How to Tame a Beastly Lord (Happy Ever Regency Book 2) Page 7

  Relieved to have an explanation, Eugenie nonetheless frowned at Isabelle’s words. “Ghosts?” she asked as she looked at the young woman by her side. “What on earth do you mean?”

  “He likes to hide,” Isabelle elaborated before she looked toward one of the corridors leading off toward the east. “Liam!” she called. “Come on out and greet her ladyship!”

  Belatedly, Eugenie realized that it was quite odd for a lady’s maid to have a child. A child, no less, who ran wild in her master’s home. “Is your husband employed here as well?”

  For a split second, Isabelle’s gaze darkened before she managed to hold on to the joyous, carefree mask she seemed to wear. “My…Liam’s father has passed on,” she told Eugenie before striding a few steps down the corridor and calling for her son once more.

  Eugenie frowned. Clearly, there was something Isabelle did not wish to share with her.

  A moment later, the soft pitter-patter of little feet came echoing down the hallway and Eugenie looked up, seeing the boy she had spotted outside near the chapel hurrying toward his mother. As fair as Isabelle was, her son’s hair was as black as the night, his eyes a silvery-blue. He glanced about shyly, remaining half-hidden behind his mother and only carefully looked at Eugenie when his mother introduced him.

  “Good day to you, Liam,” Eugenie said kindly, lowering herself to her knees so as not to frighten him. From Milly, she had learned that children appreciated it when one sought to converse with them on the same level. “I hear you like to hide.”

  Slowly, the boy nodded. He was perhaps a year younger than Milly.

  Eugenie smiled at him. “That is a relief,” she told him, noting the hint of surprise that came to his eyes. “Does that mean you know your way around? I’m afraid I’m awfully lost.”

  Again, the little head bobbed up and down.

  “Marvelous!” Eugenie exclaimed. “Would you mind showing me to my chambers? I’m certain if I were to try and find them myself, I’d be walking around for hours. Would you help me?”

  A small smile tickled the boy’s mouth, and his eyes shone with a sense of pride. He squared his shoulders and stood taller, a new purpose etched into his features. “Please follow me, my lady.”

  “Thank you so much,” Eugenie told him as she rose to her feet. Catching Isabelle’s eyes, she smiled as she saw the warm glow in the young woman’s gaze.

  “Thank you as well,” Isabelle whispered, leaning in confidently, as they both followed young Liam down the corridor. “He is a very quiet little boy, who likes to be on his own. Still, sometimes I think he feels lonely.” She sighed. “It’s not always easy to find one’s place.”

  Eugenie nodded, knowing only too well how that felt.

  A large corridor hung with portraits of her husband’s family—Eugenie presumed—led them deeper into the house. Eugenie kept her eyes open and did her best to remember the turns Liam took as Isabelle chattered on. “There are few servants here at present as you will have noticed,” she added with a side-glance at Eugenie. “Not much is needed when the master of the house lives like a recluse.” She gave a disapproving snort, and Eugenie got the impression that Isabelle was quite familiar with the master of the house. Indeed, the way she spoke, so free and unrestrained, was not the way a lady’s maid would speak of her master, especially not when in the company of her new mistress.

  Eugenie wondered if Isabelle was, indeed, a mere lady’s maid or if there was more to her story.

  Liam stopped outside a large door, his gaze guarded. Nevertheless, there was a hint of delight, of accomplishment in his blue eyes.

  Eugenie smiled at him. “Thank you so much for your help, Liam. May I call upon you again should I require your assistance?”

  Smiling, the little boy nodded before dashing off, disappearing back into the dark nooks and crannies of the ancient fortress.

  Isabelle chuckled before she stepped forward and opened the door to the large chamber lying on the other side of it.

  Despite its size, it was a cozy room with warm wood paneling and a massive fireplace taking up half the side wall. Sconces hung on the walls and rugs covered the floors while a chandelier fitted with a myriad of candles dangled over its center. A chaise lounge stood near the fireplace, and a number of armchairs were set in a half-circle beside it. Small tables and cabinets graced the walls, and a larger table with four upholstered chairs had been set near the back wall.

