No, she’d come to find her former neighbor and drag him back home to investigate the suspicious occurrences happening there.

&nbs
p; The Raven appeared around a corner of the ruins. He had to keep his eye on his step, since so many broken stones littered his courtyard. He looked friendly enough, though, was of medium height, with brown hair and eyes, and appeared to be forty years of age. She shouldn’t be nervous. She just didn’t like having doubts.

  “Are you sure you want to go through with this, Maggie?” Edna leaned out of the coach to ask.

  She found it interesting that her maid seemed to be having second thoughts as well, because she’d brought the man to Margaret’s attention. “Absolutely,” Margaret said with as much confidence as she could muster for Edna’s sake. “You were right. I’d given up. We were going home. We had no last resort. Now we do. And what more could I have asked for than a man of his talents?”

  “Well, go on, then,” Edna urged her. “It’s doubtful he’ll be here long. The townspeople say he never stays here for very long.”

  Margaret sighed and approached the fellow. She hated last resorts, but she supposed they were better than none at all. She’d had no trouble hiring those chaps in London last year. Both of them had come highly recommended, too. And had failed to deliver. Such a waste of money. This fellow seemed more promising—if what was said about him was really true. And she’d failed herself, miserably. Four months she’d spent on the Continent, and she hadn’t found a single clue as to the whereabouts of her missing neighbor.

  “Good day,” she said when she reached the fellow. “I’ve come to hire you.” He was smiling. Quite a warm smile for a Frenchman. It settled the matter in her mind. He’d take the job. They merely needed to work out the particulars.

  “I’m not for hire.”

  That disconcerted her, but Margaret was quick to recover. “Hear me out, if you will.”

  “But I’m not the man you’re looking for. My name is John Richards. I merely work for him.”

  “Oh?” She was slightly embarrassed. He wasn’t French, either. His accent as English as her own.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. Be a good chap and take me to The Raven, will you?” The smile was gone, and his tone seemed almost sad as he told her, “There would be no point in that, Madame. He won’t work for you.”