Lord of Legends

Presenting her card to the parlor maid who answered the door, she strode into Rothwell’s entrance hall. She was immediately shown into Sinjin’s study, a masculine sanctuary into which few gentlemen would ever admit a lady.

“Ah, Lady Donnington,” Sinjin said, rising as he finished rubbing out the end of his undoubtedly expensive cigar into the ashtray on his desk. “I had not expected to be graced with your charming presence so soon.”

Mariah removed her hat. “I hope it is not an inconvenience.”

“An inconvenience?” He chuckled and waved her toward one of the hard, straight-backed chairs. “After your recent generosity, your coming could never be an inconvenience.”

Mariah felt far too agitated to sit or bother with the niceties. “I hope you are prepared to listen to a very strange tale,” she said.

Ware peered at her with interest. “Has this anything to do with your mysterious request for assistance?”

“Yes.”

“Will you have tea?”

“I’ve only just had luncheon.”

“With Lady Westlake?”

“How did you guess?”

“Something about the look on your face. And Lady Westlake holds you in particular fascination, you know.”

“She seems to share the dowager’s assumptions about my … my supposedly bad behavior.”

“You do know why, don’t you?”

Mariah was in no mood for further unpleasant revelations. “Sinjin …”

“She’s been in love with Donnington for years.”

“But Lady Westlake is married!”

“You’re being naïve again, Merry. There are some who actually do ignore their marriage vows.”

“You mean that she and my husband have been … they’ve—”

“Not as far as I am aware. But that doesn’t keep Pamela from hoping.”

Mariah played nervously with the hem of her riding jacket, striving to hide her agitation. “Do you know her well, Sinjin?”

He sighed. “Do take a seat.”

She sat, and he did the same, drumming his fingers on the table beside his chair. “She’s frequently at Marlborough House,” he said. “One could scarcely miss her. And the Viscounts Westlake have been our neighbors since my grandfather’s time. Pamela has recently become a great friend of my mother’s.” His face settled into a scowl. “I don’t think Donnie has seen her since well before your marriage, but you’d do well to stay away from her, Merry.”

“I may avoid her, but not your mother. She still hopes to discover grounds for her dislike of me. And if matters at Donbridge proceed without your assistance, I fear she may get her wish.”

Sinjin started. “What matters?” he demanded. “Mariah, what have you done?”

“Nothing very bad, unless you consider discovering a hidden prisoner on the estate an evil on my part.”

He laughed. “I beg your pardon?”

“I have found a man at Donbridge, imprisoned in a folly.”

Sinjin leaned back in his chair and reached for the crushed cigar, which was quite beyond recovery.

“Get another, if you like,” Mariah said. “I’m used to my father’s cigars, you know.”

Sinjin got up, paced around the room and swung to face her. “What nonsense, Mariah. I always suspected you had a vivid imagination, but this exceeds my wildest expectations.”

She tried very hard not to flinch at his tone. Though her determination hadn’t wavered, she had guessed that Sinjin would be bound to wonder about the state of her mind.

“It isn’t nonsense,” she said, very low. “Is anyone likely to hear us?”

“I usually banish the servants when I’m in my study,” he said. “What has that to do with … with this fantastic story of yours?”

She took a deep breath. “This must be a secret between us, Sinjin.”

“A secret.” He waved his hand. “Very well, it shall be our secret.” He laughed again, though the sound was strained. “Get on with it, then.”

His rudeness was the least of her concerns. “When I was walking out by the mere yesterday morning,” she said slowly, “I saw something at the folly—”

“You mean that Georgian monstrosity?” He chuckled to himself, glanced at Mariah’s straight face and sobered. “What did you see at the folly?”

“A man.”

“A man?”

“A man caged up like an animal, behind bars. A man who has obviously been a prisoner for some time.”

Sinjin frowned, wore another circle in the carpet, revisited his unhappy cigar, and finally took his seat again.

“A prisoner?” he echoed. “In the folly?”

“As I said.”

It was too much for even an intelligent man to absorb all at once. Sinjin slumped in his chair, pinching his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “This isn’t just a story, is it?”

“Do you think I’m a liar, Sinjin?”

“Good God, no.” He raised his head. “Who in hell is he?”

Mariah released her breath. As miraculous as it seemed, he believed her. Or at least he was doing a very good job of pretending.

“I don’t know,” she said. “When I first found him, he couldn’t speak. And though he has regained the power of conversation, he doesn’t know his name.”

“What do you mean?”