The Dark Viscount

The Dark Viscount
Deborah Simmons

His heart is black and he trusts no oneThunderclaps, lightning strikes and her imposing new mansion looming high – but Miss Marchant is not one to be afraid. Not wilful, beautiful Sydony Marchant. If the house doesn’t shock her, the arrival of Viscount Hawthorne does!No longer the boy she once kissed – Bartholomew’s now a man with a ruthless glint in his eye. He’s here to uncover a truth and ruin Sydony. But they are soon entangled in secrets darker than they know. And, as the tension crackles between them, the memory of their innocent kiss is no longer enough…

Uncertain whether she was being pursued, Sydony raced through the rooms towards the front of the house, flung open the door and, without even blinking, launched herself at the man who was standing there.

‘Barto!’

Halted by his tall form, Sydony breathed his name against the soft lapel where she buried her face. A vague memory of security blossomed into a reassuring sense of safety. It was no wonder, for the hard body she clung to was as strong and solid as an oak. It smelled good, too, like horses and leather and something else. She had never noticed Barto’s scent before…but then she hadn’t been this close to him in years.

The Dark Viscount

Deborah Simmons

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

A former journalist, DEBORAH SIMMONS turned to fiction after a love of historical romances spurred her to write her own, HEART’S MASQUERADE, which was published in 1989. She has since written more than twenty-five novels and novellas, among them a USA TODAY bestselling anthology and two finalists in the Romance Writers of America’s annual RITA® competition. Her books have been published in 26 countries, including illustrated editions in Japan, and she’s grateful for the support of her readers throughout the world.

With thanks to my fellow author Terri Valentine for her support, encouragement, and friendship.

Chapter One

Sydony watched dark clouds skitter across the sky with a wary eye, aware that the approaching storm made for an ominous arrival at their new home. The heavens seemed bigger out here, the elements of nature more powerful, or perhaps it was just the strangeness of the countryside that gripped her as she gazed out the carriage window. Her brother Kit would say she read too many Gothic novels, yet there was no denying that their destination was a far cry from the neat brick house they had called home for so long.

The sad truth was that she and Kit were orphans—not the wretched sort forced into the workhouses, but orphans none the less. Their mother had passed away when they were still young children, and she was remembered fondly, if not well. But their father had died less than a year ago, and the wound was still fresh.

An especially deep rut in the road flung Sydony against her brother, and she was grateful for Kit’s solid presence. They had come to lean on each other more since the accident, by both choice and necessity. Their father had been a scholar—a man of books, not business—and, since his death, they had been forced to tighten their purses.

Although only two years Sydony’s senior, at nineteen Kit had kept a clear head. He had never succumbed to the lure of gambling or drinking to excess that made so many of his peers fools and paupers or worse. He might sometimes tease Sydony that she was their only real asset, a beauty who would fare well on the marriage mart, but they had neither the heart nor the funds for a Season in London.

So they had remained together, continuing to lease the house where they had lived with their father. But not long after his death, the owner pressed them for more money. Apparently, he was leery of two young people running a household, and, truth to tell, their various stipends and resources were stretched thin. But where were they to go?

It was then, when things looked rather dismal, that their sagging fortunes finally took a turn for the better. The news that they had inherited property from a distant relative seemed like a windfall. They sold off their furniture, packed up their belongings, and set out immediately for their new home. But now, as Sydony watched leaves chasing across the bleak landscape, denuded oaks stark against the sky, she wondered whether their circumstances had sunk even lower.

She caught sight of a sprawling stone structure rising in the distance just as the heavens burst. The storm was upon them, and so, now, was their future. Sydony drew a deep breath as she clung to her seat. The rough road that had seemed nearly impassable before was not improved by the downpour.

‘That must be Oakfield! Do you see it?’ Kit said, leaning forward and pointing eagerly.

‘Yes,’ Sydony murmured, squinting into the sheets of rain. ‘Though this hardly seems a promising welcome.’

Ever the optimist, Kit ignored her dismay. ‘Well, at least we’ve found the place before the road washes away.’

‘Now, that’s a lovely thought,’ Sydony said. Their lifelong neighbour Lady Elizabeth Hawthorne had warned them that the site sounded remote, but Sydony had not thought it beyond the reach of modern highways.

Kit laughed, and Sydony set aside her misgivings as the coach halted in a thunder of splashing hooves. Without waiting for the coachman, Kit pushed at the door, but the wind and rain were so fierce that he had to use some force to thrust it open. Heedless of the elements, he leapt down and turned towards her, his hand extended. But when Sydony stuck her head out, she faltered, blinking against the wetness and gaping at the scene before her.

