Suzanne Robinson (9 page)

“Who is Mrs. Snow?”

“A blight upon the scenery of my life, Miss Dane. Mrs. Snow is my housekeeper. Been at the castle since she was a underhousemaid, which by my figuring must have been about two hundred years ago, the old besom. Ah, well. Have to endure it, I suppose.”

He got out and offered his hand to Prim, who had recovered her astonishment at the news that this ruffian seemed to fear his own housekeeper. She put her
hand in his, and in the moment before she stepped down from the carriage, he squeezed it and whispered to her.

“Pleased to see my castle has brought the color back to your cheeks, Miss Prim.”

Prim felt her face begin to burn, so she withdrew her hand and moved away from him as soon as she could. As she turned from him, the double doors at the head of a shallow staircase swung open, and a woman descended, followed by a gaggle of maids and several footmen. The footmen scurried to the coach and began unloading luggage, while the woman and her attendants bore down on Sir Lucas and Prim.

It was like awaiting the landing of one of those new ironclad ships. Soaring, black-clad, severe, the woman anchored herself before Sir Luke. Prim blamed exhaustion for her immediate dislike of Mrs. Snow. The housekeeper couldn’t help her looks—the beaky nose, the way her small incisors peeked from beneath her upper lip when her mouth grew pinched, her gaunt face that reminded one of Jacobean woodcuts depicting condemned sinners. Prim chastised herself silently while Sir Luke spoke to his housekeeper.

“And we’ll need something to eat.”

Mrs. Snow had fine eyes of light blue that seemed to bore into the soul looking for wrongdoing. They glared at her employer down that long, buzzard’s-beak nose. “I had no warning of your arrival, Sir Lucas.”

“I regret it exceedingly, Mrs. Snow.”

“There is nothing prepared in the kitchens. The guest rooms haven’t been aired. There are no fresh flowers about. I am not used to such precipitance.
When his lordship was in residence, everything was done without haste and with decorum.”

Sir Lucas stared at his boots and mumbled something into the collar of his coat. Waiting beside him, Prim found herself amazed. Where was the dashing, ruthless Nightshade? Where was the man whose smallest word caused the denizens of the Black Fleece to cringe and Prim to cower in fright? In his place was a man who, although improved in grammar, seemed afraid of a servant.

With a jolt Prim awoke from the dazed state she’d been in since crossing the stream. The attitude of the servants and housekeeper made this man’s true position certain. This was indeed Sir Lucas, a man of property and legitimacy—of a sort. All this time, he really had been trying to help her. Providence only knew what would have happened to her had he been trying to do otherwise. She contemplated Nightshade in the role of savior. Doing so only added to her confusion. Prim found herself gawking at him and turned her attention back to the housekeeper, who was still complaining.

“Under his lordship, a proper manner was expected of all who lived at Beaufort.”

Clearing his throat, Sir Luke said, “I regret—”

“Sir Lucas.” Prim stepped forward before he could commit the folly of apologizing to this officious creature in front of his other servants. “You haven’t introduced me.”

Startled, he glanced down at her as if she were a stranger. “Oh, yes. Miss Dane, may I present my
housekeeper, Mrs. Snow. Mrs. Snow, Miss Dane will be my guest.”

“As I said, there are no rooms prepared.”

Before Sir Lucas could respond, Prim lost her patience. Turning to him, she said, “May I deal with this?”

After a hesitation, he nodded rapidly.

Prim turned and walked past Mrs. Snow with Sir Lucas close behind. The woman was left to rush after them. Inside the entry hall, Prim removed her bonnet and handed it to a maid without looking to see of the girl was ready to take it. She was slipping her mantle off as Mrs. Snow arrived. Prim held it out to her, and the woman took it without thinking.

“Mrs. Snow, Sir Lucas will require that his rooms and a guest room be made ready at once. You will also please see that the most comfortable sitting room is prepared so that we can rest while we’re waiting. We’ll have tea, I think. With whatever you have that is fresh—bread, scones, cakes. You may serve dinner at nine o’clock this evening, as you’ll need time to lay in a few fresh provisions.” Prim sighed and glanced around the foyer at the carved wood and suits of armor standing sentry. “Yes, I think that’s the best plan. You may show us to the sitting room, Mrs. Snow.”

The housekeeper seemed frozen in place, but in the face of Prim’s absolute confidence that her orders would be obeyed she snapped out of her daze. Thrusting the mantle at a housemaid, she said, “Yes, miss.”

