The Dark Viscount

‘I’ve got to take Henry and Clarence to catch the mail coach in Oak’s Hollow, which is where our man has his office, so I’ll stop in and make sure he’s planning on attending to business,’ Kit said.

‘And find out if he has the household goods we shipped ahead,’ Sydony said. ‘I’d hate to have Father’s books go missing.’

Kit nodded, then grabbed up the coat he had slung over a chair and shrugged into it. ‘Maybe you had better come along. I don’t like leaving you here all alone.’

‘Rubbish,’ Sydony said. The answer was automatic, a response she had made countless times before to her brother, and yet she realized that the circumstances were different now. She was alone in a strange, empty house, with nothing but bleak moorland surrounding her.

‘Fine, then,’ Kit said, without glancing her way. ‘I doubt that you’ll have any trouble, but Grandfather’s duelling pistols are up in the room I slept in.’

The offhand comment was not comforting, and Sydony opened her mouth to tell him that she might join him, after all. But he was already slamming the door behind him, leaving her to the dusty stillness. The companionable moment they had shared in their kitchen seemed all too brief, and even the room itself fell into shadow, as if a cloud had passed over the sun.

She could still reach Kit before he left, Sydony knew, and he would not mock her for joining him. However, a lifetime of keeping up with her brother and demanding her own independence made her loathe to give in to feminine fears, even if it meant defiantly staying in a house with enough peculiarities to make a Gothic heroine swoon.

Although Sydony wasn’t the swooning type, she wondered whether she ought not try to catch up with her brother. Pushing back her chair, she slipped on her cloak and stepped outside, intending to call after Kit. She saw him striding toward the stables, but paused at her first real glimpse of her new surroundings.

Instead of neatly clipped lawns and tilled rolling hills, Sydony saw tall grass sadly in need of a trimming and barren moors rising into the distance. With a shudder, she turned round, in search of some pleasant aspect. There had to be a garden somewhere, she told herself, as she stepped along a weedy gravel path that led towards the rear of the house.

She had only taken a few steps when she saw something, a huge mass of dark green that made her pause. ‘What is that?’ she called at Kit, pointing.

‘It’s a maze,’ Kit shouted, with a smile and a wave.

He continued on his way, and Sydony did not stop him. She was too busy looking ahead towards the maze. She’d heard of such things, of course, and had even seen a small one at the pleasure gardens near her old home, but the thought of owning one sent a quiver of delight up her spine. She hurried on until the path ended, then hesitated only briefly before lifting her hem and trudging into the damp grass.

As usual, she resented Kit’s more sensible costume of breeches, boots and greatcoat. He had often told her that she could dress like a man for all he cared; though tempted, Sydony had never succumbed. She had been quite the tomboy when younger, trailing after Kit and his friends, determined to keep up. But over the years, she had come to realize that she was, by nature, different, and had tried to adopt more seemly behaviour. It was not too difficult, especially when her former companions revolted her with some masculine prank. She would never be content to sit and sew, but neither did she care to stride around in breeches, shearing sheep or shooting birds.

Although her slippers were already wet, Sydony continued walking until she reached the rear of the house. There, a crumbling terrace of sorts was surrounded by what had once been a garden. And behind it all, great dark hedges rose so high that they seemed to block out all else. Shivering at the sight, Sydony pulled her cloak tighter around her against a sudden chill in the air. The overgrown greenery held a certain allure that compelled her to seek out its secrets, yet at the same time, its wild, ominous aspect warned her away.

‘Don’t go in there!’

Sydony jumped at the sound of her very thoughts shouted aloud, but when she turned it was only Kit, calling to her from the path.

‘You’re liable to get lost, and we’ve got to meet the solicitor.’

Normally, his high-handed male order would make her bristle, but Sydony nodded in agreement. Still, her brother made no move to leave. Obviously, he was waiting for her to return to the house; with a sigh, she walked towards him.

‘We’ll have plenty of time to explore later. But business first,’ he added, flashing her a grin.

Sydony nodded. There had been a time when she had been the more practical one, but now she was proud of him for taking on so much responsibility.

And just how practical was she? As she watched him leave, Sydony knew full well she ought to go with him. But now, there were more interesting things to investigate at Oakfield, including a maze that was situated behind the house, but could not be viewed from any of its windows.

Chapter Two

Sydony returned to the house with a new purpose. Soon she was searching each room that looked over the rear of the property, but every window was either shuttered or boarded over. Even the doors in the drawing room that led to the crumbling terrace had been blocked. She could wait until Kit returned, but was too impatient for a glimpse of what lay beyond the gardens. Although the maze was nothing except a mass of tall shrubbery at ground level, from higher up in the house, she should be able to view the pattern itself.

Turning on her heel, Sydony decided to look for a crowbar or some tool that she could use to pry free the wood panels. But when she reached the stairs, she remembered that last night Kit had pointed out battlements, rooftop outlooks that were not uncommon in medieval dwellings. A giddy excitement rushed through her at the prospect of standing above with the entire labyrinth laid out before her, its secrets finally revealed.

Although Sydony glanced about for a way upwards, the main staircase did not resume its path, and a quick reconnoitre revealed no other steps. There had to be a way to reach the roof from inside the house, and such a stair should have an opening on every floor, yet all Sydony could find was a door that might or might not take her to the top. And it was locked.

Her new search for a key sent her back down to the ground floor, where she discovered two more locked doors. She was hot and dusty by the time she wandered into what looked like a library—without the books. The room was dark, heavily panelled and lined with shelves, but they were bare, much to Sydony’s disappointment.

