The Winter Wife (11 page)

Even through the howling wind, she heard his misgivings. Misgivings echoing her own. Sidonie straightened as well as she could against the gale. “Yes.
Thank you, Mr.
Wallis.”

“
I wish ‘ee well then.” He heaved himself onto the driver’s box and whipped the horses into an unsteady gallop.

Sidonie hoisted her bag and dashed up the shallow flight
of steps

to the heavy doors.
The pointed arch above the entrance offered paltry protection.
Another flash
of lightning helped her locate the iron knocker shaped like a lion’s head. She seized it in one gloved hand and let it crash.
The bang hardly registered against the roaring wind.

Her imperious summons gained no quick response.
The temperature seemed to drop another ten degrees while she huddled against the lashing rain.

What on earth would she do if the house was uninhabited? By the time the door creaked open to reveal an aged woman,

Sidonie’s teeth were chattering and she shook as though she had the ague.
A
gust caught the servant’s single candle, making the frail light flicker.

“
I’m—” she shouted over the storm but the woman merely turned away.
At a loss, Sidonie trailed after her.

Sidonie entered a cavernous hall crowded with shadows. Muddy brown tapestries drooped from the lofty stone walls.
Ahead, the fire
in the massive hearth was unlit, adding to the lack of welcome. Sidonie shivered as cold seeped up from the flagstones
beneath her half boots. Behind her, the heavy door slammed shut with a thud like the strike

of doom. Startled Sidonie turned to discover another equally geriatric retainer, male this time, turning a heavy key in the lock.

What in heaven’s name have I done, coming to this godforsaken place?

With the door shut, the silence within was more ominous than

the shrieking tempest.
The only sound was the sullen drip, drip, drip of water from her sodden cloak. Fear, her faithful companion since Roberta had confided
her plight, settled like lead in Sidonie’s belly. When she’d agreed to help her sister, she’d assumed the torment, however horrid, would be over quickly. Inside this dismal fortress, the horrible premonition gripped her that she’d never again see the outside world.

You’re letting your imagination run away with you. Stop it.

The bracing words did nothing to calm spiraling panic. Bile rose in her throat as she followed the still-silent housekeeper across acres of floor.
She felt like a thousand malevolent ghosts leered from the corners. Sidonie tightened numb fingers
around the bag’s handle and

reminded herself what agony Roberta would endure if she failed.

I can do this.

The stark fact remained that she’d come so far and still might fail. The plan had always been risky.
Arriving here alone and vulnerable, Sidonie couldn’t help considering the scheme devised at Barstowe Hall feeble to the point of idiocy. If only her clamoring doubts conjured some alternative way to save her sister.

The woman still shuffled
ahead. Sidonie was so rigid with cold, it was an effort forcing her legs to move.
The man had offered to take neither her cloak nor bag.
When she glanced back, he’d disappeared as efficiently
as if he numbered among the castle’s ghosts.

Sidonie and her taciturn escort approached a door in the opposite wall, as imposing as the door outside.
When the woman pushed it

open, it shifted smoothly on well-oiled hinges. Steeling herself, Sidonie stepped into a blaze of light and warmth.

Trembling, she stopped at one end of a refectory table extending down the room. Heavy oak chairs, dark with age, lined the table on either side. It was a room designed for an uproarious crowd, but as her gaze slowly traveled up the length of board, she realized, apart from her decrepit guide, only one other person was present.

Jonas Merrick.

Bastard offspring of scandal. Rich as Croesus. Powerbroker to the mighty.
And the reprobate who tonight would use her body.

“
Maister, the lady be here.”

Without straightening from his careless slouch in the throne-like chair at the room’s far end, the man raised his head.

At this, her first
sight of him, the breath jammed painfully in Sidonie’s throat. From nerveless fingers,
her bag slid to the floor. Swiftly she looked down, hiding her shock under her hood.

Roberta had warned her.
William, her brother-in-law, had been merciless in his excoriations on Merrick’s character and appearance. And of course, like everyone else, Sidonie had heard the gossip.

But nothing had prepared her for that ruined face.

She bit her lip until she tasted blood and fought the urge to turn and flee
into the night. She couldn’t run.
Too much depended upon staying. In childhood Roberta had been Sidonie’s only protector. Now Sidonie

had to save her sister, no matter the cost.

Hesitantly she lifted her gaze to her notorious host. Merrick wore boots, breeches and a white shirt, open at the neck. Sidonie tore her gaze from the shadowy hint of a muscled chest and made herself look at his face. Perhaps she’d detect a chink in his determination, some trace of pity to deter him from this appalling act.

Closer inspection confirmed
that hope was futile.
A
man ruthless enough to instigate this devil’s bargain wouldn’t relent now that his prize was within his grasp.

