Johanna Lindsey (7 page)

For all she knew, there could have been another accident during that time. Douglas might already be dead….

She paled at the thought. Good God, she hoped not. But the irony was there, that she could be paupering herself for naught. She didn’t think Sebastian would have the decency to release her from the obligation if they did find out his father was already dead. He used to be a decent sort and a lot more. He used to be a charming young man, honorable, exemplary, quite the catch in his day, heir to an earldom, rich, exceptionally handsome, and well liked by his peers.

Of course, she knew none of that at the time, hadn’t been interested in such things at the age she’d been before he left England. She’d heard it all after the fact, the bemoaning of certain ladies who missed him, the bemoaning of old dames who’d hoped to lure him into their families with one female relative or another.

But she had been fascinated by him, and she’d never been able to forget the night she’d spied on him in the garden behind her home. The terrace had been well lit, the garden just beyond it hadn’t been, and he’d managed a rendezvous with one of Eleanor’s friends there. She’d followed him only because she’d been surreptitiously watching him from the edges of the party since he’d arrived.

She hadn’t expected to come around a hedge and almost collide with him and the lady. They were already kissing! That was so quick, he must have started it as soon as he’d found the lady there. And they were so involved in the kissing that they hadn’t heard her approach. She’d jumped back behind the hedge, embarrassed at first, but then her curiosity got the better of her and she’d poked her head around to watch them.

Her eyes had adjusted by then to the moonlight filtering down through the treetop. They were in an alcove in the garden, with a tree at the center and a bench set below it, surrounded by flowers and hedges. She used to come there herself to read in the summer. She never went there again after that night, so potent was the memory of watching Sebastian in such a sensual embrace, the lady trapped in his arms and not minding a’tall. Or maybe the lady didn’t notice when his hand caressed her derriere, or stopped briefly to feel her breast. She seemed too enthralled to be aware of anything other than his kiss, and yet, he was doing so much more than just kissing her. His hands were all over her, and his body, oh my, the way he used his body to such titillating effect…

Margaret always wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t broken that twig when she’d lost her balance trying to get a better view of them. That twig had made a bloody loud noise. A slap had followed, then the lady ran back to the house. Maggie had watched her run off, then turned back to find Sebastian’s golden eyes on her. He didn’t appear upset. If anything, his raised brow indicated some amusement.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” he’d asked her.

“Yes.”

“Like breaking rules, do you?”

“Yes.”

She could blame her frustration at being discovered for those silly answers, but he’d been amused enough to grin as he came to stand next to her.

“Why’d she slap you?” Maggie had asked curiously.

He’d shrugged, hadn’t seemed the least bit annoyed about it. “Proper thing to do, I suppose,” he’

d said, “after she realized there were precocious eyes in the shadows.” And then he’d tilted her chin up and winked at her. “Word of advice, moppet. Grow up a few years before you steal off for an innocent kiss or two at parties.”

“With you?”

He’d laughed. “Doubt I can wait that long to settle down, but you never know.” And then he’d strolled off, never realizing the profound effect he’d had on her.

He was no longer the heir to Edgewood. He was certainly no longer the charmer. And she didn’t doubt that decency was now far beyond his capabilities. But he obviously knew how to get things done, or he wouldn’t have such a glowing reputation as The Raven.

He finally came out—already mounted on his stallion! What a sinister picture the two of them made, black stallion, Sebastian in a black greatcoat, man and horse on the steps of those ruins, crumbling stones all around them, a cloud-laden dawn sky behind them. A shiver passed down Margaret’s back.

She must be mad to associate with him at all. He simply wasn’t the man he used to be, wasn’t the man she’d pictured when she set out to find him. What the devil was she getting herself into?

Sebastian walked his horse slowly to the coach, drew abreast of the window, which she opened.

He had no luggage attached to his mount either. Maybe he was still going to order her to leave.

