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“My estate?” She gave a harsh laugh. “Your parents informed me I was penniless.”
“And you are. It’s merely a formality. But as a solicitor, I prefer everything to be tidy. Sign here.”
She eyed the document, then shook her head. “The words have my head spinning. I would rather take my time and read it. Perhaps if you’d care to leave it...”
His smile, which only moments earlier had been warm and friendly, suddenly looked dangerous. He took a step closer and watched as she backed away. He took another step, and she did the same, until her back was pressed against the wall.
“You don’t want to anger me, cousin. I make it my business to know all of the wealthy and titled here in London.” He pressed his palms to the wall on either side of her face and leaned close until his lips were mere inches from hers. “I might be... persuaded to help you secure a position. That is, if you are willing to be...very nice to me.”
Outraged, Olivia tried to shove him away, but his strength surprised her. “I may be a country lass, unaccustomed to the ways of your London friends, but I understand what you’re suggesting and I want no part of it.”
At the last moment she managed to turn her face, so that his lips brushed her cheek.
“Stop this.” Again she pushed against his chest, but she was no match for his strength. “Let me go, Wyatt, or I shall scream.”
His eyes narrowed. “Go ahead and scream, little mouse. My parents are out in the garden. And the servants would never dare interfere.”
As she started to protest, his mouth covered hers, stifling her words. His hot breath filled her lungs.
A sense of panic welled inside her. This couldn’t be happening. Not here in the home where her mother grew up. Not in a place where servants bustled about in the hallways just beyond the door.
She struggled, harder now, as the panic grew. She kicked and bit and scratched, managing to draw blood along his cheek. But each time she fought him, he became more aroused.
This was what he’d wanted. The chase. The duel. The chance to subdue his opponent. And then the humiliation. That final act of domination was, to him, the ultimate reward.
He moved so quickly she had no time to react. Within minutes he had thrown her to the floor. With one hand he pinned her arms up over her head while the other hand fumbled beneath her skirts.
The boyish smile had been replaced by a look of evil. “Now, cousin, I will show you how I intend to bid you welcome. And when I’m through, you will sign anything, if you know what’s good for you.” His eyes narrowed to slits as he straddled her and shot her a look of triumph.
He was suddenly doused with a bucket of cold water. It poured over his head, causing him to gasp in shock. As the water spilled down his tunic and immaculately tailored waistcoat, he rolled to one side, releasing his grip on Olivia. She sat up, shoving damp hair from her eyes.
Old Letty stood over them, holding an empty bucket.
“Forgive me, m’lord,” she said apologetically. “I was coming in to help the young miss with her bath, and I seem to have stumbled over the rug.”
“Why, you old hag! No one takes a cold bath.” His voice thundered with rage.
“The young miss specifically requested cold water, is that not so, miss?”
“Y-yes. Indeed it is,” Olivia managed to say as she struggled to her feet.
Wyatt’s eyes were dark with fury. “You old witch. I ought to...”
“I summoned your father and mother.” Letty’s eyes bored into his. “His lordship should be upstairs any moment.”
“What is it, Letty?” came Robert’s voice from the hallway.
At once Wyatt scrambled to his feet and rearranged his soaked clothing just as his father stepped through the doorway.
“A bit clumsy I was,” the old servant explained. “And the young lord was kind enough to help me clean up my mess.”
“So I see.” Robert arched a brow at the puddles of water on the floor. Then he flicked a glance over Olivia, pale and trembling, and his son, one cheek scratched and bleeding, working frantically to straighten his soaked clothes. “Come along, Wyatt. Leave that for the servants.”
Wyatt’s eyes were chips of blue ice, his voice a whisper for Olivia’s ears alone. “One day soon we’ll meet again. Without the old hag to protect you. And then you’ll pay. Oh, little cousin, how you’ll pay.”
When the two had gone, Olivia turned to Letty. “How can I ever thank you? I thought...” Without warning she began to weep.
“There now, young miss.” The old woman drew her into her arms and held her until the tears had run their course. “Everyone here knows about Master Wyatt. He has despoiled many of our young servants. All of them fear him.”
“Why doesn’t someone tell his parents?”
“No need. They’ve seen for themselves. But they choose to look away, and blame others for their son’s flaws. ’Tis always the servant’s fault, and the poor young woman is dismissed and branded a slut.”
“Is that what they will say about me?”
The servant shrugged, unwilling to inflict more pain on this distraught young woman than she already bore.
But though the words were unspoken, Olivia knew. “Why don’t you fear him, Letty?”
The old servant sighed. “What can he do to the likes of me?”
“He can have you dismissed.”
“Aye. And then I’ll be forced to go to live with my brother, who is already overburdened with a sick wife. But I think Lady Lindsey has a need of me, or I’d have been gone long ago.”
Olivia shuddered. “I can’t stay here, Letty. I have to go.”
“Aye. Ye’r not safe as long as Master Wyatt is here.” The old woman thought a moment. “There may be a place, though from what I’ve heard, ye may be going from a fire to an inferno.”
“Please, Letty. Tell me. I’ll go anywhere, do anything.”
The servant paused a moment longer, then seemed to come to a decision. “I’ll speak to Lord Lindsey. If the past is any indication, he’ll be eager to be rid of you. This will relieve him of his obligation to you, and free you, as well.”
With a swish of skirts she was gone, leaving Olivia to huddle behind closed doors, jumping each time she heard a footstep along the hallway.
She knew, without a doubt, that she had seen, in Wyatt’s cold, unemotional features, the face of pure evil. A cruel heartless creature who would take what he wanted. With no apology. No remorse.
The trembling started in her limbs, until her entire body shuddered. Still she forced herself to remain standing as she waited and watched and listened.
