A Dangerous Courtship (7 page)

"A tale, noting more," Shelton breathed, appalled at the guide's ridiculous story.

"That's enough, Shelton," Veronica said, very caught up in the man's words. She believed every bit of his story. Her rescuer had seemed to have little fear of the dogs, and he'd met the one atop the ledge with both steely nerve and unerring strength.

"Continue," Veronica urged the little man.

"He will
not,"
Shelton cut in.

Veronica cast the coachman a quelling look.

The small guide ignored Shelton's warning. To Veronica he said, "I will at 'at, but not in 'is place, w' 'at yawnin' black 'ole nearby. Beggin' yer pard'n, m'lady, but it be in the black, and out o' caves like 'at one, 'at the specter makes itself known."

"Very well then," said Veronica, eager to get her coachman and the guide away from where Julian had gone. "Let us head back to the main of the abbey. You can tell your story as we go."

Shelton, not at all pleased, had no choice but to do as his lady suggested. The three of them headed out of the ruinous building.

"So you have seen a man here?" Veronica asked Drubbs as they walked.

"If it
be
a man. Chock-full 'o madness, it wuz—all wild ey'd, 'air like Samson's own, beard un-trimmed..."

"I see," Veronica murmured. "And the man's name? His origins? Does anyone know?" she asked, refusing yet again to acknowledge Shelton's frown.

The guide shook his head. "No one knows. But 'e be called The Riv'rkeep by all who dwell here."

"Riverkeep? Why is that?"

"'E's said t' 'ave a path 'longside the riv'r, clearin' brush fer the animals and fer the trout in the wat'r. I sees 'im meself, walk'n the water's edge, keepin' close, as if the Riv'r Skell gives 'im power—but only in the darkest of night did I git such a glimpse, mind ye, and only a quick glimpse at 'at. There be others claim 'e walks the insides of Fount'ns and whut sees 'is black eyes lookin' out. Watchin' fer somethin' or
someone."

"How interesting."

"It be said, too, m'lady 'at 'e be deaf as the day is long."

"Deaf?"

"Aye. Can't 'ear a thing. Could shout at 'im from afar and get no response, m'lady. But try t' get closer, and 'e senses yer presence right fast. The Riv'rkeep be said t' feel
all
things, m'lady. Ev'n be decipherin' a person's thoughts."

Veronica felt a tingle whirl up her spine at this last bit of news. Had Julian deciphered
her
thoughts while he'd been kissing her?

Veronica pushed the notion aside, not liking what the memory of his mouth on hers did to her heartbeat. She needed to keep her composure and not give Shelton any indication that she'd actually met this mysterious Riverkeep, let alone been touched and held by the man.

She turned her mind to the guide's description of Julian. Deaf, he'd said. That would explain Julian's words to her earlier and the moistness she'd seen in his eyes upon hearing her speak. Heavens, but their tumble and the blow he'd suffered during the fall must have had something to do with the restoration of his hearing. Doubtless hers had been the first voice he'd heard... but in how long? she wondered. Drubbs had mentioned something about twelve months. Could Julian have been at Fountains for such a length of time?

She shuddered inwardly, imagining Julian, alone and deaf, walking among these ruins month after month. What a beastly way to exist.

But what had forced him here? From what or whom had he fled? And why, of all places, had he chosen Fountains?

"Be 'e demon or ghost, m'lady," the guide continued, cutting into Veronica's thoughts, "'e be trouble fer sure—eyes black as the very Pit, the soul within 'im just as fright fill'd, no doubt."

Veronica stumbled slightly over a step, but quickly righted herself. "Surely you don't believe that, sir. Why would you say such a thing?"

"Only the devil 'imself, a specter, or a man wi' an evil past would live such a life, I'spect. If the Riv'rkeep be a man o' flesh-and-blood—which I doubt—then a dangerous sort 'e be."

