Love's Peril (Lord Trent Series) Page 2

  She fought off a shudder. She’d rather sell herself into slavery than marry Patrick’s stodgy, boring father. She hadn’t had many lucky breaks in her life, but when she wed, it would be for love. If there was a bit of passion thrown into the mix, she’d take that, too.

  What she wouldn’t accept was a tedious, cold union where both parties were miserable—as Bernard and Mildred had been miserable—and that’s what she’d have with Sheldon.

  Sarah peered up at Mr. Sinclair.

  “You still haven’t told me why you’re in the neighborhood.”

  “No, I haven’t.” He was being deliberately elusive and mysterious.

  “Is it a secret?”

  “No.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “You’re very nosy.”

  “I like to think I’m being protective. You appear to know all about my family, but I know nothing about you. Are you a criminal? Are you a robber? Should we be locking the silverware at night?”

  “You have silverware that’s worth stealing?” He studied the house with a keen eye as if he might rush in and pilfer their valuables.

  “Very funny,”she snorted.

  He urged his horse onward, and they started down the drive.

  “I’m scouting…property.”

  There was another hesitation in his response. Why was she sure he was a complete fraud? But even as the thought unnerved her, she suffered a thrill that he might move to a nearby estate.

  “Scouting for yourself? Or for someone else?”

  “Maybe for myself. Maybe for someone else,”he furtively replied.

  “We might be neighbors?” She tried to keep her query light and casual.

  “Perhaps.”

  “So we might cross paths again?”

  “We might.”

  He continued on to the manor, circled the fountain and halted at the grand stairs that led up to the ornate front doors. Fortunately, the butler hadn’t noted her approach, and no servants were lurking, so no one witnessed her scandalous return.

  Without dismounting, he lifted her down and set her on her feet.

  “Can you make it inside on your own?”he asked.

  “Yes.”

  She smiled up at him, his kerchief wadded in her hand so he wouldn’t notice it and expect her to give it back. She wondered if she’d ever see him again, and it occurred to her that it would be a very sad thing if she didn’t.

  His golden hair gleamed in the bright sun, his emerald eyes reflecting the grass and trees. He was charismatic and charming and fascinating, and she would be sorry to have him leave.

  There were a thousand questions on the tip of her tongue. She wanted to invite him to keep in touch, to visit whenever he was in the area, to arrive unannounced and cheer her with his captivating presence.

  Of course any such comments would be too forward and totally inappropriate, so she swallowed them down.

  “Thank you for coming to my aid,”she courteously said. “Thank you for the ride.”

  “You’re welcome, my little damsel in distress. Have a care.”

  “I will.”

  “Goodbye, chérie.”

  He grinned and cantered off.

  She stood frozen in her spot, watching until he vanished from sight. She was positive he’d turn around and wave, but he didn’t.

  She wrenched away and hobbled up the stairs.

  * * * *

  John Harcourt Sinclair—also known as Jean Pierre, Le Terreur Français— sat on his horse, staring at Bramble Bay Manor. He was out on the road, the main chimney and slated roof just visible through the woods.

  He was the most notorious pirate in the world, the kingdom’s most wanted criminal. For years, he’d disrupted British shipping lanes, had attacked and scuttled British ships, had plundered and pillaged and created mayhem wherever he went.

  No one could figure out what drove him or how to thwart him, and there were hundreds of bounties on his head, posted in port towns from Rome to Jamaica.

  He’d grown up in Paris, so he spoke fluent French and had the air and style of a Frenchman. So it was assumed he was French, and the authorities in particular were searching for a Frenchman, but his mother had been a British countess, his father a British earl, so he was as British as a man could be.

  He peered over at his best and only friend, Raven Hook. Raven served as First Mate on his ships and participated in his schemes and anarchy. He was brave and dangerous and loyal to a fault, and John couldn’t imagine a finer partner.

  From the day they’d met, when John had been a starving street urchin who’d botched his first attempt to steal food, Raven had watched over him.