  By the outer wall, a door led into another room.

  “The bedchamber is through there,” Isabelle said, confirming Eugenie’s suspicions, as she stepped forward and led the way.

  Following her lady’s maid, Eugenie found herself in an equally pleasant room, a large four-poster bed with ruby red curtains sitting opposite another fireplace. Here, too, rugs warmed the floors while tapestries hung on the walls.

  “This used to be the guest wing,” Isabelle explained as her gaze drifted over Eugenie’s trunks that had been brought here by one or more of Ravengrove’s invisible servants. “It faces the east and allows you to rise with the sun.” A small grin appeared on her lips as she began unpacking Eugenie’s trunks. Isabelle added, “Should you wish to.”

  Eugenie returned the kind gesture, but couldn’t help but wonder why her husband would give her a room in the east wing. Did he truly loathe her company so that he wanted her on the opposite side of Ravengrove?

  We had a fire there a few years back, and it has not yet been restored. Eugenie frowned as she remembered her husband’s words. Not yet? Did that mean that the west wing was still a place scorched by fire? And yet, her husband resided there? Or had the fire only affected a room or two? But if that was the case, why did he tell her not to set foot into the west wing itself?

  “How long ago was the fire?” Eugenie heard herself blurt out before caution could halt her tongue.

  Isabelle paused in her movements, one of Eugenie’s gowns dangling from her delicate fingers. Her eyes turned from her task and met her mistress’. “About eight years ago, my lady. Why do you ask?”

  “His lordship told me the west wing has not been restored yet.” A question clung to her words, and she could see that Isabelle understood her meaning with ease as the young woman’s blue eyes darkened with something akin to sorrow.

  “It has not,” she confirmed, a hard tone to her voice as though she disapproved of that fact. “His lordship has forbidden anyone from entering.” She shook her head as she turned back to unpacking the trunks. “He clings to the past as though it can shield him from the future.” A derisive snort escaped her lips, and her features hardened as her movements became fueled by latent anger. Her hands still moved fluidly; however, there was a harshness in the way she unpacked Eugenie’s belongings that spoke of frustration.

  Eugenie could not help but wonder why the young woman seemed so personally affected by her master’s decision to leave the west wing as it was. Had she tried to convince him to have it restored? If so, it most certainly wouldn’t have been a lady’s maid’s place to do so. Also, if Lord Remsemere’s family had died in the fire eight years ago, why was Isabelle still here as there had not been a lady at Ravengrove until today?

  Eugenie could not deny that all these questions bothered her. In the back of her mind, a suspicion began to take root that she refused to acknowledge…at least for the time being. For right now, Eugenie was relieved to have found a kind soul in her new lady’s maid and she refused to allow rumors and suspicions to dictate her life.

  No, she would keep an open mind and accept kindness and companionship wherever she could find it. After all, she had not seen a single ghost at Ravengrove, only poor souls plagued by the past who had not yet found their place in this world.

  Perhaps—in a strange way—Eugenie had been meant to find her way here as she, too, knew not where she belonged.

  Chapter Seven

  Envy

  Adrian could feel his body hum with the need to move.

  Over the past fortnight, he had barely left his chambers in the west wing, careful not to cross his new wife’s path. After all, he’d made her a promise and he intended to keep it, no matter what it would cost him. Neither could he risk her seeing her brother’s ribbon on his wrist.

  And so, he only ever left his room to sneak into the kitchen when his stomach rumbled in protest. He kept to the back stairs and took a longer, but less frequented way around in order to stay out of sight. Once, he’d heard her voice, his wife’s voice, as she’d spoken to a maid.

  Instantly, his feet had rooted him to the spot and he’d barely been able to draw breath. He’d remained hidden around a corner from the corridor where she’d stood, and only when she’d walked away, the soft echo of her footsteps following in her wake, had he been able to move.