This time, Veronica could not conceal the shudder that stole through her. Yes, Julian had appeared to be a man with something to hide. But was the cause of his hiding some fiendish act done
to
him, or
by
him?

Veronica's shiver deepened as she remembered suddenly that she'd given him her direction, had told him where she'd be spending the night. Had she made a dreadful mistake in sharing with the dangerous stranger what little she had about her Venus Mission?

Shelton, eyeing his lady, noted her sudden unease. Thoroughly disgusted by all this talk, he glowered at Drubbs and barked, "Enough talk, man. Just lead the way out of this gawdforsaken place."

Veronica sent a glance at her coachman, but decided not to object further. Shelton was as good as the right hand of her father. He'd been handpicked by Earl Wrothram to act as coachman to his daughters, not because Shelton harbored any skills greater than other coachmen, but simply because he could be trusted to carry out her father's exact word.

Ever versatile, and working his way up through various positions within the nobility, Shelton clearly knew on which side his bread was buttered. He had been many things during his life of serving the titled swells of Polite Society—a veritable henchman long ago for a vicious old crone of a lord full of thunder and vengeance, after that an instructor of boxing for the gentlemen in Town who liked such a sport... and for the past ten years, coachman to Veronica's family, his every move overseen by Earl Wrothram.

Shelton's allegiance to the earl was great, and his allegiance was further assured by the hefty coin he earned for dogging the steps of his employer's youngest daughter.

For some reason Veronica had yet to puzzle out, her father seemed to think she would one day make a mockery of him. Though it was the sweet, too-beautiful Lily whom the members of the Venus Society were continually saving from certain scandal due to her penchant for falling in love with every man who cast an empty compliment her way, it was Veronica whom the earl seemed not to trust. Veronica could go nowhere but that the coachman knew of it, and she could do nothing but that Shelton eventually got wind of it.

That Veronica had managed to outsmart Shelton and get to Fountains Abbey long before he'd arrived was nothing short of miraculous.

Now that he'd found her, though, Veronica knew she'd have to be twice as conniving to get out from under his watchful eye ever again.

Veronica allowed Shelton his tiny victory of manipulating the moment, but only because she'd heard enough from the gnomelike Drubbs.

Despite what the locals thought about The Riverkeep—and despite the fact Veronica could only imagine about Julian' s nefarious past or lack thereof—she had to believe in her conclusion that he was the very person,
the only person,
who could help see this particular Venus Mission to a successful conclusion.

It was with that thought in mind that Veronica willingly allowed the guide and Shelton to lead her back to the horses, and then far away from the ruins of Fountains.

She glanced back only once.

The sight she saw took her breath away. The pale radiance of the moon cast the jutting stones of the abbey into a place of wonder and mystery.

Was Julian watching their retreat?

Odd, but Veronica felt certain that he was.

Felt, too, that she was not the same person she'd been when she'd first come upon the ancient abbey and her dangerous rescuer.

Veronica swallowed, then turned her face back to the road in front of her. A long Midsummer's Eve night lay ahead.

* * *

High up on a massive wall stood Julian, one dusty boot propped on a bit of stone, his right elbow anchored on his knee and his right hand stroking his bearded chin. He was positioned at an opening that had once been a window, beneath an arch of what had at one time been delicately wrought stone lace.

From his vantage point he watched as the speck of light that was the sum of the trio's lanterns grew dimmer and dimmer as the three made haste from the abbey's sprawling lands.

He had waited in the earthen cavern, his lamp extinguished. He'd not fully believed the lady's wild story of having to come to Fountains in search of a packet, and he had wondered if she would send the coachman and his companion into the cave after him.

But there had been no ambush in the passageway, and so Julian had decided there must be some truth in the lady's tale. Given that, and the fact she appeared so terrified of her servant, he'd waited until he was assured Lady Veronica would not be abused in anyway by the gun-toting coachman.

She'd held her ground well in the face of her coachman's questions. As for the other man... well, Julian had not been pleased to hear that he was thought to be a specter, a demon even. What rubbish.

