Johanna Lindsey Read online

  The tiers of his greatcoat were flapping in the wind. On any other man the coat might look dashing.

  On Sebastian it somehow added to his menace. And yet the man was so damned handsome he took her breath away. This attraction that seemed to be growing stronger each time she saw him was going to be a problem. She was sure it harked back to her old fascination with him, but still…

  She joined him at the rail, though she hesitated to interrupt his introspection, he looked so bleak.

  So she was surprised when he said, “Henry Raven.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The name I will use while at your house,” he said.

  She started to laugh. “I’m sorry, but you just don’t look like a Henry. Couldn’t you come up with something more suitable?”

  “Like what? Black Bart?” She couldn’t hold back her laughter, which prompted him to add, “You know bloody well Henry is about as noble a name as you can get.”

  “For a king. Very well, Henry, if you insist. I’ll let Edna and Oliver know. I’ve already warned them we might have to pretend to be married.”

  “I can imagine that went over well,” he said dryly.

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Edna was quite scandalized. But I convinced her it would be for a good cause, if we find it necessary to go that route, which hasn’t been decided yet.” He agreed. “If I find out what I need to know before anyone even knows I’m home, nothing else will be required of you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  It was midmorning before they docked and the passengers and animals were let ashore. Sebastian’s stallion was especially troublesome in the unloading. John’s gelding was placid as usual. But the stallion settled down once he was on solid ground again.

  Sebastian didn’t. He was struck with melancholy the moment his feet touched English soil. God, he’d missed his country of birth, missed it much more than he’d realized. The bitterness that he lived with, that had been buried so deeply it was simply a part of him, rose up now like black bile to choke his emotions.

  He never should have left. Just because his father had disowned him and told him to never darken England’s shores again didn’t mean he actually had to go. He’d already defied his father in showing up for that duel. What was one more defiance after that? But his guilt had been horrendous. And it was still present even after all these years, tearing at his gut, ripping at his mind and heart just as badly now as it had back then.

  Chapter 10

  M ARGARET LOVED HER HOME. Three stories of white oak surrounded by flowers—her flowers. She’

  d planted every one of them. Every springtime, she was like a mother hen waiting for them to bloom.

  While the Townshends’ home Edgewood was a splendid estate and she’d been offered a permanent home there, it was only because she’d taken to Douglas and Abigail Townshend that she’d felt comfortable there at all. Without a doubt, she still preferred her own home. It was hers. The staff was hers. The history of the house was hers. And it was every bit as splendid as Edgewood.

  And goodness, she was glad to be home. Her staff had missed her, too. A few of them ran out the front door to greet her. Her cook, Gussie, was even tearful.

  “Finally I won’t feel guilty anymore about making my most superb dishes while you aren’t here to enjoy them,” Gussie told her, then scolded lightly, “You were gone much too long, Lady Margaret.”

  “It was necessary, to accomplish all I set out to do,” Margaret rejoined. “I assume the wine shipment arrived without any trouble?”

  “Indeed. I’ll even open a bottle tonight to celebrate your homecoming.” No sooner did Gussie go back in the house than Margaret’s groom arrived and breathlessly exclaimed, “Thank God, m’lady. Now that beast of yours might behave again.” She was amused. The man was fond of referring to her mare as a beast. She couldn’t imagine why. Sweet Tooth was as sweet as her name—when Margaret was around.

  “I’ll be back to my usual agenda tomorrow,” Margaret informed him, “but I’ll visit her this afternoon.”

  “Thank you, m’lady. And she’ll be saddled and waiting for you in the morning.” It took a while to speak to each servant. She ignored none of them. And they’d all come out to greet her before she even got in the door. Florence, her housekeeper, was the last to arrive. She was the newest member of the staff, though she’d grown up at White Oaks, too. She’d taken over the housekeeper position five years ago when her mother retired from it. And like Edna, she treated Margaret with a greater familiarity than the rest of the staff. They’d actually played together as children.

  While each of the servants had glanced curiously at the two men and the boy accompanying her, some more than once, only Florence asked, “Shall I prepare extra settings at the table tonight? Or rooms?”

  “Both,” Margaret replied. “I’m going to have guests for a while.” Florence nodded, then leaned closer to whisper, “Is that who I think it is?” She was looking at Sebastian, of course. Still mounted on his stallion, he’d merely sat there observing the homecoming, his look as inscrutable as ever. Yet there was still that sinister air about him that prohibited discourse and would probably have most people running in the opposite direction if given a choice.

  She wasn’t even sure what it was about him that made him so—unapproachable. She wasn’t shy by any means, but even she felt nervous when she was around him, so she could just imagine how others reacted to him. And no matter how many times she’d spoken to him now, it got no easier.

  Margaret pulled Florence aside to answer her. “Yes, it’s him. But we need to keep that to ourselves for the time being. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s back yet, so we’ll oblige him in that regard.”

  “Not even his family?”

  “Especially not his family.”

  “Why’s he back, then?” Florence asked.