She held her breath, waiting for all her doubts to be abruptly realized. He raised a brow at her.

Was her face turning blue? she wondered. She let her breath out in a whoosh, which he surely heard.

She even detected a smirk in his tone when he said, “Afraid I wouldn’t meet you in town?” There was no point in denying it. “Actually—that did occur to me.” He stared at her for a long moment before he sighed and said, “Given our brief conversation, I will allow that you had no way to know that once I accept a job I will see it through to the end.”

“So you were about to head into town?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, be glad I’ve saved you the trouble,” she said pertly, and then she recollected her manners and introduced Edna to him, who was quite wide-eyed with her first sight of him. “And my driver, Oliver, is Edna’s husband. If you have any luggage you want to put on the coach, Oliver can help you.”

He shook his head. “My caretaker transported what we’re taking with us to Le Havre yesterday.” She was surprised. So he’d had no second thoughts?

Before he could change his mind, she suggested, “Shall we be off? If we hurry, we can possibly catch ship by this afternoon.”

“Highly doubtful,” he replied, the smirk back in his tone. “But as you wish.” He turned his horse about and took off down the road, with John and Timothy close behind him.

Margaret took a moment to deal with her maid’s amazement.

“You can close your mouth now, Edna.”

The older woman humphed to cover her blush. “Goodness, I never would have recognized him.

And I hope I was just imagining that dangerous air about him.” Margaret sighed. “It wasn’t your imagination, but his intimidating manner is to be expected, considering the profession he took up. Just keep in mind he’s still Sebastian Townshend.”

“Yes, there is his impeccable lineage, and he’s quite handsome, too. Or didn’t you notice that?” Margaret would have to be blind to not notice that, but she pretended not to hear Edna’s question and focused on the view out the window. Oliver had to crack his whip a few times to keep up with the trio as the morning wore on.

It was a bumpy ride for the most part. The roads, which had been exceptionally good throughout most of France, weren’t well maintained in this area, at least not until they reached the main road to Le Havre.

But they were in luck when they arrived at the docks of the old harbor on the northern coast of France. One ship was late departing because its crew had had a bit too much fun carousing the night before. They’d lost their passenger list, too, because of that delay, so they were happy to take on Margaret and her entourage. Even her coach was quickly hefted aboard. Before she knew it, they were sailing out into the channel.

Come what may, Margaret had made her bargain. She just hoped she wouldn’t live to regret bringing Sebastian Townshend home to England.

S
EBASTIAN CONSIDERED MOST OF THE JOBS he took rather easy, despite how difficult they might appear at first. Apply a little English logic, perhaps a military approach if needed, and voilà, he’d pick up his substantial fees. But for Sebastian there was nothing easy about crossing the channel into English waters.

Standing on the deck of the ship that was taking him back to his homeland brought it all back, the horror of killing his best friend, the surprise on Giles’s face as he dropped to the ground. It was still so vivid in his mind. He’d had so many nightmares about that day that changed his life so drastically. So many times he’d wondered if he could have done something differently to prevent it.

Fall was ending and the chill of winter was already creeping in, particularly out on the water. He could feel the damp chill even under his greatcoat, which flapped in the wind on the deck. He didn’t like traveling in winter, didn’t like his ruins at this time of the year either.

He usually took a sojourn during these months in southern France or Italy. It wasn’t necessary for him to work year-round with the fees he commanded. In another few days he would have departed northern France, and Margaret Landor probably wouldn’t have heard of The Raven. She would have continued on her way home alone—to find what, when she got there?

He frowned and glanced at her farther down the deck, where she stood gazing out to sea as well.

The late afternoon sun added golden highlights to her light brown hair. He’d rather not have found out how pretty that looked.

She’d been wearing a bonnet earlier, but the wind had caught it and whipped it across the deck and over the railing on the other side. The face she’d made as she watched it fly beyond her reach had been rather amusing. And she hadn’t gone to fetch another bonnet, despite the brisk wind playing havoc with her hair.