Without a grumble or a mention of “his lordship,” she escorted them across the great hall to a room on the second floor of the west wing. She left them in a
chamber of warmth and light. Done in white and gold, it had a west-facing wall consisting of mullioned windows with pointed arches, a high, beamed ceiling, and a fireplace with a mantel of Italian marble.

While in the presence of the housekeeper, Sir Lucas was quiet and grim, but as the door closed on Mrs. Snow, Prim beheld a transformation. Sir Lucas Hawthorne’s worried frown vanished. Dark brows arched; his chin lowered and his gaze lifted along with the corners of his mouth. Prim edged away from him as he swept across the room to collapse with unstudied grace into a baroque tapestry-covered chair.

“Bless your bright eyes, Miss Prim, you struck old Snow all of a heap.”

Seeing that Nightshade had no designs to annoy her, Prim sank into a chair beside a boulle mosaic cabinet and studied its gilded bronze fittings. How could this man be Sir Lucas, and how could Sir Lucas be Nightshade? Young thieves from the stews of London didn’t acquire tides, never mind knighthoods. But this one must have. Gathering her wits, Prim addressed her captor-host.

“Mr. Night—Sir Lucas, I think we should begin anew. Would you please tell me where I am and who you are?”

“You going to believe me this time?”

“Mr. Nightshade, I have seen you at your worst, and now I want an explanation. Where am I, and who are you?”

“I told you. You’re in my castle. Castle Beaufort is what it’s called. And I’m Luke Hawthorne.”

Faint furrows appeared between Prim’s eyebrows. “Perhaps you would be so good as to explain how a person of your … station, came to acquire a knighthood.”

“After Ross Scarlett helped me get out of London, I done some work for Her Majesty’s government.”

“What kind of work?”

Twisting sideways in his chair, Sir Lucas gazed up at the gilded white plaster garlands and scrollwork on the ceiling. “In government, especially the foreign ministry, there’s all sorts o’ situations that calls for my kind of skills. Ross had lots of occasions to acquire items in secret, ones foreign folk wouldn’t want us to know about. Documents and such things.”

“These documents must have been important to have resulted in such an elevation.”

Sir Lucas didn’t say anything. He twisted back around in his seat, planted his boots wide apart, and propped his elbows on his thighs. Clasping his hands, he lowered his chin and looked up at her. At that moment, he was so much more Nightshade than Sir Lucas that Prim thrust her fists into the billows of her skirts to hide their sudden trembling. She jumped when he spoke softly.

“Don’t.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I really am Sir Lucas Hawthorne, not some bloke sent to murder you.”

Prim threw up her hands. “You must expect to meet with skepticism, Sir Lucas. At our first meeting you pounced upon me like a wolf on a goat!”

“I had to. You’d been right hard to find, and I
wasn’t going to let you get away.” He forestalled her next comment by standing and walking to the fireplace. “Lady Freshwell asked Ross Scarlett to find you, and I done him the favor. That’s all. And as long as we’re asking questions, suppose you tell me why your blighted aunt waited three days before she called on Ross. He said she was more concerned with avoiding scandal than finding you. She’d already put it about that you’d gone to visit friends in the country.”

Prim brightened. “Then my brother still doesn’t know what’s happened.”

“Oy! That’s right. You got a brother. Why didn’t you go to him?”

“He’s still at university. Oxford.”

“What does that matter? Why are you living with your aunt if you got a brother?”

“Sir Lucas, you’re being impertinent.”

“Impertinent. That’s a great word. I got another, frangible. That means easily broke, like that Venetian lace glass in the cabinet.” He pointed to a fragile plate that did indeed look as if it had been made of wispy glass lace, but then he snapped his fingers. “Now I remember. Ross told me your brother is some lord or something.”

Prim felt her back stiffen and heard her voice grow cold. “My brother was the heir to the family title.”

“And that means he’s got a big house and lots of land.”

“Sir Lucas, your manners. Such inquiries are not acceptable in Society. Be assured that if my brother could afford it, I would be at home instead of with Lady Freshwell and her son.”

“Who’s that?”

Sighing, Prim said, “Lord Newton Freshwell.”

“Newton, huh?”

“Yes, Newton.”