A short time later there was a rap on the door. “Who...who is there?” Olivia kept the width of the room between herself and the door as it was thrust inward to admit the servant.
The old woman’s heart went out to the girl who stood pale and shivering across the room.
“Lord Lindsey agrees that it would be best if you were to go quickly. Even now the coach is being prepared.” Letty gave the young woman a sympathetic look. “Ye’ll need a cloak, young miss. ’Tis a long, cold ride to Cornwall.”
Chapter Three
Cornwall
The English countryside, shrouded in darkness, rushed past the windows of the carriage in a blur. Occasionally Olivia could glimpse the lights of houses in a distant village. Such scenes brought a lump to her throat.
How she missed her little cottage in Oxford where life had been so simple, so peaceful.
“Oh, Mum. Oh, Papa.”
There had been no time to grieve. No time to bid a proper goodbye to the villagers who had been her friends and neighbors for a lifetime.
She leaned back in the carriage and closed her eyes. She had slept through part of the journey, but her dreams had been troubled, robbing her of rest. And so she sat on the hard seat of the swaying carriage, tense, frightened, overcome with emotions. She wondered if she would ever be able to put aside the humiliation she’d experienced at Wyatt’s hands. Just thinking about it had her trembling again, and she closed her eyes and drew her cloak about her to ward off the chill. At once the image of her cousin’s evil smile and cruel hands had her jolting upright. She struggled to put him out of her mind, but thoughts of him lingered like a foul stench.
She drew a deep breath and wondered again what lay before her. What sort of hellish place was Blackthorne? Letty had hinted at something dark and dangerous. Something even worse than the place she had just escaped. Was it possible? Could anything be worse than her aunt and uncle’s house of horrors?
Olivia peered into the darkness and watched as the faint glow of lanterns grew brighter. It would appear that the carriage was nearing its destination at long last.
The light was closer now, and she could make out the darkened shape of what appeared to be a fortress. Turrets loomed against the night sky. There were few welcoming lights in the windows. Instead, a solitary figure stood in the courtyard, straight and tall as a soldier, holding aloft a single lantern.
As the carriage made its way along the curving drive, the wind seemed to pick up, causing trees to sway and dip like angry demons. As if on cue lightning cut a jagged path across the sky, followed by the rumble of thunder. And as the carriage rolled to a stop and the driver helped her to alight, the skies opened up with a torrent of rain.
In that instant she looked up and saw a man’s face peering down at her from one of the windows. In the glow of candlelight his face appeared waxen, ghostlike.
She froze, unable to move.
“Welcome to Blackthorne, miss.” Pembroke accepted her satchel from the driver and hurriedly led the way inside out of the rain.
“Thank you.” She was shivering so violently, even her words trembled.
“My name is Pembroke.”
“Pembroke. I...saw a man. In an upstairs room.”
“That would be Master Bennett, the younger brother of Lord Quenton Stamford. He has trouble sleeping.”
“His face looked...ghostly-white.”
“Aye, miss. Master Bennett is...sickly.” He turned away. “Your rooms are ready. If you’ll follow me.”
They seemed to walk forever. Through a darkened foyer, along an even darker hallway, where candles sputtered in pools of wax. Up a curving stairway, where Olivia glimpsed shadowed tapestries, then along another hallway, where a door was abruptly opened, spilling light into the darkness.
A man stepped through the doorway, directly into Olivia’s path. She slammed against a solid wall of chest Her breath came out in a whoosh of air. Strong hands closed over her upper arms, steadying her. As he drew her a little away she had a quick impression of a darkly handsome face, and eyes so piercing they held hers even when she tried to look away. He was scowling. His temper, simmering just below the surface, was a palpable thing.
A hound stood just behind him, looking as angry as its master, with lips pulled back in a snarl, teeth bared. A warning growl issued from its throat.
Fear, sharp as a razor, sliced through her.
“Lord Stamford.” Pembroke’s cultured voice broke the stunned silence. “This is Miss St. John. The lad’s governess. She has just now arrived from London.”
“Miss St. John.” The voice was low and deep. The look he gave her was intense. Probing. With just a flash of surprise. He had been expecting to meet a pinch-faced, elderly nursemaid, much like the one who had ruled ironfisted over his own childhood, and that of his younger brother. It had never occurred to him that a nursemaid could be young and fresh, with eyes more green than blue, and dark hair curling damply around dimpled cheeks.
“Lord Stamford.”
He felt her trembling reaction to his touch and deliberately kept his hold on her a moment longer than he’d intended before lowering his hands to his sides. There was a fragrance about her that was reminiscent of something half-forgotten from his childhood. He absorbed a quick jolt to his already-charged system as he watched her take a hasty step back.
“It’s a rather dreary night to be sending a young woman on such a tiring journey. Why didn’t your driver put up at an inn for the night?”
“This was the way my uncle wished it.”
“I see.” He could see a great deal more. She was afraid. Had actually trembled at his touch. But whether she was afraid of him, or men in general, he couldn’t be certain. No matter. She wasn’t here to mingle with men, but to assume the care of one small boy. It would be wise to keep that in mind. Especially since the touch of her had caused an unwanted reaction in him, as well. A reaction he hadn’t felt toward a woman in a very long time.
“My housekeeper, Mistress Thornton, has told the boy about his new nursemaid. He is looking forward to meeting you.”
“The boy?” Her tone was sharper than she’d intended. Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour. Or a need to mask her fears. Or the fact that fatigue had her in its grip. Whatever the reason, she found herself bristling at his casual dismissal of his young charge. “Does the boy have a name?”
His tone was equally curt. “He does. His name is Liat.”
“Just Liat? Has he no other?”
Her 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.