The world outside was thick with the unnatural twilight of the storm, blinding rain making it hard to see beyond the feeble glow of the carriage lantern. But there was no mistaking the hulking darkness of a building that rose behind the figure of her brother, eerily forbidding, and yet somehow familiar, as if Sydony had seen it in dreams…

‘Syd!’ Kit yelled, and she turned her attention back to her brother. By the time her slippers touched the gravelled drive, her cloak was whipping around her andthehoodhad been thrown back from her face. Ducking, she held on to Kit’s hand as they dashed towards an arched entrance.

‘Look! It’s medieval,’ Kit shouted, pointing upwards, and Sydony lifted her face to see a vague outline of battlements. She paused, once again, to stare at the forbidding façade of old stone laced with even blacker shadows. Either it was crumbling to pieces or it was covered in some sort of growth that made for an altogether unpleasant aspect.

‘Hurry, before we’re both soaked,’ Kit urged, dragging Sydony inside.

It was too late for that. Sydony’s gown was already plastered to her legs, the cold and wet seeping into her bones. For once, she found it difficult to share her brother’s enthusiasm. Being male and of an age that sought excitement and new experiences, he viewed the move as a big adventure, while Sydony longed for the familiar and a routine that might have chafed before, but now would be welcomed.

As they stood under the archway, Kit banged upon the door, but there was no answer to their summons. When their coachman Henry deposited a trunk upon the doorstep, Kit waved him away. ‘See if you can find a stable around the back,’ he shouted over the storm.

Henry nodded and hurried back to the coach, obviously eager to locate a dry berth, while the Marchants were left standing before the massive doors, rattling the knocker.

‘Maybe they can’t hear us,’ Kit said.

The thought was no comfort to Sydony, who shivered under the onslaught of rain and glanced around her dismal surroundings. ‘It looks deserted,’ she said.

Indeed, it did, for no lights glowed warmly at the mullioned windows. The walkway was overgrown, as was the grass and shrubbery. The solicitor had written a warning that the house had not been kept up over the past few years and that additional staff would be needed. Now, as Sydony stood in the pouring rain, she pondered the exact meaning of ‘additional’.

Finally, Kit tried the door, which swung open after a brief struggle. Inside, all was dark and quiet, with little light filtering in from outside.

‘Hello?’ Kit called out. His voice echoed in the old-fashioned hall with its stone flags. Although open, the space smelled musty, and Sydony was struck by a vision of their cosy cottage with its wood floors, brightly painted walls and cheerful, airy windows. Despite her father’s dusty piles of books, it had always been filled with the scents of beeswax and flowers, fresh or dried.

‘Well, even if there’s no one to greet us, here we are at our own place, Syd. What do you think of our good fortune?’ Kit said, spreading his arms to encompass the dreary area.

‘Astounding,’ she said, tongue firmly in cheek.

As she had anticipated, Kit chuckled at her tone before hurrying to drag in the trunks.

Unfastening her cloak, Sydony went in search of the kitchen, but she found no comfort there. Although no servants were about, the place looked as if they had but recently left in the midst of their labours. Several bowls and utensils cluttered the work table, yet when Sydony reached out to touch them, her gloved finger became marked with dust.

It was almost as though the inhabitants had exited suddenly, but when? Sydony shook her head. If so, they had left no food about to spoil or draw vermin, Sydony noted with a quick glance into the shadowy corners. Even the kitchen was gloomy, and as she glanced about Sydony saw that a window high in one wall had been boarded over. No wonder it was dim.

Thankfully, a window in the other wall remained intact. Stepping towards it, Sydony wiped it with a gloved hand and leaned forwards to peek out. At first she could see only blackness, but then a face swam behind the pane. She let out an involuntary shriek before she recognised their own coachman.

Her heart pounding, Sydony drew a deep breath and straightened as she moved to open the nearby door. Although hardly missish, it seemed she was not immune to the odd mood set by the deserted residence.

‘Sorry, miss,’ Henry said, stepping inside. He slipped off his hat and shook the rain from his shoulders. ‘Didn’t mean to give you a fright.’

‘Certainly not,’ Sydony said, knowing how Kit would roar with laughter. She had thought a childhood of boy’s pranks had inured her to everything, but the new surroundings were enough to unnerve anyone.

As if on cue, Kit appeared in the doorway, a sturdy implement in hand that he must have snatched up from a fireplace. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘I thought I heard something.’

‘I’m afraid I gave Miss Marchant a turn,’ Henry said.

‘It was nothing,’ Sydony muttered, and, for once, Kit did not pursue it. They had more important things to do.

‘I didn’t see any of the crates we shipped ahead,’ Kit said. ‘Did you see anything in the stables?’

Henry shook his head. ‘My boy Clarence is settling in the horses, but I didn’t see hide nor hair of anyone. The place looks like it hasn’t been used in many a year.’

‘Well, we shall just have to set up our own stables,’ Kit said.