And yet... the tale the man had told was not so far off the mark. Julian
had
felt like a specter when he'd first arrived at the abbey, his hearing gone, his heart torn asunder. And for ten long months he had done naught but hide from the light of day in the heart of Fountains.

But tonight he'd met Veronica and heard her speak. The sound of her voice in his ears had reawakened his world-weary soul, and the feel and taste of her had brought to life in him a hunger he'd not known in a long, long while.

After exiting the earthen cavern once Veronica and her followers had gone, Julian had climbed to the highest ledge of Fountains, letting the wind tear at his long hair, allowing the wondrous sounds of night to pour over and through him. And he'd known in that instant that he was not the dead shell of a man he'd been when he saved Veronica from the wild dogs.

He now felt renewed purpose and knew a kernel of hope.

Whether by divinity, accident or supreme plotting, the violet-eyed Veronica had proved to be a catalyst, yanking him out of a dreary place he'd been for far too long.

What exactly her presence at Fountains this night meant, though, not even Julian could guess. For good or ill, it was a mystery he intended to unravel.

* * *

Veronica was silent during the long ride back to the inn. She did not allow her coachman's accusatory mood to force her into any explanation of her wanderings. The man was an employee, she reminded herself. He did not need to know what she was about, or even the why of it.

They soon reached the village.

While Fountains had been an oasis filled with moonlight and mist once the dogs had gone, the village presented an altogether different atmosphere. Several bonfires had been lit in celebration of Midsummer's Eve, and everywhere Veronica looked there were people milling and moving about, their laughing faces wreathed in the fires' light. A mad celebration had begun—one likely not to end until dawn. The magic of summer had descended; the merriment was loud and raucous.

Veronica's only thought was that she'd not stayed at Fountains long. Perhaps the person intending to deposit Rathbone's packet was among these revelers. Perhaps that person was getting a bellyful of food and drink and would strike out much later for the abbey.

As soon as they reached the inn, Veronica slid down off her saddle, leaving Shelton to oversee the managing of the horses for the night. Then she scurried inside, moving quickly up the steps to her rented room. She could hear the shouts of voices outside, could see the light of the bonfires flickering through the thin-paned glass window on the first landing.

Filially reaching her room, Veronica thrust the door open.

Her maid jumped to her feet at the sight of her.

"La, m'lady," said the brown-haired, brown-eyed Nettie, "I feared you'd met a foul end this night, and yer coachman, well, he near box'd me ears fer losin' sight of you! Oh, please, I beg, d'not be runnin' away like that ag'n, m'lady—beggin' yer pardon I be fer ev'n sayin' such words!"

With a calm voice that belied the inner turmoil she was feeling, Veronica said, "You need not worry about anything, Nettie. I've returned now and am no more the worse for wear, I assure you."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. Very."

"But yer clothes be that rumpled, yer hat clean gone. Yer 'air, it be come undone frum its many pins... and—and yer
eyes,
m'lady!"

"What
about
my eyes, Nettie?"

The maid shrank back. "Nuthin'," she muttered and then, unable to help herself, and with a grimace for fear she'd be reprimanded, added nonetheless, "Other than m'lady be lookin' as though she just met 'er death... or ma'hap the light of 'er life."

Veronica blinked. "Do not be absurd, Nettie." But even as Veronica said the words, she wondered if the transformation in her soul was so very evident that her flighty maid should notice. Veronica fought for some semblance of emotion. "I've encountered neither, Nettie. Now, if it would not be too much trouble, I'd like hot water for a bath."

"Yes, m'lady. It be no trouble, o' course."

"And I'm famished, Nettie. Please see that a private parlour is prepared downstairs."

"Yes, m'lady." The girl seemed eager to be gone.

"And, Nettie?"

"Yes?" she asked, poised by the door like a nervous bird ready to spring from a cage.