With a sigh, she told herself she had no time to read any way. In fact, she ought to be cataloguing the contents of the house or taking a broom to it instead of chasing after phantoms. And, yet, as new owners, shouldn’t she and Kit be able to view every facet of the building, including whatever was closed off?

With that thought in mind, Sydony renewed her search for keys and tugged at the drawers of a tall secretary that was one of the few furnishings in the room. At first glance, they appeared to contain only old letters and receipts. Still, she checked every nook and cranny, digging through the papers until her fingers brushed against metal. With a cry of delight, Sydony pulled out a ring of keys that had probably been carelessly tossed into the drawer.

She stood, intent upon hurrying upstairs at once, but fought against the compulsion. Logic dictated that she try the nearest doors first, so she sought out those on the ground floor. And if one opened on to a servants’ stair that led all the way to the battlements, so much the better.

Unfortunately, it was not that simple. As Sydony stood in front of the first door, trying key after key, her impatience grew. But just as she was tempted to turn aside, she heard the click of the lock that heralded her success. Still, she had to struggle with the door, which seemed to have swollen in the wet weather. Putting all her weight behind her efforts, she leaned back and pulled until the heavy wood swung open with a banging and knocking sound that seemed to ring throughout the house.

Sydony peered into the gaping dark as the smell of cool, damp air greeted her. But just as she leaned forwards, something else rushed out of the blackness, and she fell back with a shriek. Even as she told herself that the thing was probably only a bird, her dislike of the other distinct possibility—that it was a bat—sent her running as far away as possible. Uncertain whether she was being pursued, Sydony raced through the rooms toward 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.

And with that thought, Sydony realised just how stiffly her rescuer was standing beneath her grip, his chin lifted and his arms rigid at his sides. Far from giving her comfort, he was uncomfortable himself, a discovery that sent embarrassment knifing through her. Sydony stepped back, away from him. Yet even as she loosed her hold, Sydony felt a pang, as though she were letting go of something vital and precious.

Or perhaps one night in this medieval monstrosity had completely unhinged her mind. It had certainly affected her behaviour. Trying to regain her good sense, Sydony drew a deep breath of autumn air that bespoke recent rain and dead leaves, instead of Bartholomew Hawthorne.

‘Pardon me,’ she said, though her behaviour was unpardonable. It might have been accepted, or at least tolerated when she was a small girl tagging after her brother and his best friend. But that friend had drifted away and had grown into a man. And not just any man, mind you, but a lord of the realm: Viscount Hawthorne.

Sydony could feel her face flame. ‘Something gave me a fright, a bird probably,’ she muttered. But even as she spoke, she knew how ridiculous that must sound to someone who had once known her well. She had been resolutely fearless in her younger years, and now she was running from a bird?

Barto’s cool gaze flicked over her, making Sydony raise a hand to her hair. Something had flown at her, for it was in disarray that no amount of surreptitious smoothing could remedy. Under her visitor’s impas-sionate scrutiny, she realised just how unkempt she must appear. Her simple day gown was mussed and dirty, and smudges marred her skin. All she needed was an apron to complete her impersonation of a scullery maid. Still, there was no need for Barto to look at her in such a condescending fashion. Stung, Sydony raised her chin.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked baldly.

Instead of appearing dismayed by the question, Barto simply lifted a dark brow, as though remarking on her poor manners. When had he become so aloof? Sydony wondered. Even more disconcerting, when had he become so attractive? Barto had always been handsome, but then, so was Kit. Girls had always gaped at them, but Sydony had taken little notice. Until now.

Had he grown into his face, maturing into this masculine beauty, or had familiarity blinded her to his looks? If so, that familiarity was long gone. Sydony had seen him at her father’s funeral and at his father’s, as well, but only for brief moments, and before that, it had been years since she and her brother had spent long, careless days in his company.

He was tall now, towering over her, despite her own height, and his shoulders were wide. His deep brown hair was burnished and well cut, although a little too long to be fashionable. But it was his face, at once known and yet different, that made Sydony’s heart beat faster. Unfortunately, its dark perfection was marred by the mocking tilt of his lips, which told her he was well aware of her study.

‘My mother said that you had moved. She misses you, of course, and was naturally concerned that your new home be as you’d hoped,’ he said, finally, in answer to her question.

‘Well, it isn’t,’ Sydony said, irritated by the glint in his eye. Barto probably knew all too well just how handsome he was, and she refused to flatter him with any further study.

‘The residence is deserted, with no staff at all, so we could hardly provide the hospitality to which you are accustomed, my lord Viscount,’ Sydony noted. She had intended to scorn his fine title, but the oddness of addressing Barto by his father’s name took the force from her words.

Barto’s dark brows lowered, and Sydony remembered his temper, although she saw no crack in his elegant façade. ‘I assure you that I am not made of spun sugar,’ he said, coolly. ‘Nor will I melt away without the benefit of luxuries.’

Sydony doubted that. Once upon a time, she had fed this man mud pies, but now he was used to the best of everything, and she could not even offer him biscuits. If she had seen some hint of her former companion, Sydony would have given little thought to the change in circumstances, but there was no warmth in this meeting. And if he treated her so coldly, what if he looked down his aristocratic nose at Kit, flush with excitement over his property?

‘I’m sorry, Ba—my lord,’ Sydony swiftly amended. ‘We are not at home to visitors, as yet. But do give your mother my greatest regards and tell her that we are well and arrived safely.’

Sydony tendered a terse smile, but Barto obviously would not be dismissed on the threshold like some tradesman. Again, though the exterior remained unchanged, Sydony saw the flash in those dark eyes, and she was tempted to shut the door, rather than face his displeasure. Yet she stood her ground, her own temper flaring at the untenable position he had put her in. A gentleman would take her rebuff with good grace.

But Barto had never been a gentleman.