Driven by all-too-well-known insomnia, Blackwold glanced up and down the corridor and eased open the door. The moonlight streaming through the window revealed Miss Cowles’s sleeping form, curled up under heavy covers. He gently closed the door behind him and moved over to the bed.

The maid had braided Miss Cowles’s fair hair, but soft, pale strands around her face had escaped and lay over her cheek, moving with each soft breath. Even gilded by the silvery light, he recognized signs of her illness in the deep circles beneath the flutter of her lashes and the hollows under her cheekbones.

He touched her wrist lightly.

Her eyelids sprang open immediately. “Who is there? What is it?”

“Quietly, Miss Cowles,” he replied.

“Lord Blackwold!” She glanced around and struggled to sit up, but he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“Peace. Don’t get up on my account.”

“Don’t get up on your account!” She brushed him off and sat up, plumping the pillows behind her to support her back. “What are you doing in here?” She looked around again. “What time is it?”

“It is a little past three in the morning—the most honest time of the day.”

“Hardly the day. And I fail to see how the middle of the night is any more honest than any other hour.”

He picked up a ladder-backed chair and brought it closer to the bed. Taking a seat, he grinned. “People seem more inclined to share their honest opinions in the dark. Or when sleepy. Don’t you find it so?”

“Since I’m usually in bed at this hour—”

“Exactly.”

She held her hand up in front of her mouth to hide her laugh, but her soft snort betrayed her. “What are you doing here at three in the morning?”

“You might consider speaking more softly, Miss Cowles. If you don’t wish for more company.”

“Mary will be furious with you if she finds out. I’m supposed to be resting.” The moonlight revealed the flash of her eyes as she gave him a sidelong glance. She bit her lower lip.

“So you are.” He hooked one arm over the back of his chair and lounged back. “I couldn’t sleep, and I thought you might be suffering from the same restlessness.” He gestured to the window. “Full moon.”

“I’m suffering from no such thing, as you very well know, since you decided to awaken me at this wretched hour.” She shifted against her pillows and arranged the covers with nervous hands. “Surely, you didn’t come in here just to annoy me.” She stifled a yawn. “Unlike you, I really do not have any difficulties sleeping.”

He caught her left wrist and held it gently, his fingers finding her pulse. It beat firmly, though perhaps a bit fast. “Apparently not.” He smiled, and when she tried to withdraw her hand, he tightened his grip. “So. I understand you met my cousin, Georgina.”

“Yes. She’s a delightful girl.”

“Unlike the rest of the Hodges?”

“Oh, are there other girls in your family?” Her overly sweet reply held distinct tones of sarcasm.

His grin widened. “I’m glad you like her—she was enormously impressed by you.”

“Is that what this is about? You think it is inappropriate for me to associate with such an innocent and impressionable young woman?”

“Your voice, Miss Cowles. Do modulate your tones, or you really will awaken the dragon.”

“I can assure you that my friendship with Gina will do her no harm,” Miss Cowles whispered with sibilant ferocity.

“No. If I were to be concerned about either of you, it would not be my cousin. Particularly when you are in this weakened state.”

“I am not weak!”

His brows rose. “Truly? Mary insists that you have no more strength than a kitten and will be confined to your room for at least another two days. Perhaps more.”

“I will not!” She replied coldly. Her wrist jerked in his grasp, but her pulse remained firm and steady. “I intend to get up tomorrow morning—that is, assuming that I will be allowed to sleep tonight, which doesn’t seem at all likely.”

“That moonlight is damned intrusive, is it not?” He shook his head. “You should have pulled your curtains closed if it bothers you so much.”

He was rewarded with another stifled snort and a tug from the hand he held. “Can’t you just go away and get drunk like a decent British lord? Why must you bother me?”

“No reason, except a touch of curiosity.” He shifted his fingers over the smooth skin of her wrist to find the flutter of her pulse again. “Why are you frightened of me, Miss Cowles? What did you see the night the Orion sank?”

Her pulse kicked up, throbbing rapidly under his fingertips. She tried to pull her arm away, but he refused to allow it. Her face was masklike in the moonlight, her cheekbones sharply defined and her eyes sunken in hollows. It was cruel of him to press her so when she’d been ill and was at her weakest, but that was also the time when she was at her most vulnerable. If she was going to reveal the truth, it would be now, when she was muzzy-headed from sleep and shaky from sickness.

“I told you—I saw nothing. Just the storm. I didn’t have time to observe anything except jagged rocks, waves, and a treacherous path through them to the shore.” She pressed her lips together.

“What do you fear?”

“I fear nothing!”

“And yet the pounding of your heart says otherwise.”

