How to Tame a Beastly Lord (Happy Ever Regency Book 2) Read online

  Whispered words were exchanged between the two, and Adrian could hear the faint echo of his wife’s voice as it rose on the wings of a strong breeze, climbing higher and higher until it found his ears. He could not make out the words, but knew that it was nothing but joy that gave her voice strength.

  Transfixed, Adrian watched her, watched the glow in her eyes when she looked down at Liam. He heard the breathy laughter bubbling from her lips when the squirrel dropped its nut and it hit Liam on the head.

  Grinning, the young boy rubbed a hand through his curls before his wife bent over to inspect his head with great diligence as though fearing he’d been severely injured. Still, a smile clung to her lips, and Adrian realized that down below stood a woman who willingly defied fate.

  Despite the obstacles the world had thrown in front of her feet time and time again, she refused to bow her head and surrender. No, here she was, smiling and laughing, determined to find happiness yet again.

  Even if only in a moment.

  A short, fleeting moment.

  Adrian paused as he watched her, remembering how Grant had spoken about her when he had come to Ravengrove seeking his help. He had called her delicate and, indeed, her dainty build would suggest that she was a woman unable to withstand the harshness of the world, a woman in need of protection. And yet, Grant had also spoken of an inner strength, one he himself had only recently discovered she possessed.

  Looking at her now, Adrian had to agree with his friend’s assessment. Indeed, like Emery, she seemed fragile. Her silver-gray eyes, though, shone with a will to survive, to live, that he’d rarely seen in people who’d suffered as she had.

  A part of Adrian envied her while another feared that her will might break his…and doom them both.

  Chapter Eight

  The West Wing

  A warm fire burned in the hearth as the wind whipped around the old fortress. Rain pelted the windows but the inside was dry and cozy.

  Sighing, Eugenie snuggled deeper into the upholstered armchair in the small sitting room outside her bedchamber. A blanket warmed her legs and a book rested in her lap as her eyes gazed into the dancing flames, casting flickering lights across the room.

  Sleep had evaded her, and so she had risen, pulled on a robe and then returned to finishing the book she had begun the night before.

  Darkness still clung to the world, and the feel of night hung on the air. Apart from the storm outside her window, stillness clung to the house, and Eugenie felt as though she could hear the gentle breaths of those sleeping peacefully within Ravengrove.

  Her hand slipped beneath the blanket and came to rest on the almost imperceptible swell of her belly. As always, the thought of her child warmed Eugenie’s heart, and a smile stole onto her face as she pictured ten tiny fingers and toes. “I cannot wait to meet you,” she whispered into the stillness of the night. “You’ll need to be strong, but you’ll be fine. I know it.”

  Images of her brother rose before her inner eye. She saw the gentle kindness of his smile as well as the hard determination of his gray eyes. If only she could look at him one more time and have him look back at her. Always had he given her strength as well as a fierce belief that all would be well. For as long as Emery had lived, Eugenie had never once been truly afraid. He had made her feel safe in a way no one else ever had.

  He had been her brother and he’d always looked out for her.

  And now he was gone.

  Two years had passed since Eugenie had returned from a walk through the gardens and found her father slumped over in his desk chair, face buried in his hands. Tears had streaked his face, and only when he had beheld her had he been able to hold back the heart-wrecking sobs tearing from his throat.

  Still, Eugenie had heard them, and her heart had broken into a thousand little pieces that day, knowing without a word from him why her father’s eyes had held such sorrow, such soul-crushing grief.

  Her whole world had shifted that day as though it could no longer hold itself upright without Emery in it.

  And then her father had succumbed to his grief and left Eugenie alone in the world.

  Not once since losing her brother had Eugenie felt truly and utterly safe. Lord Wentford had been a kind husband and Wentford Park had started to feel like home. Still, something—something she couldn’t even name—had always been missing as though a part of her had known all along that she wouldn’t be allowed to stay. That her time at Wentford Park was only temporary.