Abundant coal-black hair, longer than fashion decreed, tumbled across his high forehead. Prominent cheekbones.
A
square jaw

indicating haughty self-confidence.
Deep-set eyes focused on her with a

bored expression that frightened her more than eagerness would have.

He’d never have been handsome, even before some assailant in his mysterious past had sliced his commanding blade of a nose and his lean cheek.
A
scar as wide as her thumb ran from his ear to the corner of his mouth.
Another thinner scar bisected one arrogant black eyebrow.

A
gesture of the graceful white hand curled around a heavy crystal goblet. In the candlelight, the ruby signet ring glittered malevolently. The claret and the ruby were the color of blood, Sidonie noticed, then wished to heaven she hadn’t.

“
You’re late.” His voice was deep and as replete with ennui as his manner.

Sidonie had expected to be frightened. She hadn’t expected to be angry as well.
This man’s palpable lack of interest in his victim stirred outrage, powerful as a cleansing tide. “The journey took longer than expected.” She was so furious, her hands were steady when they slid her hood back. “The weather disapproves of your nefarious schemes, Mr. Merrick.”

As she uncovered her features, she had the grim satisfaction of watching the boredom leach from his expression, replaced by astonished curiosity. He straightened and glared down the table at her.

“
Just who in hell are you?”

***

The girl, whoever the devil she was, didn’t flinch
at Jonas’s irascible question. Under disheveled coffee-colored hair, her face was pale and beautiful in the heavy-lidded, voluptuous manner.

He had to give her credit. She must be scared out of her wits, not to mention as cold as a cat locked out in a snowstorm, yet she stood calm as a marble monument.

Not quite. If he looked closely, faint color marked her cheeks. She was far from the indomitable creature she struggled to appear.

And she was young.
Too young to tangle with a cynical, self-serving

scoundrel like Jonas Merrick.

At the
bella incognita’s
side, Mrs. Bevan wrung her wrinkled hands. “Maister, ‘ee said to expect a lady.
When she knocked—”

“
It’s all right, Mrs. Bevan.”
Without shifting his gaze from his visitor, he waved dismissal. He should be piqued that his original prey evaded his snare, but curiosity swamped anger. Just who was this incomparable? “Leave us.”

“
But do ‘ee expect
another
lady tonight?”

A
wry smile twisted his lips. “I think not.” He cast an assessing glance over the silent girl. “I’ll ring when I require you, Mrs. Bevan.”

Muttering displeasure under her breath, the housekeeper stumped away, leaving him alone with his guest. “I take it the delightful Roberta is otherwise occupied,” he said in a silky tone.

The girl’s full lips flattened.
She must be repulsed by his scars— everyone was—but apart from a slight stiffening of her posture when she’d entered, her composure was remarkable.
The delightful Roberta had known him for years and still reacted with trembling horror at every encounter.

Thwarted malice darkened his mood. He’d rather looked forward to teaching his cousin’s wife to endure his presence without suffering the megrims.
This impetuous beauty’s arrival dashed those hopes.

He wondered idly whether she’d offer adequate compensation for his disappointment. Hard to tell. So little of her was visible under the worn cape dripping puddles onto his floor.

“
My name is Sidonie Forsythe.”
The girl spat out the introduction and her chin tilted insolently. He was too far away to see the color of her eyes but he knew they sparked resentment. Under delicate brows,

they were large and slanted, lending her an exotic appearance. “I’m

Lady Hillbrook’s younger sister.”

“
My condolences,” he said drily.
Ah, he knew who she was now. He’d heard an unmarried Forsythe sister lived at Barstowe Hall, his cousin’s family seat, although he’d never encountered her in person.

He sought and failed to find
any resemblance to her sister. Roberta,
Viscountess Hillbrook, was a celebrated beauty, but in the conventional English style.
This girl with her dusky hair and air of untapped sensuality was in a different class altogether. His interest sharpened, although he made sure he sounded as if her arrival were the dullest event imaginable. “Where is Roberta on this fine
night? If I haven’t mistaken the date, we’d arranged to enjoy a week of each other’s company.”

A
hint of triumph lit the girl’s face, made her dark beauty blaze like a torch. “My sister is beyond your reach, Mr. Merrick.”

“
You’re not.” He flavored
his smile with menace.

Her brief smugness evaporated. “No.”

“
I imagine you offer yourself in her place. Gallant, if a tad presumptuous to assume any random woman meets my requirements.” He sipped his wine with an insouciance designed to irk this chit who’d upset his wicked plans. “I’m afraid the obligation isn’t yours.
Your sister incurred the gaming debt, not you. Charming as I’m sure you are.”

Her slender throat moved as she swallowed.
Yes, definitely
jittery underneath the bravado. He wasn’t a good enough man to pity this valiant girl. But for a discomfiting
instant, something within him winced with fellow feeling. He’d been young and afraid in his time.