  Margaret didn’t answer, just stared at her housekeeper until Florence finally got the point and humphed, “Fine. Keep it a secret. What do I care? I’ll make sure the others keep quiet about him, if it looks like anyone else realizes who he is. They probably won’t. I barely recognized him m’self.

  Goodness, he’s—changed.”

  That was an understatement, but Margaret merely nodded. She felt bad about keeping secrets from Florence. She hadn’t even told her friend the real reason she’d gone to Europe because she knew Florence would try to talk her out of it. She’d never been secretive before, never had a reason to be, for that matter. Clandestine just wasn’t her cup of tea, just the opposite. She was forthright by nature, sometimes to the point of brazenness.

  It had even seemed as if she had sneaked home, and in fact she had. In the last century, Edgeford had grown from a sleepy village to a thriving little town that now supplied most of the needs of the gentry in the surrounding area. It was on the way from Dover to White Oaks, yet they’d avoided it completely, as well as any other homes on the way. She’d suggested that Sebastian ride in the coach as they neared home, in case they passed anyone who might recognize him, but he’d declined and merely told Oliver to follow him. They hadn’t stayed on the road for the last half mile.

  “Timothy, lad, it’s time for you to earn your keep,” Margaret heard Sebastian say as she approached him. “John and I will be recognized, but no one knows you, so go around and find out what you can about my family.”

  Margaret bristled for a moment. She liked the boy, had learned from John how Timothy came to be with them. She didn’t like how he was being used, though, and would have taken Sebastian to task if she didn’t notice how delighted the lad was to be given such responsibility.

  So she said instead, “Come inside first. My housekeeper will show you to your rooms. It’s also approaching time for dinner, so you might want to wait until the morning before you begin any investigating.”

  Timothy had to glance at Sebastian first for his approval before he ran into the house. Margaret turned, caught Sebastian with his brow raised at her.

  �
��You don’t think he can handle the task?” he asked.

  “He’s a bit young to be doing your job, isn’t he?” she countered.

  “Not a’tall. And part of my job is assigning tasks to whoever is most likely to succeed at them. In this case, he’s the only one among us who isn’t known here. He’s also young enough to pry innocently and have it appear as no more than a child’s curiosity. Be assured, Maggie, I’ll even put you to work if I deem it necessary.”

  That sounded rather unsavory, or maybe it was just his tone that made it seem so. Still, she hurried into the house and out of his presence. Being around that man was exhausting, indeed it was. It wasn’t just the attraction, which she fought hard to ignore, but the way he made her so nervous, queasy, all aflutter, which in turn roused her defenses and made her argumentative. Good grief, she was the sweetest person! She’d been told so by countless people. But not around him.

  Chapter 11

  M ARGARET FELT LIKE HERSELF AGAIN when she came down to dinner that night. While her traveling clothes had been highly fashionable, they’d also been made of thick, sturdy materials that wouldn’t need much care, so they hadn’t been very comfortable. Back in soft peach velvet that was sinfully comfortable, well rested after a brief nap, she felt quite capable of dealing with her guests.

  She expected all three of them to be waiting for her in the dining room, but only Sebastian was there, seated at the head of her table. The nerve! And he hadn’t dressed for dinner. He was wearing a white shirt without a cravat, open at the neck, loose flowing sleeves cuffed at the wrist. He might as well have had an earring and an eye patch on, because that’s probably how her servants perceived him.

  David, who regularly tended the table and stood waiting by the door, was no doubt shaking in his boots, he looked so nervous. Of course, the wickedly long dagger that Sebastian was using to spear chunks of meat out of the appetizer that had been brought to him was more likely the cause. Her servants knew better than to begin the meal before her arrival. Sebastian must have frightened David into breaking that rule.

  Sebastian rose as she entered and pulled out the chair on his right. She would not have chosen a seat so close to him, but it looked like it would be only the two of them dining, and it would seem haughty of her to sit at the other end of the table, forcing them to raise their voices to have any sort of conversation. It was a long table, after all. But she would have to make a point of arriving at the dining room before him while he was in residence.

  David hurried forward to fill Margaret’s wineglass, then left to fetch her appetizer. She took the moment of privacy to remark to Sebastian, “My housekeeper, Florence, recognized you today. It’s likely some of the older servants will as well. We should probably make an announcement about why you wish to remain incognito—”

  “That won’t be necessary,” he cut in. “I’ve spoken to each of your servants. They’ll say nothing.”

  “You say that with such assurance. Threatened to murder them all in their sleep, did you?”

  “Ah, you’ve set the tone,” he replied dryly. “Shall I sharpen my fork?” She blushed. She had no excuse for being so rude other than her nervousness. She certainly hadn’

  t expected to be alone with him at dinner.

  “I apologize. My humor went awry.”

  “You were trying to make me laugh? I should warn you, then. I don’t.”

  “Rubbish. Everyone laughs. It’s human nature. Can’t be helped.”

  “So now I’m not human?”

  Margaret gritted her teeth. Odious man. And her appetizer hadn’t even arrived yet. This was going to be the longest dinner of her life, she was sure.

  In an effort to put the conversation on a proper track, she remarked, “I expected John and Timothy to join us. They weren’t hungry?”