  What about Ravengrove? She couldn’t help but wonder. Would she remain here for the rest of her days? Was this truly her home now? For good?

  Over the past fortnight, Eugenie had begun to explore the house, doing her best to find her way around without getting lost. Oddly enough, she had rarely spotted Liam on these explorations. However, whenever she had gotten lost after all, he’d always found her, guiding her back and showing her the way.

  As quiet and shy as the boy seemed, his gray eyes often sparkled with the longing for company, for acknowledgement, for a place that was his own in this world. He eagerly answered all her questions and shared with her the secrets of Ravengrove.

  Apparently, Liam, too, believed that ghosts wandered the halls. He spoke to her of eerie sounds in the night, moans speaking of agony and torture. Goose bumps gripped him even at the retelling of what he’d heard, and yet, his eyes sparkled with a sense of adventure. “One day, I’ll see one,” he had told her, his voice solemn. “And then I’ll help him. They have unfinished business, you know?”

  Eugenie had smiled at him, squeezing his little hand as another shiver had shaken his delicate frame. “You’re a most kind young man,” she’d told him, and he had beamed with pride.

  Although their temperaments could not be more different, Liam often reminded Eugenie of her former stepdaughter, Milly. Children had a unique way of shaping the world to fit their own wishes and expectations, and it warmed Eugenie’s heart to see Liam so lost in these stories of Ravengrove’s ghosts. For despite the slight shivers he never quite seemed to be able to shake, Liam clearly loved the role of an adventurer he’d found for himself.

  Sighing, Eugenie wondered at what age one lost the ability to simply pretend the world was as one wanted it to be and was from then on forced to see it in a harsher light.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Eugenie chided herself as her fingers tightened around the book in her lap. “Thoughts like these will only make you miserable.” Swallowing, she blinked her eyes to chase away the lingering darkness and despair she could feel encroaching upon her heart. Indeed, thoughts such as these were dangerous for they had the power to break one’s spirit and plunge one into a black abyss from where there would be no return.

  No, life was good, Eugenie reminded herself. After all, her child would be born in wedlock and grow up in a comfortable home. Despite the talk of ghosts and the rumors about a curse resting on Ravengrove, Eugenie had found nothing but kindness in this place.

  Mrs. Perry, in particular, had helped Eugenie feel more at ease here. As the heart and soul of Ravengrove, the stout housekeeper had done her utmost to ensure that her new mistress would settle into her new home. She was an endearing woman, always accompanied by a warm smile and a waving fist, her wooden spoon tucked into her apron string, working day and night to see to it that the household ran smoothly and all was as it should be.

  Isabelle, too, had become a dear friend to Eugenie. Despite her initial suspicions that the young woman had a more intimate connection to Lord Remsemere than a servant should have, Eugenie had seen no evidence that would support these thoughts. On the contrary, Isabelle seemed determined to make Eugenie feel at home, keeping her company whenever she could. Her natural cheerfulness was a balm to Eugenie’s strained nerves and the young woman’s continuous chatter helped distract Eugenie from her gloomy thoughts during her first few days at Ravengrove.

  The wind howled outside her window and, with a last glance, Eugenie closed her book and set it aside. Then she rose to her feet and stepped up to the window. “It seems a storm is coming,” she whispered to her unborn child, one hand still resting protectively on her belly.

  The rain came down hard, its heavy drops sounding like pebbles flung at the windows. The howling increased, and then there was a loud bang echoing upward from somewhere deep within Ravengrove.

  Eugenie flinched as goose bumps rose on her arms and legs. Instantly, Liam’s whispered words of ghosts wandering the halls returned to her mind, and she swallowed hard, feeling the skin crawl with the eeriness of night.

  Then she closed her eyes and a small smile came to her lips. “There are no ghosts,” she reminded herself, feeling like a little girl again, afraid of the dark. “It was probably only the wind flinging shut a door or shutter. Nothing more.” A small giggle rose from her throat as she looked down at her hand on her belly, imagining the small life within. “You must think me quite foolish.”

