“Wherein evasive action is required.”

It was twenty past one by the time he returned to the house. The staff tiptoed around him, their voices barely a whisper as they were well aware how such changes to his plans affected his temper.

Gabriel sat down at the table, taking a moment to straighten the fork and tilt the napkin a little to the right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the serving staff send a panicked look in the butler’s direction, but Piper merely took a step forward.

“Shall we serve now, my lord?”

Gabriel gave a curt nod, too angry to actually speak.

The food was placed in front of him and the staff retreated, leaving him alone. He reached for his napkin, unfolding it with care and laying it down with precision before he picked up his knife and fork. The plate was exactly the same every day. A cold collation of meat; beef, ham, and roast chicken. A platter of cheese sat at his left side, a pannier of bread on the right, a decanter of claret beside his glass.

He ate first the beef, then the ham, then the chicken, the same order every day, before reaching for the cheese and cutting one - precise - triangle from each before reaching for three slices of bread. One glass of wine was poured, exactly to the wing-tip of the little engraved bird that flew an inch below the rim.

The familiar ritual calmed him a little, and he tried to keep his eyes from the clock. He usually left the house at two o’clock, and he would need to hurry now to regain the lost time. Gabriel chewed, his face settled into a scowl. Damn the wretch for messing up his day, not to mention for having the audacity to tell him she’d return again tomorrow. Well, he’d just see about that.

Unbidden, the image her of sprawled on her back in the snow and laughing her silly head off flitted into his mind. His mouth twitched, just a little, but he suppressed his amusement with a reminder of his anger at her disturbing him and ruining his day. The idea that she would be at his gates at every opportunity between now and Christmas was appalling enough to make him grind his teeth.

The girl was a danger to herself and a blasted nuisance. He could only pray his cousin had the good sense to send her packing as soon as possible.

***

The wedding between Belinda Holbrook and Lord Edward Greyston, Marquess of Winterbourne, was naturally a brief affair, but Crecy was disturbed by the stilted atmosphere. The groom looked ill and Belle resigned to her fate. Her sister seemed intent on avoiding her, though, and so there was little opportunity to reassure herself that all was well. But Crecy felt Edward Greyston, her new brother-in-law, was a good man underneath that dour exterior. He had proved himself a hero in the war, he was clearly devoted and very protective of his young sister, and despite glowering at everyone and being generally antisocial, Crecy could detect no sign that he would be a cruel husband. That he’d been scarred by the war was obvious, but if anyone could heal such scars, Belle could. She was patient and loving, and braver than she realised herself, in Crecy’s opinion. So perhaps there were some hurdles to jump, but her instincts told her that Edward and Belle would make a success of their rather impromptu nuptials.

Her own ambitions, therefore, were rather more to the forefront of her mind.

It was easier than she might have imagined to get away again that afternoon, as the rather odd atmosphere drove everyone to make themselves scarce. Her time was short, though, as she would need to be home for dinner, and she didn’t want Belle fretting herself to death as she had the day before when Crecy had arrived home so late after getting herself hopelessly lost. At least she’d had a valid excuse for her disappearance, which didn’t involve trespassing and aggravating Winterbourne’s neighbour.

It was colder today, the sun less sure of itself and only giving tantalisingly brief glimpses between the thick clouds that were rolling in off the hills. The taste of snow was in the air as the temperature dropped, and Crecy rode hard, wanting to keep the chill from her bones as the freezing air bit at fingers and toes.

It occurred to her that she wouldn’t see him today. That he would take care to be out for the afternoon as she had forewarned him of her visit. Though she was much later than she’d intended to be, and it was almost four o’clock before she reached Damerel, and the countryside was already sinking into gloom. A shiver of apprehension rolled over her, perhaps she should not have come? Not that she was worried about seeing Lord DeMorte, far from it, but being lost again and in this weather …

But then she caught sight of his carriage and those four glossy black horses, rolling their elegant path back to Damerel, and she pushed her mount on, galloping flat out until she caught up with them. Riding beside the carriage for a moment, she glimpsed inside just long enough to see DeMorte’s look of outrage, before riding off ahead to stand, awaiting his arrival on the doorstep of his home.

A rather elderly butler came out to greet her, his rheumy eyes alight with curiosity.

“I’m afraid his lordship is not here at this moment …” he began with a warm if rather anxious smile.