  John had been ten, and Raven a much older and wiser fifteen. He’d been kind and shrewd, had taught John how to survive, how to cheat and fight and win. He’d tamped down John’s worst urges, had tempered his worst ideas and plans, had guarded his back when John couldn’t be dissuaded from folly.

  Their life of crime had left them obscenely rich. As opposed to their difficult beginnings, they could now buy anything, have anything, do anything, but that didn’t mean they were ready to halt their mischief. John hadn’t yet destroyed all the enemies on his list, and there was still too much revenge to be had. Mildred and Hedley Teasdale were next.

  “Was it wise to ride up to the house?”Raven asked.

  They conversed in English, practicing it, having to remember that deception was paramount.

  “I wasn’t noticed by anyone,”John insisted, “and if I was, how can it matter? People see what they want to see. I’m merely a passing stranger, assisting Miss Teasdale after she’d twisted her ankle. They’d never connect me with the man who’s about to arrive.”

  “What if that little worm, Hedley, had strolled by? He’d have recognized you.”

  “But what could he have done?”

  “You shouldn’t tip your hand.”

  “I haven’t.”

  John stared at Bramble Bay Manor again.

  He’d been waiting so long for this moment, had plotted and conspired and schemed, and he was so close to the end. He was anxious to finish it.

  “When the front parlor is mine,”he said, “how grand will I look, sitting on the sofa by the fire?”

  “You plan to sit on the sofa by the fire? I thought the idea was to take ownership, then let it go to ruin.”

  John nodded. “It’s still the plan, but I certainly intend to wallow in my spoils before I wreck the place.”

  “What will happen to Mildred and Hedley when you’re through with them?”

  “Who cares what happens?”

  “It’s what I like about you, John. You’re the most heartless bastard I’ve ever met, which means I’m not the biggest brute who ever lived. There’s always someone worse than me. That would be you.”

  “I’m happy to be of service.”

  They scrutinized the house, the grounds, John thinking about the sweetness of vengeance. There was such satisfaction in knowing that Mildred would be sorry, that none of her dreams for Hedley would ever come true.

  “What about Miss Teasdale?”Raven asked. “Did you realize Hedley had a sister?”

  “No.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “She’s a tiny sprite. Pretty. Amusing, but foolish—like all women.”

  “Too bad for her to be caught in all this.”

  “Yes, too bad.”

  When he’d stumbled on Sarah Teasdale on the side of the road, he’d been greatly humored by her.

  Though she’d been injured and alone, she hadn’t been afraid of him, and she’d exhibited an enormous amount of pluck. She was fetching and funny and refreshing, and he’d enjoyed their chat much more than he should have.

  His world was a jumble of sailors and ports and perilous, daring sea assaults that often left him physically wounded. He frequently consorted with females, but they were jaded trollops, the only sort available to a man in his position. His current mistress, Annalise, was typical. She w
as beautiful, but cunning and treacherous, and she never misconstrued her role.

  He kept her because she looked stunning on his arm, because she would engage in any decadent, salacious act he requested without grumbling or nagging.

  So he never encountered the likes of Sarah Teasdale, and he wondered about her past, her circumstances. She was probably the girl his mother could have been—sheltered, adored, pampered—if Fate had pushed his mother down a wiser, better path.

  He was absurdly eager to see Miss Teasdale again. As he waltzed into the foyer at Bramble Bay, like a king on summer progress, she’d likely faint.

  “What will become of Miss Teasdale when you’re through?”Raven asked. “I know you’re not concerned about Hedley or Mildred, but Miss Teasdale is innocent.”

  John grinned. “I might have mercy on her and take on another mistress.”

  “Annalise might have a few choice words to say about that.”

  “No, she won’t.”

  “I can’t imagine Miss Teasdale would consent to an indecent arrangement. From your description of her, she seems to be very British. If you mentioned a lewd liaison, you’d drive her into a swoon.”

  “There are worse things than being attached to a rich man like me.”

  “Yes, there are: having a reckless brother, losing your home because of him, being tossed out with just the clothes on your back.”