When the last of her chignon tumbled down and her long hair was flying every which way, she’d simply grasped the lot of it in her fist and held it tightly to her chest. That wasn’t how most vain, aristocratic women behaved, which was rather odd. Most ladies were concerned with their appearance at all times, but apparently Margaret wasn’t one of them.

He’d hoped to avoid discourse with Lady Margaret for most of their short journey. She seemed to prefer it that way. But there was pertinent information he needed from her before they reached home, a few things he had to impart to her as well. He approached her now to get it over with.

“You may not have considered this,” he said, drawing her attention, “but my presence will need to remain unknown for several days while I ascertain the situation. The only way to do that is to abide in your house, with your servants sworn to secrecy, in case any of them happen to recognize me. I assume you will accommodate us?”

She was frowning by the time he finished. He guessed she hadn’t planned on putting them up, had possibly thought her involvement was done. Bring him home and leave the rest to him, as it were.

She took a moment, he supposed to grasp all the implications of having a bachelor as a guest, then surprisingly didn’t offer a single argument about it. “Certainly,” she said. “You should remember White Oaks. You were there for my sister’s engagement party.”

He wondered at her sudden blush, until he remembered the last time he’d seen her. “Yes,” he replied. “As I recall, it had a nice garden.”

Her blush deepened and was accompanied by a glare now. He nearly laughed. Apparently proper Margaret Landor would rather not remember how impulsive and improper she’d been as a child. Or maybe she still liked breaking rules but just didn’t want anyone to know about it.

He decided to let her off the hook. “We should have no trouble keeping out of each other’s way, since I also recall that White Oaks was nearly as big as Edgewood.”

“Bigger,” she rejoined with a tight little smirk, yet another indication of her competitive nature. “My father did some renovating after Eleanor ran off. And I added a conservatory off of the dining room when I decided I’d like to garden year-round rather than just in the warmer months.”

“Another gardener?” he replied with a roll of his eyes.

She raised a brow. “You enjoy flowers?”

“Not in the least, but my man John does.”

“It’s very relaxing, you know,” she imparted. “You should try it.”

“Flowers tend to die when I’m around them.”

She blinked, then made a moue. “That wasn’t very funny.”

“Was I laughing?”

She snorted. “I believe you’ve forgotten how to. Tell me, what have you been doing with yourself all these years, aside from building that remarkable reputation for accomplishing impossible tasks? Wasn’

t it rather—difficult—having your base in France, with Napoleon so annoyed with us?” He did have to work at not laughing this time. “Annoyed? That’s a rather gentle way of expressing the little tyrant’s sentiments toward Britain. He had us blockaded from every one of his conquered countries and forced his allies to do the same, whether they wanted to or not. He was planning on invading England, you know, and probably would have, if he hadn’t been distracted by the Russians.”

“Yes, I know we finally got fed up with the trade blockades and took the war to him,” she replied.

“But did you get involved at all?”

He shrugged. “A little. My particular talents came in handy during the Peninsular War, especially since I’m fluent in the French language, so I offered my services.”

“You acted as a spy!” she guessed.

“How astute of you. But I wasn’t involved for very long, just toward the end, when they forced Napoleon’s brother Joseph to flee from Madrid. And I wasn’t in France when Napoleon marched across it in 1815, gathering his last army, after his abdication. I had several jobs in Italy that year, didn’t even hear about his last effort to regain his throne until he was exiled again. But to answer your question, I bought those ruins only four years ago, after his exile, so no, I haven’t experienced any difficulty making my home in France.”

“You actually call that pile of stones a home?”

“Slip of the tongue, Lady Margaret. You’re right. It’s no more than a convenient place where I can be contacted. As it happens, I’m not there often, and rarely at this time of the year. If I hadn’t had a delivery to make near there, I probably would have been on my way to Italy by now.”