She huffed and paced to the lone window, staring out at the wintry abyss. In the not-too-far distance, the sea churned, vast and majestic. Snow swirled in the air, silent and mesmeric as it fell, covering everything in a blanket of white.
The scene was oddly beautiful. So different from the city with its crowds and soot and litter—not that she’d admit as much to Lord Randall.
She wouldn’t give him an inch of congeniality. Would that she had known what sort of man he’d prove to be the first time she’d met him, at her brother’s engagement party.
It still rankled how utterly captivated by him she had been.She,who turned heads everywhere she went.She,who had men eating out of the palm of her hand by nothing more than a well-timed bat of her long, black lashes.
She recalled the moment she first set eyes on him.
There he’d stood, tall, broad of shoulder, dark-haired and dark-eyed and oozing magnetism the likes of which she’d never encountered. Not even her golden-haired brother held a candle to his rugged good looks, and that was saying something. Gaston had been beautiful. Their entire family was beautiful.
Caroline, her brother’s fiancée, had told her of her brother, of course, of his solid presence in her life, of his integrity and his easy charm. But nothing could have prepared her for the sight of him chatting with his sister. Something she’d said had caused him to smile a crooked smile, then laugh aloud, and Annabelle had literally stopped in her tracks to stare.
She probably should have waited for someone to bring him to her for a proper introduction, but she never had been good at curtailing her impulses, and, really, she’d expected him to be as befuddled by her as she was by him, so she’d pranced right up to the two of them.
Caroline had introduced them and in the next instant, her future had played out before her eyes. Not one wedding, but two would take place. It would be the talk of theton, their two families bonded by a double marriage.
She didn’t realize until it was too late that he had somehow read the entire vision on her face.
All during the party, she peppered Caroline with questions about him, specifically concerning whether he had any prior agreements of a romantic nature.
Caroline, ever soft-spoken and kind, had given her an indulgent smile—and then, as gently as possible, warned Annabelle off.
Annabelle should have heeded the warning.
Chapter 4
Sterling stared out the multipaned, inset window of his office, and brooded as he awaited Lady Annabelle. Though he was famished, manners dictated that supper be held until she showed and he escorted her into the dining hall. It was the least he could do—quite literally.
He was not in the habit of dressing for dinner, and he had not changed his routine out of deference for his uninvited guest.
Although, he had considered doing so. Years of good breeding could not be easily dismissed. For Lady Montrose, however, he made the effort.
An odd sense of agitation had him in its grip. Had him wanting to move. To pace. To prowl. It was Annabelle’s arrival, of course, that precipitated the restless energy. Not the woman herself—simply what her presence here might mean.
He turned from the window to eye the tall shelves filled with the artifacts and tomes his grandfather had accumulated. Mainly books on astronomy. His passion for studying the stars, a love for which he’d passed down to Sterling, had been a contributingfactor in his decision to purchase the castle—and why he’d left the construct to him. Sterling wished the old man was here now.
His stomach rumbled and he wondered how long he would be made to wait while she did whatever ladies did to refresh themselves after a journey. It couldn’t be much in this case, as she had brought with her no personal effects. No gowns to change into, no combs or hair embellishments or powders or tonics. She had come intent on one thing and one thing only—dragging him back to London to speak with a detective of the Yard.
He wandered to the large, ornate desk that took up one corner of the space, and picked up the polished glass paperweight sitting atop the blotter. The glass felt icy and smooth and utterly solid in his grasp.
Lady Annabellemustbe lying. It made no sense that the Yard would wish to speak with him. It was not something normally done, for Scotland Yard to look for problems when an obvious conclusion existed, especially if doing so meant questioning a member of the aristocracy.
In this instance, Lord Gaston Montrose had been found dead on the floor beside his bed, having, apparently, stumbled upon rising following a night of drunken debauchery. The fact that a member of the aristocracy—Sterling, as it happened—had been seen with him the night before was a matter of course.
Precisely the conclusion Sterling had expected them to reach.
The fresh, tantalizing scent he’d noted in Lady Annabelle’s periphery teased his nostrils. He replaced the paperweight and shifted to face the open doorway.
There she stood, expression defiant, bearing regal as a queen’s despite wearing a rumpled gown. She’d re-pinned her hair into an elegant twist, leaving none of the loose tendrils that had fallen to frame her face earlier. It turned out either style became her. Her hair shone in the candlelit chamber like spun gold.
By God, she was beautiful, and well she knew it.
“Shall we go in to dinner?” he asked without preamble.
She nodded once, and he strode toward her. An odd uncertainty flicked through him. Normally, he would take a lady’s arm to lead her into supper. Propriety said he should do that now. Loath as he was to bestow the courtesy, he could not quite bring himself to eschew every ingrained habit.
He offered her his arm.