  “Precisely,”John grimly agreed. “Once she’s faced with catastrophe, I might be exactly what she needs.”

  Raven snorted out a laugh. “I wouldn’t count on it if I were you.”

  John laughed, too. It was amusing to think of a relationship with Miss Teasdale, but she wasn’t worth the bother. And from his brief meeting with her, he could tell she was quite fond of Bramble Bay. After she learned how he’d ruined Hedley, she wouldn’t be kindly inclined to any continuing acquaintance.

  “Let’s go,”John said. “We’re due to arrive tomorrow. I want to double check all the details to make sure we haven’t forgotten anything.”

  “We haven’t.”

  “I want to be sure,”John firmly stated. “I’ve been preparing for this moment all my life. I’ll leave nothing to chance.”

  They turned their horses and rode away.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Can you see anything?”

  “No, and be silent. I won’t give Mildred the satisfaction of knowing we care enough to spy.”

  Sarah was hovered on the second floor landing with her friend, Caroline Patterson.

  Caroline’s parents had died when she was a girl, and Sarah’s father had been her guardian. They were the same age—twenty-five—and had been raised together like sisters.

  They were peeking down into the foyer, observing the approach of Mildred’s mysterious guests. Sarah had watched, agog, as their carriage meandered up the drive. It was large and ornate, with a fancy crest painted on the door. Four liveried footmen were perched on the rails, and it was pulled by six white horses that had clopped in a perfect rhythm.

  A horde of servants had rushed outside to unload their massive pile of luggage. How long did they intend to stay?

  For the past two weeks, the entire house had been abuzz with preparations for the auspicious visit. Hedley had traveled from town to be present. They were his acquaintances, and he and his mother were huddled below, dressed in their finest clothes and obviously anxious to impress.

  Sarah hadn’t asked who the people were or why they were so important. Nor had she and Caroline been invited to greet them. If Mildred disliked Sarah, she disliked Caroline even more. Sarah, at least, had been Bernard’s daughter and had some claim to food and shelter at Bramble Bay.

  In Mildred’s eyes, Caroline was an interloper who couldn’t so much as boast a blood relationship. She was viewed as a trespasser, and thus, undeserving of sustenance or sanctuary.

  Caroline’s antipathy toward Mildred was mutual. After Bernard had passed away, Mildred had convinced Caroline to marry Mildred’s distant cousin who lived in London. He was a successful barrister with a suitable home and good income, but he was also a violent, drunken fiend.

  Caroline had tolerated his ill-treatment for two years, then she’d run away. She was hiding at Bramble Bay, afraid for her life, and terrified that her husband would find her. He’d already come searching twice, and Mildred kept threatening to tell him that Caroline was on the premises.

  So far, Sarah had persuaded Mildred to be merciful, but she doubted Mildred would extend charity to Caroline for much longer. If Mildred betrayed Caroline to her brute of a spouse, Sarah wasn’t sure what she’d do.

  For the moment, she was enjoying Caroline’s company. They might have been fourteen again, laughing at bitter Mildred and spoiled Hedley. Neither she nor Caroline was interested in Mildred’s guests, except to the extent that they hoped the visit would be brief and uneventful.

  Mildred had been very stressed, which made her short-tempered and rude, so the staff was in a frenzied state, snapping and bickering and being generally unpleasant.

  There was a flurry of motion out on the stoop. The butler straightened and announced, “Mrs. Teasdale, Master Hedley, may I introduce Mr. Raven Hook.”

  A man entered. He was a handsome, imposing giant. His name, Raven, fit him. His hair was black, his clothes were black, his boots were black. He had no expression on his face, but he looked positively lethal. He had a dagger in a sheath on one side of his waist and a sword on the other that dropped to the floor.

  “Who is he?”Caroline whispered, her brows rising with astonishment.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Why would Hedley even know someone like that?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  A woman entered next. She was voluptuous and statuesque, like an Amazon warrior goddess, with violet-colored eyes and luxurious blond hair that curled to her bottom. She wore a bright red gown and tons of gold jewelry so she appeared wealthy and foreign and exotic.