“Sounds a weak-kneed blighter to me. Oh, don’t get all stiff and huffy. From what you’ve told me, you couldn’t go to any o’ these people without danger to them anyway, and we can’t have them here to give you away.”

“My reputation has been ruined already. It was destroyed when I didn’t meet the servant Lady Freshwell sent for me at the appointed time.”

“Don’t worry, my ma and pa are here. So everything’s all proper, and later when this is all over, we can say you were here all along.”

“I doubt such a ruse will suffice.”

“Sure it will. I’ll get Ross to spread the tale around to his friends, Mrs. Treat-Fotheringay, Lady Mendlehouse, old Cyril Richmond. He’ll set you right. But first you got to tell this secret of yours.”

Prim glanced around the room. It was one of those imposing chambers decorated in the days of Louis XIV, the Sun King. The white plaster ceiling with its classical motifs, the baroque furniture and the delicate Venetian glass in its various cabinets spoke of Sir Lucas’s wealth. She sneaked a look at her host. He was watching her with that quizzical expression that momentarily banished Nightshade’s menace. This mercurial ruffian-turned-gentleman had saved her life. She must admit that. Having made the admission, she could not then place his life in danger. Honor forbade it.

He crossed the room, pausing a few feet from her chair and lifting an eyebrow. “Well?”

“I decline to tell you.”

“Young blighted Prim, you tell me this instant.”

“I shall not place you in danger.”

“I’ve lived in fear o’ my life since I was old enough to spit.”

“Sir, your language.”

“I ain’t having no Miss Prim put herself between me and peril. Rot you! First you’re afraid of me, and now you’re afraid for me, and for no reason.”

As he spoke, he approached her and Prim stood, ready to flee. “It’s not just you—” She closed her mouth quickly, and her tongue peeked at the corner.

“Oy! What do you mean?” He eyed her closely.

It was then that Nightshade made his appearance. Sir Lucas’s gentleness vanished, submerged in the molten fierceness of the black-souled ruffian she’d come to know. Silken tones caused a shiver to run through her.

“Now my precious little imp, tell me, my well-bred lady, my sweet, who else knows your secret.”

“I—” Her voice cracked and she had to start again, wishing she didn’t sound so fainthearted. “I decline to tell you.”

He moved nearer then; she was forced to step back and landed in the chair. Nightshade swiftly bent down and placed his hands on the arms of her chair so that she couldn’t escape. He was so close she could feel the heat of his body and catch the spiced-wood scent of him. Prim’s mouth felt like an old carpet. She shrank
back, all the while trying to meet his dark-eyed, vandal’s stare.

“Miss Dane,” he whispered. “I’ve persuaded many to do what I wish. Don’t make me have to persuade you.”

Shaking inside like a sheet of parchment in a gale, Prim forced herself to hold his gaze. “Sir Lucas,” she snapped, “you’re going to have to decide whether you’re a criminal or a gentleman. You will do me the courtesy of making that decision at once, for I won’t be battered by your sudden changes of character any further.”

“We’ll see whether you will or won’t,” he murmured.

It was then that a knock on the door made Nightshade whirl around and Sir Lucas seek his place in a chair opposite Prim. He responded to the knock and a parlormaid and footman entered. Relieved, Prim almost smiled at the way the knock elicited in him a sudden attack of civility. It was like watching a dark room burst into illumination from a gaslight.

The footman brought in a heavy silver tray laden with a tea service and china, while the maid followed with a smaller one piled with food. Prim couldn’t help watching Sir Lucas’s reaction to the intrusion. He beheld the approach of the servants, a general watching the advance of a dangerous and better-armed army. When the footman stopped beside him and looked at him in inquiry, Sir Lucas glared back and said nothing. It was then that Prim realized he had no notion of what was expected, was
embarrassed that he didn’t know, and was prepared to sit glaring at the poor servant to conceal his ignorance.

Prim found that she could not contemplate Sir Lucas’s embarrassment with pleasure. “If you will allow me, Sir Lucas?”

“What? Oh, yes, of course, Miss Prim—Miss Dane.”

Prim gave instructions with the ease and assurance of a lifetime of being waited on. The trays were placed on a table situated between a settee and two armchairs.

“Thank you,” she said to the footman. “That will be all.”

“Yes, miss.”

When the two were gone, she waited for her host to indicate whether she should serve or not, but he was occupied with scowling at the door through which the servants had disappeared.

“Sir Lucas, would you like me to pour?”