Blackthorne. Ruth Langan
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impertinence was growing more annoying by the minute. “Nay.” His eyes narrowed fiactionally, issuing a challenge of their own. “You will want your rest, Miss St. John, since I expect you to give the boy your full attention on the morrow. I bid you good-night”
“Good night, my lord.” As she stepped past him she glanced into the room and caught a glimpse of a man’s figure huddled in front of the fire. When he looked up, she caught her breath. It was the man she had seen from the carriage. A man whose face had lost all its color. But his eyes, so like Lord Stamford’s, were dark and piercing. And haunted.
Before she could see more Lord Stamford abruptly pulled the door shut.
Even as she followed Pembroke, she could feel him still standing where she had left him, staring after her. She stiffened her spine. She’d had quite enough of men who flaunted wealth and power. Such men, she vowed, would never again see any sign of weakness in her.
Still, the thought of that dark, chilling gaze boring into her back had the hair at her nape prickling until they paused outside a closed door.
“Here we are, miss.” Pembroke opened the door and carried the lantern across the room where a fire blazed on the hearth. “This is your sitting room.”
It was a large room with several comfortable chaises positioned in front of the fireplace, and a side table holding a decanter and several glasses. In an alcove were a desk and chairs.
“The lad’s chambers are through those doors. And in here—” he opened another door and pointed “—is your sleeping chamber.”
She couldn’t seem to take it all in. Nodding dully, she crossed to the fire and held out her hands to the heat. She’d never felt so cold. As though her bones had turned to ice.
“Mistress Thornton is sending up a tray, miss. I expect you’re hungry after your journey.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“I’ll say good-night now, miss.”
“Good night, Pembroke.”
She waited until the door closed behind him, then sank down into a chair and stared at the flames.
What had she gotten herself into? Who was this child she would be caring for? What had happened to the man with the pale skin and frightened, haunted look? And what had made the lord of the manor so tense and angry?
She had hoped that her arrival at Blackthorne would put all her fears to rest. Instead, she felt more alone, and more desolate than ever.
The hated dream returned. Cold, icy terror held her in its grip. Once again Olivia felt the strength in Wyatt’s hands as they pinned hers. Though she struggled, it was impossible to dislodge the weight of his body from hers. His mouth clamped over hers and his breath, hot, ragged, had hers hitching in her throat.
Like one drowning, she fought her way up through the tangled weeds threatening to choke her. As if from a great distance Olivia heard muted, shuffling sounds. She jerked upright, embarrassed that a servant had found the new nursemaid asleep, and in the throes of a nightmare.
“Oh. Sorry.” She shoved a lock of hair from her eye and struggled to brush away the cobwebs.
The servant was watching her closely. Too closely. She was pouting, obviously annoyed at having one more duty thrust upon her at such an hour. “Mistress Thornton said I should bring you some food.” She pointed to a tray resting atop a nearby table
“Thank you. That was kind of Mistress Thornton. And I am indeed hungry. What is your name?”
“Edlyn.” The servant tossed a log on the hearth, then straightened, wiping her hands on her apron.
Olivia poured herself some tea. “What can you tell me about Liat, Edlyn?”
“Not much to tell. He arrived here with Lord Stamford.”
“Arrived? From where?”
The woman shrugged. “Some heathen island in the Caribbean. Some say—” she lowered her voice and her eyes narrowed thoughtfully “—the boy is Lord Stamford’s bastard son. ”
Olivia sucked in a breath. “I do not hold with idle rumors. What of the boy’s mother?”
“The boy claims his mum is dead. Perhaps she met the same fate as Lord Stamford’s wife.”
“His wife?”
“Lady Stamford.” Edlyn’s tone hardened. “You’ll hear soon enough. It’s all anyone talks about in the village. She was a great beauty. Lord Quenton’s younger brother, Bennett, adored her, as did his grandfather. She was found dead at the foot of the cliffs. Master Bennett was found nearby, barely clinging to life.”
“Oh, how dreadful.”
“Aye. Though Master Bennett survived, he cannot walk or talk, so he can never reveal what happened. He spends all his time seated at his bedroom window, staring out to sea. The king’s own surgeon came to examine him, and said he exists in a world of his own. Shortly after the surgeon’s visit Lord Stamford left.”
“Left?”
The woman frowned. “Went off to sea, leaving his grandfather to deal with the tragedy alone. No one had seen or heard from Lord Stamford again until his grandfather died and he returned to claim his inheritance. Not that we cared. Blackthorne was better off without the likes of him.”
Olivia was surprised at the servant’s venomous tone. “I would think, if you value your position here, you would be more careful of the things you say about Lord Stamford.”
“My position.” The servant gave a harsh laugh. “I came to Blackthorne with Lady Stamford, as her ladyship’s maid. After her death I was treated like a common servant, and sent to the scullery, to exist on little more than bread crusts and gruel.”
In such sumptuous surroundings, Olivia thought that highly unlikely. “And now?” she asked. “It would seem your position has improved.”
The servant gave a snort of disgust. “Now that Lord Stamford has returned, I know not what my duties are. Nor does anyone in this household. We await his lordship’s bidding. At all hours of the day and night ’twould seem.”
The anger in this woman made Olivia extremely uncomfortable. She had heard much more than she wanted.
She abruptly changed the subject. “What sort of child is Liat?”
Edlyn shrugged. “Scared of his shadow, he is. Keeps to himself. Never laughs or cries. Or shouts or runs. Just hides away in his room.” She lowered her voice. “Probably touched in the head.” Satisfied that she’d relayed enough gossip for one night, she yawned loudly. “Will you be wanting anything else?”
“Nothing, Edlyn. Good night.”
When the servant was gone, Olivia lifted the lid of a tureen and inhaled the fragrance of beef broth. Beneath a domed cover she found thin strips of beef swimming in gravy. In a silver basket were several thick slices of bread.
She sipped the soup, tasted the tender beef, bit into the crusty bread. But the troubling things she’d been told about Blackthorne and its inhabitants had stolen her appetite.
Feeling restless, she crossed to her valise, hoping to unpack. Strange, she thought as her clothes spilled onto the bed, that they seemed to be in disarray. Could that rustling sound that awakened her have been the servant, rummaging through her things? At once she dismissed such thoughts. A servant would realize that a simple governess had nothing of value. These fears were the result of Edlyn’s tales of dark deeds. Such talk had her imagination running wild.
Sinking into a chair, she pressed her hands to her cheeks and thought about all that she had seen and heard. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut to blot out the fears that seemed to be closing in on her. She would rest for a moment, before pulling herself together for the task ahead.