  She was so striking that it was difficult to glance away. She noticed Hedley staring, and she smirked, aware of her splendor, of her affect on males.

  “And who is that?”Caroline whispered again.

  “Aphrodite?”Sarah muttered in reply.

  “If Hedley isn’t careful,”Caroline snickered, “he’ll drool on himself.”

  The butler intoned, “Miss Annalise Dubois.”

  Miss Dubois preened, then walked over to stand by Mr. Hook.

  The butler continued. “Finally, may I present Mr. John Sinclair.”

  To Sarah’s stunned surprise, Mr. Sinclair—her dashing savior and champion from the prior afternoon—sauntered into the foyer. His golden-blond hair was still pulled into a ponytail, but it was the only thing about him that was the same.

  He was dressed in a lavender coat that had silver embroidery on the hem. The stitching was so exquisite that the thread was probably actual, spun silver. His boots were polished black, with huge silver buckles, and his fingers were weighted down with silver rings.

  His shirt was blinding white, his cravat designed from what had to be miles of Belgian lace. There was lace at his cuffs too, dangling across his wrists and hands. Tiny stones sparkled from his coat, cravat, and rings, and she suspected he was covered in diamonds.

  He was so spectacularly attired, so rich and elegant and…beautiful, that if someone pronounced him to be royalty, she would have believed it.

  “Oh, my lord,”Caroline murmured, “would you look at him? Have you ever seen the likes?”

  “No,”Sarah murmured in return.

  “Who could he be? Why has he come?”

  “I wouldn’t dare speculate.”

  At his arrival, Mildred and Hedley were all aflutter. Hedley rushed over, dragging Mildred with him.

  “Mother, this is Mr. Sinclair.”

  Mildred curtsied. “Hello, Mr. Sinclair. Welcome to our humble home.”

  Mr. Sinclair didn’t respond, but glared down his imperious nose, giving the distinc
t impression that he possessed an extreme dislike for both of them.

  Hedley reached out as if to shake Mr. Sinclair’s hand, and Sinclair simply frowned until Hedley, unnerved and embarrassed, stepped back and dropped his arm to his side.

  “It’s been a long journey,”Miss Dubois said, her voice sultry and alluring, her accent very French. “Are our rooms ready?”

  “Yes…ah…of course,”Mildred stammered, intimidated by the tall, daunting woman. “Would you first join us for some refreshments?”

  Mildred gestured to the front parlor. The salon had been prepared for them, a cheery fire burning in the grate even though it was a warm summer day. Trays of food and decanters of wine had been arranged on the tables. The servants had gone to an enormous amount of trouble, but apparently, it had been a wasted effort.

  Miss Dubois peeked at Mr. Sinclair, read something in his eyes, then shook her head. “We’re tired from our journey.”

  “I…understand,”Mildred stammered again. “How about supper? Will you dine with us?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Mildred bristled with irritation, but quickly tamped it down. She clapped her hands, and two footmen dashed over to escort the trio up the stairs.

  Miss Dubois slid a proprietary arm around Mr. Sinclair’s waist and asked, “Have you honored my request?”

  “As to what?”Mildred said.

  “I am Monsieur Sinclair’s very special friend”—Miss Dubois purred the word special—“and we can’t bear to be parted for a single second. We must have adjoining rooms.”

  “Yes, I’ve placed you together,”Mildred said.

  In adjoining rooms? For a couple that wasn’t married? What could Mildred be thinking? Was she ill? Was she mad?

  She was a stickler for the proprieties. Her diatribes about rituals and reputations were legendary, and Sarah and Caroline had spent years, giggling over Mildred’s persnickety etiquette.

  Yet she would allow Mr. Sinclair and Miss Dubois to share a bedchamber? It was disgraceful. It was shocking. It was incredible.

  Sarah gasped. She didn’t mean to; it just slipped out.

  No one noticed, except for Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Hook. They seemed vigilantly focused and on alert for hazards. They glanced up, and Mr. Sinclair saw her before she could slither out of sight.