  A flash of light streaked across the sky in the next moment, lighting up the night, and Eugenie flinched again. Still, a second later, laughter spilled from her mouth as her gaze swept over the darkness once more. “Foolish or not, I suppose this is a night for ghost stories, would you not agree?”

  Eugenie glanced at the door to her bedchamber, but quickly abandoned the thought of retiring to bed. “I won’t be able to sleep anyhow so I might as well fetch another book.” Grabbing the lone candle set on the table by the chair she had vacated a few minutes earlier, Eugenie stepped out into the corridor. “What are you in the mood for, my sweet?”

  Darkness engulfed her as she moved away from the door to her rooms, its heavy cloak swallowing up the meager light of her candle. “Fortunately,” Eugenie muttered under her breath as she fought the urge to turn and run back to her chamber, “Ravengrove’s library is well stocked. I doubt anyone would be able to read all these books in a single lifetime.” She forced a chuckle from her lips as the wind’s howling increased to an almost deafening roar. “Well, considering the lack of entertainment in this place, I’ll probably have ample time to test that theory.”

  Step by step, Eugenie made her way back toward the front hall and soon came upon the winding staircase leading to the ground floor. Darkness clung to everything. But the flashes streaking across the sky every now and then cast eerie shadows. Indeed, it was a night for chasing ghosts, and Eugenie wondered if Liam was up and about somewhere in Ravengrove, trying to help a poor soul deal with his unfinished business.

  “God, I hope not,” Eugenie mumbled under her breath. Her heart warmed at the thought of Liam’s kindness and compassion—even toward a ghost.

  Carefully picking her way down the eastern staircase, Eugenie flinched when another loud bang echoed through the ancient fortress.

  Annoyed with herself, she gritted her teeth and inhaled a deep breath, refusing to flee back to her room. No, she would not show fear, no matter how much her skin crawled. Lifting her chin, she stared into the darkness and took a step forward.

  Bang!

  Cursing under her breath, Eugenie decided that the best way to overcome her fear was to reveal this ghost as the impostor he was. After all, at this point, not only sleep was out of the question, but settling back into her armchair and turning her attention to a new book seemed equally unlikely.

  Eugenie remained standing on the landing between the two winding staircases, one of which led to the east wing while the other would guide her toward the west wing. For long eternal moments, Eugenie simply stood there and listened.

  But all remained quiet; as quiet as possible for a stormy night.

  “Certainly,” she scoffed, tapping her foot to chase away her fear, “now that I’m listening for it, there is nothing to be heard. Come, little ghost, show yours—”

  Bang!

  Again, she flinched, and a lump settled in her throat when she turned toward the west wing. A frightened, little voice whispered of her husband’s demand she not enter the western half of Ravengrove. Still, Eugenie ignored it, determined not to cower in fear, and so she lifted her foot and slowly made her way up the stairs.

  In the dark, something foreboding seemed to linger like a thick fog, growing denser with each step she took toward the west wing. The candle began to flicker when a cold draft brushed by her, chilling her skin and momentarily rooting her to the spot. “See?” she whispered into the dark, doing her best to talk around the lump in her throat. “It’s only an open window. I’ll find it and close it, and then this spook will be done with.”

  Step by step, Eugenie made her way down the long corridor. She wondered if she ought to wake someone, but quickly discarded the thought. No need to have everyone think of me as a nervous ninny!

  A thick rug covered the floor and oil paintings decorated the walls, not unlike the corridors in the east wing. However, the further Eugenie proceeded, the staler the air became. When another flash of light lit up her surroundings, she saw dust lingering on the air as though life had long since left this place. Did her husband truly reside here?

  Bang!

  Eugenie’s head jerked to the left and her eyes fell on a closed door. Inhaling a deep breath, she approached it, listening intently. Fortunately, all remained quiet, and her hand complied when she willed it to reach out and push down the handle.

  Slowly, the door creaked open, its hinges dry from lack of use. Stale air washed over Eugenie, and she had to swallow to suppress a cough. Still, when she drew in another breath, a new freshness lingered on the air she hadn’t noticed before.

