Ann Lethbridge - Bane Beresford

The wind howled through a nearby crevice, lifting the hair at her nape. Her heart picked up speed. The girls at school had told late-night stories of ghosts and hauntings that started like this. Deliciously wicked in their frightening aspects and heroic deeds. Figments of imagination. She did not believe in ghosts. People like her, practical people, did not have the luxury of such flights of fancy, yet she could not quite quell the fear gripping her chest. ‘Who is there?’ She was shocked at the tremble in her voice.

The light drew closer. A candle held in a square-fingered hand joined to a brawny figure still in the darkness. Him. The new earl.

How she knew, she wasn’t sure, but her skin prickled with the knowledge. Heat flushed up from her belly. ‘My lord?’ she said. Her voice quavering just a little more than she would have liked. ‘Lord Beresford?’

The candle went upwards, lighting his harsh face.

‘Great goliaths,’ she said, letting go of her breath. ‘Do you always creep around hallways in such a fashion?’ Oops. That sounded a bit too much like the schoolteacher taking a pupil to task.

The eyes staring down at her were not dark as she had thought in the old earl’s bedroom. They were as grey as storm clouds. And watchful.

‘Are you lost?’ he drawled in that deep mocking voice with its hint of roughness.

‘Certainly not,’ she replied, discomposed by his obvious indifference. Heat rushed to her cheeks and she was glad the dim light would not reveal her embarrassment. She let her gaze fall away.

‘Liar,’ he said softly.

She bristled.

‘That’s better.’

A snuffling sound drew her gaze down. The dog. It sank to its haunches and watched her with its head cocked on one side. It was enormous. ‘What is better?’ she asked, keeping a wary eye on the dog.

‘It is better when you stand up straight, instead of hunching over like a scared schoolgirl.’

As a schoolgirl, she had tried to disguise her ungainly height. It spoke to her discomfort that she had fallen back into that old habit.

She looked up past the wide chest and broad shoulders, past the snowy cravat and strong column of throat, his full mobile mouth at eye level, then up to meet his gaze. Most men were either her height or shorter. This one was taller than her by half a head—he must be inches above six foot tall—and he reeked of danger.

What snatches of conversation she’d heard between him and the dying earl had been positively menacing. And, unless she was badly mistaken, some of the venom shifting back and forth between them had been directed at her.

‘If you will excuse me, I must be on my way.’

‘On your way where?’

‘To my room.’

He shot her a wolfish smile. ‘So that was not your room. The one you just left.’

‘No,’ she muttered, making to step past him.

‘What were you doing in that chamber?’

Did he think she was trying to steal? She stiffened her spine, meeting his gaze full on. Such directness usually sent men running for the hills. On this one it apparently had no effect. Or none visible, though she did sense a sharpening of interest in those wintery eyes.

She huffed out a breath of defeat. ‘I will admit I am a little turned about. My chamber is in the tower at the north end of the house. I thought I would ring for a servant to guide me, but there was no bell pull in the first room I tried.’

‘A clever thought.’

‘I am clever.’ She bit her lip. That was just the sort of quick retort men did not like. A habit of bravado honed in the schoolroom.

He didn’t seem to notice. ‘Follow me.’ He strode past her down the corridor, the dog following at his heels, leaving her to trot along behind as best she might.

He took a flight of stairs down and then passed along a stone corridor that smelled of must and damp. She was sure she had not come this way.

He hesitated at yet another intersection of passageways.

She huffed out a breath. ‘Don’t tell me, you are lost too.’

He gave her a scornful look. ‘I never get lost.’

Doubt filled her mind. ‘Have you ever been to this house before?’

‘North is this way.’ He set off once more with the dog padding beside him.

Hah. Avoidance. He was just as lost as she was. More lost. Because she was quite sure from the increasingly dank feel to the air that they were now in the cellars. The sea growled louder too. Typical. Why would men never admit to being lost?

About to insist they stop, she was surprised when he took off up a circular flight of narrow stairs she hadn’t noticed. At the top, he turned left and there they were, at her chamber door. How irritating. And she still had no idea how she got here. It didn’t matter. She had no reason to learn her way around, since she would be departing at once.

‘Thank you, my lord.’ She dipped her best curtsy and prayed he would not hear the wry note in her voice.

He held his candle high and caught her chin in long strong fingers just like the old man had done. But these fingers were warm with youth and strong with vigour and, while firm, they were also gentle. She jerked her head, but he held her fast.

She stared up at his face, at the beautifully moulded lips set in a straight line hovering above hers. His head dipped a fraction. Angled. She could feel his breath, warm on her cheek, inhaled a hint of cologne, something male, mingled with leather and horse and briny air that made her feel dizzy.

She drew in a deep breath as his gaze fell on her mouth, lingering there, until she thought he would kiss her. Longed that he would to break this dreadful tension between them.

Nervous, she licked her lips.

His eyes narrowed and he raised that piercing gaze to meet hers as if he would read her mind. Stroked her chin with his thumb and, she shivered. He leaned closer and for a wild moment, she thought he really did intend to kiss her and her body hummed at the thought.

Instead, he spoke. ‘Who are you?’ he rasped softly.

‘Mary,’ she managed to gasp in a breathless whisper, her breathing beyond her control. ‘Mary Wilding.’

‘Wilding?’ A brow went up. ‘And what brought you here, Miss Wilding?’

She swallowed. ‘I was invited. By the earl.’

‘The late earl.’

She nodded.

He stepped back, releasing her face. ‘And what is your purpose here, I wonder?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I will be leaving first thing.’

‘I see. Well, Miss Wilding, I bid you goodnight. We will talk before you go.’

She remained frozen as he disappeared back down the twisting stairs and she was left alone, in the silence, not hearing even his footsteps and feeling strangely giddy.

Breathless, from … fear? The fluttering in her belly, the tremble in her hands, could be nothing else. Though what made her fearful, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps her reactions? To him? Would she have actually let him kiss her, had he wanted to do so?