“That’s all right, he’s coming now,” she said, sounding a little breathless as she slid from her mount. “And it’s Miss Holbrook,” she said, wondering if she had imagined the delight in his eyes at the sound of her name.

“Indeed, miss,” he said, a flicker of mischief sliding into his expression. “Well, if Lord DeMorte is expecting you, won’t you step inside for a moment?”

A look of understanding passed between them. It was quite obvious DeMorte neither wanted nor expected her after all, and both of them knew that they would likely pay for this small act of rebellion on the butler’s part, but neither of them gave a hoot.

Crecy beamed at him. “I am rather cold, Mister…?”

“Piper, Miss Holbrook,” he said, leading her in through the grand front doors, “Just call me Piper.”

Crecy had hardly caught her breath and even to begin to take in the magnificent entrance hall before the sound of wheels on gravel could be heard and Gabriel Greyston stalked in, eyes flashing with anger.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” he yelled, sounding so furious that even Crecy took an involuntary step backwards. Nonetheless, she put up her chin.

“I told you I was coming,” she retorted, feeling that familiar sense of exhilaration that seemed quite normal in his presence prickle over her skin.

“And I told you to stay away, blast you!” He walked closer to her, towering over her, his blue eyes bluer than ever as they glittered with anger.

If he hoped to frighten her, however, he had misjudged, for the nearer he got, the harder Crecy found it to suppress the desire to reach out and touch him. She wanted to put her arms around him and rest her head on his chest; the urge to do so was so overwhelming that she blushed a little.

DeMorte’s eyes darkened and he glanced up, a slight nod of his head to Piper indicating that he should leave, now. The old fellow hesitated for just a moment, before making himself scarce. DeMorte watched him go, before turning his attention back to her. Crecy’s heart skittered in her chest, her stomach taut, and yet such longing beneath her skin that she wondered if he could tell how much she wanted him.

“Do you want me to ruin you?” he asked. His voice was low and dangerous, his hooded eyes angry. He reached out and she gasped as his hand slid around her neck, not tightly, but there was certainly an unspoken threat behind his actions. His thumb tilted her head back, forcing her to look up into his eyes. “Is that it? Is that what you desire from me?”

Crecy was breathing so hard that for a moment she couldn’t find the words, but then she met his gaze, suddenly certain that there was confusion behind his eyes and that, in truth, it was he who was more afraid. He was trying to frighten her away, but there was no violence in the hand that grasped her neck; in fact, his touch was gentle and she felt sure he would release her if she were to seem afraid of him. It was the fact that she wasn’t that made him act so. She wondered if she ought to be more horrified by his words, if the fierce heat that uncoiled in her belly at the idea of allowing it to happen made her a vile and unnatural creature.

“I want to be your friend,” she said, her voice soft and sincere.

He snorted, the sneer across his cruel lips ridiculing that idea. “I do not have friends,” he said as though the idea was laughable, as though he’d descended beyond such ordinary human contact.

“I know,” she said, her voice shaking a little now, but she refused to look away. “That’s why you need me so badly.”

He glared at her, and this close, she could see that there were tiny flecks of gold in the blue, that his eyelashes were thick and as long as any girl’s, and then her eyes dropped to his mouth. She wondered what he would do, just how angry he would be … if she tried to kiss him.

His hand fell from her neck and he took an abrupt step away, putting distance between them and turning his back on her.

“I’ll have my carriage take you back to Longwold. If you come back here again, I’ll have you prosecuted for trespass, and don’t think I won’t do it just because you can twist any other fool around your finger with those pretty eyes of yours, Miss Holbrook, because you’ll soon discover your mistake.”

Despite the seriousness of his tone, Crecy felt a smile creep over her mouth, and though she knew it would only serve to aggravate him further, she couldn’t seem to stop it.

“What the devil are you smiling at?” he growled, moving backwards as she walked towards him. Crecy paused, her head tilted to one side a little as she considered him and everything she had learned of him so far. “You think it would be amusing to be prosecuted and have your name in the papers?”

Her face fell at the idea, now she really considered it, and she shook her head. “No, indeed,” she admitted, thinking of just how distressed Belle would be if such a thing happened, and from the look in his eyes, he really did mean it. She felt suddenly dejected, wondering if the whole affair really was hopeless after all.

“Well?”

Crecy looked up, realising that he was still awaiting an answer. She smiled at him, but suspected it was rather a sadder expression now. “You think I have pretty eyes,” she said, her voice quiet as she walked away from him and to the front door.