  Stepping into the room, Eugenie smiled when she noticed the open window. “Did I not tell you it was nothing to worry about?” she whispered to her child as she proceeded into the room. “It’s merely the wind.”

  Approaching, Eugenie found the window open and the shutter banging loudly on the outer wall. Rain had formed a puddle right underneath the window, and Eugenie moved carefully as she placed her feet on the wet ground. “No need to fall,” she mumbled under her breath when she reached out and closed the shutter, securing it in place. “There. Done.”

  A small sense of pride and accomplishment filled Eugenie’s heart when she stepped across the puddle. After crossing the room, she headed back out into the corridor. “See?” she whispered to her child. “No ghost. Only—”

  A menacing growl shook the night air.

  Eugenie’s hand tightened painfully on the candle holder as her heart slammed to a momentary halt. Her breath froze in her lungs, and her feet refused to move even another step as she slowly turned her head, her eyes staring down the corridor…

  …toward the west wing.

  Eugenie knew she ought to return to her chamber. She ought to run and leave this place behind. She knew it with every fiber of her being…

  …but she couldn’t.

  Unbidden, her thoughts returned to Liam’s ghost and the boy’s strong belief that no matter who the ghost was he needed his help. Despite his fear, Liam had never thought of the ghost as hostile, but as someone in pain, and his compassion had urged him to help.

  Eugenie inhaled a fortifying breath, willing herself to stay where she was. Ghost or no, she, too, had heard pain in that growl.

  Agony.

  Terror.

  Of course, whoever had made that sound was not a ghost, but a person of flesh and blood. Eugenie was certain of it. And yet, that conclusion begged the question: who was it?

  Eugenie swallowed, knowing there was only one answer. Who else could be the ghost if not Ravengrove’s beast itself?

  Lord Remsemere.

  Her husband.

  The candle began to flicker anew as Eugenie’s hands trembled with what she knew she had to do. Never had her brother turned from someone in need, and she was Lord Remsemere’s wife no matter the circumstances of their marriage. Was it not her duty to see to him? To ensure that he was well?

  With her mind’s eye, Eugenie saw her brother’s kind, gray eyes looking at her, urging her onward, and she knew she could not disappoint him. All his life, he had heeded the call to help others. He had even followed it onto the battlefield, and it had cost him his life. Still, even knowing where his path would lead him, Eugenie did not doubt that her brother would have done the same all over again.

  A moment passed before Eugenie noted that her feet had begun to move on their own accord, carrying her farther down the corridor. She lifted her candle and saw cobwebs hanging in the corners and a fine layer of dust clinging to the frames on the walls. The portraits seemed covered by a veil, their colors and lines distorted, giving a wrong image of the people who had once lived in this place. It seemed one half of Ravengrove had been all but forgotten, left behind in a past that held nothing but pain. Then her gaze drifted upward, and even in the dim light from her candle, Eugenie saw the large hole in the ceiling above her.

  Nothing but blackness waited up there, and she wondered what had happened to rip such a large section of sturdy beams and boards from the ceiling. The thought of a cannonball crossed her mind, but then her gaze wandered onward and her eyes swept over the telltale streaks of ashes.

  “A fire,” she mumbled under her breath, reminding herself how her husband’s family had died. A shiver went down her back at the thought of what had happened here all those years ago and her hand went protectively to her belly.

  With every step she took, the streaks of black grew larger until the walls around her looked completely charred, the paintings burned up with nothing left of them. Smoke seemed to linger in the air and for a heart-stopping moment, Eugenie feared that fire once more raged somewhere ahead.

  A moan filled the air, less threatening now, but rather full of pain and regret as though haunted by a memory that would not release him.

  Despite her own terror, Eugenie felt her heart going out to her husband, remembering only too well the pain and despair she had felt upon her brother’s and then her father’s death. What would it have done to her if she had seen them die in agony? Had her husband been there the night his family had died in the flames?