Wicked. Shannon Drake
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of his lips against her flesh, the length of his fingers, the power in his hand.
He didn’t speak; his back was to her as he, too, surveyed the painting above the desk.
At last, she cleared her throat. “Lord Stirling, I do apologize with the greatest regret for intruding upon you at this hour and without inquiry. But I am, as you can well imagine, distressed beyond all measure. The dear man who raised me is missing, and there are so many dangers in the woods. Cutthroats, wolves…all manner of creature might be about in the night. I am so very worried, and therefore I pray that I may turn to a man of such high position as Your Lordship.”
He turned, once again very amused.
“Oh, come, my dear! All of London has surely heard of my reputation!”
“Reputation, sir?” she said, feigning innocence. It was a mistake.
“Ah, yes, the misbegotten beast! Were I simply the Earl of Carlyle and recognized as such with a modicum of respect and dignity rather than fear, dear woman, you’d not have come to the gates with the least hope of being received by me.”
His tone was flat and harsh, allowing no quarter for a pretense of ignorance. In fact, she nearly took a step back, but refused to allow herself to do so—for Tristan’s sake.
“Tristan Montgomery is here, somewhere, sir. He was traveling with a companion and disappeared outside your gates. I want him given into my care, immediately.”
“So you are related to the loathsome rascal who crawled my walls like the most common of thieves this evening,” he said, unperturbed.
“Tristan is no loathsome rascal,” she denied hotly, although she refrained from declaring that he was certainly not a thief. “Sir, I believe he is in this castle, and I will not leave without him.”
“I hope then that you are prepared to stay,” he said flatly.
“So, he is here!” she claimed.
“Oh, yes. He took a bit of a fall in his attempt to relieve me of my possessions.”
She swallowed, trying to maintain her composure. She had never expected the man to be so blunt, or to hear a tone that could be both flat and entirely ruthless all in one. A new fear was also triggered within her.
“He is hurt? Badly?” she inquired.
“He will live,” he said dryly.
“But I must be taken to him. At once!”
“In good time,” he said simply. “You’ll excuse me for a moment?” It wasn’t really a question; he meant to depart the room and leave her again, and he didn’t give a damn if she did or didn’t excuse his rudeness. He strode toward the door.
“Wait!” she cried. “I must see Tristan. Immediately.”
“I repeat, you may see him. In good time.”
He departed, leaving her alone once again. She stared after him, confused and angry. Why would he agree to see her, only to disappear after a few minutes’ worth of heated conversation?
She walked around the room, trying to calm herself, studying the titles of books as she bided whatever time she was to wait. Yet the titles did nothing but swim before her eyes, so she found a seat before the fire.
He’d admitted that Tristan was here. Hurt! Caught in the act of thievery.
Good God! No one could expect her to sit still while her guardian lay somewhere, perhaps in pain, perhaps even direly injured!
She jumped up anxiously and started for the door, but after throwing it open, she stood frozen. There was a dog there. Massive. It was merely sitting there, but its head came above her waist! Then the animal growled softly; a warning sound.
She closed the door and paced back to the fire, furious yet afraid. Was the animal trained to rip anyone to shreds who tried to move about the place on their own? Fueled by anger, she walked back to the door. But before she could reach it, it opened.
It wasn’t the return of the Earl of Carlyle, as she had hoped. Instead, a woman entered the room. She was an attractive, older woman with dancing eyes and a quick smile. She was in a lovely dove-gray gown with a cast of silver to it, and the warm curl of her lips was more than startling under the circumstance.
“Good evening, Miss Montgomery,” she said pleasantly.
“Thank you,” Camille replied, “except that, I’m afraid, for me, it isn’t a good evening at all. My guardian is being held hostage here, and it seems that I am likewise imprisoned in this room.”
“Imprisoned!” the woman exclaimed.
“There is a dog—or a fanged monster, one might say—on the other side of the door,” Camille said.
The woman’s smile deepened. “Ajax. Pay him no mind. He is a big lover, once you get to know him. Really.”
“I’m not so sure that I’m eager to make his close acquaintance,” Camille murmured. “Madam, please, I’m most desperate to see my guardian.”
“Indeed, and so you will. But first things first. Will you have some brandy? I’ve arranged a light supper for you and the earl, and it will be served quite soon. I’m Evelyn Prior, the earl’s housekeeper. He’s asked me to see that a room be prepared for you, as well.”
“A room?” she said, distressed. “Mrs. Prior, please, I’ve come to take Tristan home. Whatever care he needs, I can give it to him.”
“Well, Miss Montgomery,” Mrs. Prior said, her tone sad, “I’m afraid that the earl was considering filing charges against your guardian.”
Camille winced, looking downward. “Please. I don’t believe he intended any harm.”
“I’m afraid the master doesn’t believe that he merely fell over the gate,” the woman said lightly. “But…well, the two of you must talk.”
Evelyn Prior seemed far too lovely, rational and sane for the environment here, that was certain. All about the castle seemed dark and menacing; she was as light and lovely as the summer air. Yet she, too, seemed to have very resolute objections to Camille simply gathering up Tristan and leaving.
She swallowed hard. “I am willing to make reparation for—”
“Miss Montgomery, I’m not the one with whom you must discuss the matter of your guardian’s guilt or innocence, or any form of reparation. If you’ll accompany me now, I’ll see you to the master’s quarters dining area. In time, you may see your guardian, and then your own chamber for the evening.”
“Oh, we cannot stay!” Camille protested.
“I’m afraid you must stay. The physician has said that your guardian must not be moved this evening. He is sore, indeed.”
“I can take care of him,” Camille swore.
“He will not be traveling this evening. We cannot keep you here, of course, but I’m afraid that your guardian will not be leaving our hospitality as of yet.”
Despite the woman’s courtesy and easy smile, Camille felt chills erupt at the base of her spine. Stay here? Surrounded by the deepest, darkest forest she had ever seen? With the man in the mask, the imposing, brooding, harsh and seemingly indomitable beast of the castle?
“I…I…”
“Truly!” the woman said with a laugh. “We may well enjoy our solitude here, but we are not so crass or without comfort as you might imagine. You will be quite fine if you stay. Whatever His Lordship’s reputation, he is the Earl of Carlyle, you know. He has responsibilities to the Crown itself, and is trusted by her most gracious Majesty, Victoria.”
Camille lowered her lashes, trying to conceal the flush that came to her cheeks. Mrs. Prior had read her every thought.
“I have come with a servant.