  The sound of her voice had done something to him that he couldn’t understand, and more than once, he heard it whispering in his head as though she stood right beside him.

  Pacing the length of his chambers sometimes brought some relief, easing the tremble in his muscles. However, when that failed, Adrian sent for Mr. Spencer and then met his gardener in the ballroom. Only then, when he pushed his body to the point of exhaustion, did he feel the strain of simply being here leave his heart and soul.

  His body burned with the effort. His lungs screamed for relief. His blood boiled with the agony of his demands. And yet, Adrian felt liberated from the burdens of his life.

  Again, he missed the war, the single-mindedness of battle, the way only the here and now mattered and nothing else. It had been a simple life and much more suited to him, a man who did not dare dwell on his own past nor see to the future.

  As the days passed, Adrian remained torn with regard to his decision to marry Emery’s sister. Sometimes, he felt relief that he had been able to help her. He was determined to give her everything he could, hoping to make amends for failing to save her brother. What would her life have been like had Emery lived? Would she even have needed saving?

  Other times, Adrian cursed himself for allowing this wedding to take place. Now, Emery’s sister was here at Ravengrove, the place where happiness had been lost long ago. Where a curse threatened everyone he cared about. Where he would forever need to tread carefully lest he endanger her as well.

  Ever since Emery had been murdered in his stead, Adrian had feared that others might follow. That the curse might strike again, taking another life close to him. And so, he had determinedly resisted everyone’s attempts to draw him back into life at Ravengrove, growling and snapping like a rabid dog to keep people at bay. Only Mrs. Perry and Isabelle knew him too well to misinterpret his actions. They were stubbornly refusing to leave him be, their care and compassion bringing them back to him again and again.

  Adrian could only hope that they wouldn’t have to pay for their insistence…with their lives.

  Fortunately, his new wife showed no inclination to seek him out, and Adrian prayed that it would keep her safe.

  Still, ever since her arrival at Ravengrove, his nightmares had been particularly insistent as though they could sense his weakness, his fear, and knew now was the moment to attack. Again, he heard his brother’s screams. Again, smoke stole into his lungs. Again, he felt the fire’s heat on his skin.

  Again and again, he woke drenched in sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs as though it sought to break free. Not even the cold water he dumped over his head managed to cool his flesh or chase away the memories that lingered. For hours, he would stand at the window, staring out into the dark of night and watching as the sun began to cast its rays across the sky.

  The morning found him exhausted, dark rings under his eyes, his movements sluggish as his limbs urged him for rest. Although Adrian longed for the oblivion of sleep, he did not dare rest his head for fear of what might await him once his subconscious took over, opening the door to the past and allowing it back into the present.

  One night, rain poured from the skies in heavy torrents and was flung against the outer walls by a strong wind, its gusts rattling the shutters on their hinges. In the far distance, Adrian could see lightning streak across the sky, like a spark struck but then gone the next.

  Fear gripped him, crawled up his arms and legs and left goose bumps in its wake. Unbidden, memories soared to the forefront of his mind, the door that had been locked on them only a moment ago now thrown wide open.

  Stock-still, Adrian had stood by the window, his eyes unblinking, as he had waited for the deafening crash of thunder.

  Thunder! A sound that was now irrevocably tied to the night his family had been taken from him. A sound that sent terror through his bones. A sound that made him wish he had died with them.

  But it never came.

  That night, all remained quiet as the storm passed Ravengrove in the distance, only a mild echo of its force visible. Still, Adrian spent the night by the window, remembering, seeing with his mind’s eye, unable to tear himself away.

  He ought to have died with them, but he hadn’t. Why?

  A sharp knock broke into his daze, and his head snapped up painfully.

  Barely a moment later, Isabelle traipsed into his chamber without a second thought, her blond curls dancing on her shoulders and a soft melody on her lips as though life was good.

  Adrian could have strangled her in that moment.

  Fortunately, the melody died on her lips when her blue eyes took note of his haggard face. Her gaze widened in shock as well as disapproval before she set down the tray in her hands and came walking over to him. “Mon Dieu, you look like Death himself,” she commented, hands akimbo, and a look of pure annoyance on her face. “What are you doing to yourself?”