“Perhaps I simply fear that you will take advantage of me, and perhaps I am right to fear that, since here you are, in my room at three in the morning, for no reason except an inability to sleep.”

Her words stung, but he didn’t move or release her. In his same soft, even voice, he said, “If that is what you fear, then set your mind at rest.”

“Because you don’t find me attractive enough to molest?” Her mouth twisted.

“Do you want me to ravish you?” He grinned wolfishly.

She glanced down at the covers and smoothed them over her lap with her free hand. “I just want you to let me rest.”

“And I will—once you answer my questions. What exactly did you see, Miss Cowles?”

“Hannah.” She sighed heavily, her right hand restlessly moving over the covers to pick at the seams. “You might as well call me Hannah.”

“Very well, Hannah. What did you see?”

“Why do you insist I saw something? I’d be dead if I saw them, would I not?” She pressed her lips together, then her eyes widened. Her hand flew up to press against her mouth.

“As I thought.” He nodded. “You did see the wreckers—and you saw what they did.” His voice was harsh, and he modulated his tones with difficulty. “And you thought I was one of them.”

“I saw you!”

Now that was interesting. He studied her pale face, trying to read her thoughts from her eyes and frowning mouth, but the shadows guarded her expression too well. “You saw a man you thought was I. Did you see his face?”

Mouth pressed into a firm line again, she shook her head. Beneath his fingertips, the racing of her pulse was slowly returning to normal.

“I see.” He considered this for a moment before nodding. He lifted his right hand. The griffin ring gleamed dully in the silvery light from the window, the diamond eyes dark. “You saw a ring, then. This ring?”

“The head of an animal with wings. Yes. A griffin with jeweled eyes.” She bit off the words, her gaze focused on her lap. “Or perhaps I only thought I saw it. How do I know? It was dark, and I was fighting the storm to stay alive.”

“But there were lanterns. There are always lanterns when they want to draw a ship in to shore.”

“I don’t know anything. The storm—I hardly know what I saw.” Her mouth trembled, and she bit her lower lip again. “I won’t tell anyone. Just leave me in peace.”

“I have no intention of harming you. But do try to act a little less terrified when I enter the room. It’s demoralizing.”

A sob, half tears and half laughter, escaped her before she once again covered her mouth with her hand. He released her left wrist, and she rubbed it vigorously before pulling the covers even higher. “And I told you—I am not afraid of you.”

“If you saw this ring then you ought to be,” he commented. “But you didn’t see the face that went with it?”

She shook her head.

“Did you see the color of the eyes?”

“No. I couldn’t see your—his—face.” Her voice shook.

“The eyes of the griffin?”

“No.”

“But you saw enough to be frightened.”

Another soft cry caught in her throat.

“And you are tired.” He relented, feeling cruel for having forced her into a confession, even one as useless as hers proved to be. He ran a hand through his hair. “I wish you had seen his face.”

“Well, I don’t! I’m glad I didn’t see his face.”

“Ignorance will not keep you safe, Hannah. Quite the reverse.” He lifted his right fist and tilted it to catch the pale light with his ring. “There are four rings. Who will you trust?”

“I don’t know, though there is one thing I do know. I can trust that you will not let me sleep, and you will annoy me to your utmost, even though you don’t find me attractive enough to bother ravishing. Even when you are alone with me in my room at three in the morning.”

“You sound exceedingly displeased about it, too.” A smile played over his mouth as he studied her. He rose slowly and bent over the bed, bracing himself with one arm resting on the headboard and the other stretched over her lap, his fist planted on the covers next to her hip.

“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly. Her right hand pressed against her chest while her left clutched the silk edge of her blanket.

He stared into her eyes, wide and dark in the moonlight. The thick plaits of her pale hair framed her long neck, and as he watched, the tip of her tongue brushed over her lower lip. She smelled of lavender, rosemary, and honey, and her skin appeared silvery in the light from the window.

He pressed his lips against the smooth, warm skin of her forehead. The lace of her nightcap brushed his nose, tickling it with the scent of clean soap. The muscles in his arms tightened briefly before he straightened.

“Good night, Hannah. Sleep well.” He moved toward the door.

Silence answered him. When he turned to look at her from the doorway, she was staring at him, her lips slightly parted.

He grinned back, wishing he could see the blush he knew must be covering her cheeks, but the moonlight only painted her in shades of silver and black. When she frowned, he stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

A little knowledge was a dangerous thing. Why the devil had he ridden out in response to Farley, that idiot of a Customs Officer, on the one night that the wreckers decided to lure a ship in on Blackrock’s doorstep? If he had been there…

All he could do now was try to keep her safe and puzzle out which of his relatives was encouraging the villagers to commit murder.