“Wait,” he said, his tone as demanding as ever. She paused and turned back to see him watching her, looking puzzled. “You won’t come back, will you?” he asked, sounding as though he was anxious she would still disobey him, though the anger had gone from his voice now.

“Goodbye, Lord DeMorte,” she said, dipping a curtsy and going outside to his carriage.

***

The next day, Crecy stayed away, not being brave enough to push her luck that far. Besides, her sister needed her support. Belle’s wedding night had appeared to be something of a non-event, her husband preferring to go out and get himself drunk and then freeze to death outside until Belle was able to persuade him back indoors.

Belle, however, seemed to have a new sense of determination about her this morning, and did not appear to need Crecy’s demands that she not give up. As she spoke, however, Crecy realised she needed to take her own advice.

“Don't be frightened off. If you don't interact with him, even if it's not exactly a positive experience, well, you've already lost,” she said, urging herself on as much as Belle.

Belle frowned a little, but seemed to see the sense behind her words, and Crecy decided she must not give up herself. She was certain that DeMorte was a deeply lonely and unhappy man, wounded, somehow, but in a less obvious way than poor Edward. She needed to discover what haunted him so and find a way to exorcise whatever dark past seemed to shroud him with such pain. Certainty gripped her, and though she knew well that it was the kind of certainty that would give poor Belle conniptions, she decided she would act upon it, come what may.

"You'll have to seduce him, Belle," she said, wishing she had the slightest idea of how to go about doing such a thing herself.

"Crecy!" her sister exclaimed with obvious horror, and Crecy couldn’t help but smirk. Good Lord, if she knew what she was really thinking, she’d likely drop dead with the shock of it.

"Oh, Belle," Crecy replied, mimicking her shocked tone. "Do stop being such a goose. I know what happens between a man and a woman."

"You do?" Belle replied in alarm, looking as though all her fears had come to fruition at once. "How?"

"Oh, never mind that!" Crecy said, impatient, now, and not about disclose that Aunt Grimble had educated her on a number of points she really ought not to have. "The point is that what does go on is powerful. If you can get him into your bed, you've a far greater chance of getting into his heart!" she added, her tone fierce, as much to convince herself of the truth of it as Belle. Belle, after all, was married; it was right and natural. Crecy was not and unlikely to be, and she had no evidence to suggest that DeMorte wouldn’t simply take what she offered and leave her in ruins.

But some stubborn piece of her heart had decided DeMorte was the only man she wanted, and Crecy was nothing if not single-minded. She would have him or … or live her days as an old maid. Either was preferable to living with a man who would never understand her and would always consider her a freak for her strange fancies and love of the dark and morbid. She felt a strange kind of assurance that this, at least, was something her Gabriel would never do.

***

The next morning, and much to Crecy’s dismay, they left for Bath. From what Crecy could gather from her blushing sister, last night Belle had indeed seduced her husband and it had been something of triumph. This morning, however, she had discovered herself alone on waking, and was clearly unhappy about it, and rightly so. So Belle was leaving Winterbourne to his own devises to give him time to consider his actions, whilst she indulged in some long overdue shopping. Crecy was pleased to see her being urged on by Edward’s sister Violette, who seemed determined to spend as much of her brother’s money as possible.

In normal circumstances, Crecy would have been delighted by such a trip. Bath meant book shops and the theatre, two things which she did enjoy indulging in. However, Violette was eyeing up Crecy’s wardrobe with as much disapprobation as she had Belle’s, and Crecy felt sure she was going to spend the next four days being stuck with pins. It was not a happy thought, though perhaps worthwhile if it helped her catch DeMorte’s eye.

Somehow, she thought it would take more than a pretty frock to do that, though. He was a wealthy viscount, after all, and despite his reputation, surely there must have been scores of women who’d tried to snare him? But his name had not once been linked to any eligible lady. In fact, it was well known that he never dallied with innocents or even widows, preferring houses of ill repute and less reputable ladies for his entertainment.

Crecy glowered out of the window and wondered if she was kidding herself. He hadn’t shown the slightest interest in her so far after all. He could have kissed her at least twice to date, after all, and he’d not taken advantage of that fact when any other man would have leapt at the chance. It was really very depressing. What was the use of being as pretty as everyone told her she was if she couldn’t even get a man like DeMorte to take advantage of her? He obviously preferred more experienced women to silly little innocents, and she could little blame him for that. But somehow she must make him see that there was more to her than met the eye.