  Adrian snorted at the absurdity of the notion. For as long as he could remember, he had felt utterly out of control when it came to his own life. What, indeed, was he doing?

  “You need to eat!”

  “I told you to stay away!” Adrian snarled when she reached for his arm in an effort to urge him toward the table. “I told you not to come here!” His eyes were hard as he stared down at her, and yet, she never even flinched.

  Instead, her blue eyes hardened as well, as though she accepted his challenge, readying herself for battle. “Say all you wish,” she told him, determination sparking in her gaze, “but I shall not heed your words until you start heeding mine.”

  “I’m the master of this house!”

  Her features softened as she laid a hand on his arm. “And I’m your friend whether you like it or not, and I shall do what I must to protect you from yourself.” A gentle smile touched her lips. “Now, come and eat.”

  The moment she’d entered his chamber, Adrian had known that he would not walk away from this the victor. No, Isabelle had a way of disarming him that reminded him so much of Emery. He too had always known exactly what to say to get under Adrian’s skin, to see the truth and speak it without fear of offending.

  Adrian once again found himself seated at the small table, bringing food to his mouth he did not see, did not taste, as his gaze remained on the window, sweeping over the distant hills, green and lush and promising. A deep yearning grew in his heart, and his thoughts once more strayed where they ought not go. “How is her ladyship?”

  For a moment, Isabelle remained oddly quiet. Only when he tore his gaze from the window did Adrian detect the curious sparkle in her blue eyes as she watched him with great interest.

  “What?” he demanded, shoving another bite into his mouth and chewing noisily.

  Isabelle chuckled, then shrugged. “Oh, nothing. It only seemed you’d all but forgotten her existence.” Then she turned back to straightening his bedclothes.

  Adrian gritted his teeth, knowing full well that she was ignoring his question on purpose. “Well then?” he asked nonetheless, knowing equally well that he needed to know.

  Again, she turned to look at him and the corners of her mouth twitched with the knowledge of her victory. “Well what?”

  Adrian shot to his feet, anger blazing in his eyes as he glared at her. “Do not play games, Isabelle! I warn you!”

  All humor left her face before she stepped toward him, slowly. “If you wish to know, my lord, then go and ask her yourself.” Her brows rose in challenge. Before he could lash out at her, she abruptly turned away and slipped from the room.

  Adrian drew in a long breath, trying his best to douse his anger before it could overrun him. Then he strode toward the window, hoping that the peaceful image of green hills and blue sky would calm him further. He did not dare dwell on the question why his anger had arisen so abruptly or why Isabelle saw it fit to bait him as she had.

  Adrian did not dare ask these questions for fear that he already knew the answer.

  Then movement down below in the gardens caught his eye, and he turned toward it.

  Adrian barely saw the small grayish-brown squirrel before it raced up the pine’s trunk, eager to see itself to safety. However, what he did see was young Liam, his black head appearing out of nowhere amidst a sea of different shades of green. With his head raised, the boy carefully stepped toward the pine, his gaze no doubt fixed on the small animal as it peered down at him.

  For a long moment, they both remained where they were, hardly moving a muscle, when a shadow fell over Liam from behind.

  Adrian’s heart clenched in panic and, for a moment, he felt himself transported back into the middle of a battlefield where Death might come at one from any side at any moment. His hands clenched and he pushed open the window, a warning shout at the tip of his tongue, when the shadow moved…and came to stand next to Liam.

  Adrian stilled, the words stuck in his throat, as he found himself staring at his lovely, young wife.

  Her raven-black hair glistened in the sun, and the chill that still lingered early in the morning had given her cheeks a rosy glow. A smile clung to her lips as she brushed a hand over Liam’s shoulder, alerting the boy to something in the tree. Her arm pointed upward, and Liam’s gaze followed.

  Another squirrel sat perched on a branch, watching them just as intently.