  “On the contrary,” he replied. “But being back in England has had a profound effect on John.

  Etiquette demands he take his meals with the rest of the servants now. He is my valet, after all.”

  “I gathered he was more than that.”

  “Indeed, he and I have been through a lot together. But there’s no point in arguing with him. It’s not just England, it’s this house. Reminds him of tradition and all that rot. Back in the fold, as it were.”

  “You don’t sound happy that he has reverted to form,” she commented.

  “I’m not, but you couldn’t drag him in here with a horse. And the boy takes his cue from John.” Margaret wasn’t happy with John’s desertion either. It meant she’d be sharing a lot of meals with Sebastian—alone. She couldn’t even invite other guests, not while he remained incognito. She could hope that he wouldn’t have to stay hidden for very long. Or she could make an effort to get along with him, despite her dislike. Familiarity breeds indifference, as it were. Not bloody likely, with him.

  “By the by, why didn’t you want a come-out?” he asked.

  Margaret stared at him, wondering how long he’d been mulling that over, to finally ask. There were a lot of circumstances responsible for her current single state, some of them common knowledge that he wouldn’t know about due to his long absence. She saw no reason not to tell him.

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t want one,” she said. “But when the time was ripe for one, I was still in mourning. I’d just lost my father. I was living in a new home with your father. By the time my mourning period had ended, I had decided I could do without a husband. After all, I’d witnessed the heartache of love gone awry in my sister’s case. And having watched your brother and sister-in-law go at it tooth and nail, as it were—well, not a very good recommendation for marriage, that.”

  “Admit it. You declined a come-out because you think no one will have you.” Was he making an effort to tease her, or did he really think that? It was impossible to tell with him.

  But it was probably the latter. She doubted the man knew how to tease anymore.

  So she snorted. “Rubbish. And I wasn’t finished.”

  “You really decided not to marry?”

  “For a brief time I actually did. Those were just the thoughts of a young girl, though. I simply wasn

  ’t old enough yet to decide the matter maturely. But by the time I came to my senses and realized I was being silly to be deterred from marriage by my sister’s broken heart and your brother and his wife’s constant bickering, I was a bit past the prime for a come-out.”

  “For God’s sake, you’re only twenty-three. You haven’t passed anything.”

  “Allow me to know what I’ve passed or not,” she replied a bit stiffly.

  He sat back, said casually, “I find it hard to believe that in all these years you haven’t been courted. Have all the young bucks left the neighborhood?”

  “Not a’tall. I’ve been courted to distraction.”

  “And none would do?”

  “A few might have, but I suppose I’ve set my standards a bit high. The choice is mine, you see.

  Were my father still here, he probably would have made some recommendations and I probably would have agreed with him. By having the choice to m’self, I find no need to hurry.”

  “Then you’ve chosen to be an old maid?”

  She gritted her teeth. The insults were piling up. “Really, Sebastian,” she said dryly, “you shouldn’t strive to be so charming.”

  “Yes, I know. Bad habit.”

  She almost laughed. But that would encourage him to make more outlandish remarks, so she restrained herself.

  “As it happens, I’m still being courted,” she told him primly.

  “Anyone I would know?”

  “Possibly. Thomas Peermont, Viscount Ridgmore’s son, you might remember.”

  “Little Tommy? He was still wearing knickers when I left. He can’t be old enough for you.” Her back got a little stiffer. “Not that age matters at this point, but he’s only a year younger than I am. And then there’s The Honorable Daniel Courtly, whom you probably don’t know.”

  “Courted by a C
ourtly, how quaint.”

  She glared at him, but continued, “He and his mother moved here only two years ago. They bought the old Merryweather cottage on the cliffs after Angus Merryweather moved to London to be closer to his grandchildren.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  “Just the two?”

  “Two is quite enough, when I’m not really interested in either of them.”

  “So you are determined to be an old maid. Might as well own up to it, Maggie.”

  “If you must know, I do plan on going to London to broaden my choices. I just don’t intend to compete with a gaggle of giggling debutantes.”

  “How do you intend to avoid that?”

  “By attending a few choice parties and proposing to a man who suits me. In another year or two I will feel comfortable doing so.”

  He raised a brow. “You aren’t joking, are you?”

  “Not a’tall.”

  “I think you’ve been on your own too long, Maggie. It’s quite addled your wits.” She smiled tightly. “My wits are just fine, thank you.”

  “Then you haven’t realized that if it gets out, you’ll become a laughingstock?”

  “And why would it get out?” she countered. “I assure you, I can be quite circumspect. Nor do I intend to propose to every man I meet.”

  “Just one or two, hell, just one is all it will take. Consider. An earl’s daughter proposing marriage.

  That’s too juicy not to spread around.”

  “Unless the fellow takes me up on the offer, then it would be in his best interest to keep his mouth shut, wouldn’t it? You, sir, are much too negative.”

  “No. I’ve just learned to view all aspects of a situation. Besides, you’re already going to have one mark against you as a divorced woman,” he pointed out. “Only second sons might overlook that stigma.” She sighed. “Even if it is, you overlook a prime motive.”

  “Your lush body?”