It wasn’t the first time Eli Dawes had broken into this house.
The rain seemed to slow slightly as he headed for the rear, toward the servants’ entrance near the kitchens. The doors of the house would be bolted, but there was a window with a faulty latch, which he had taken advantage of a lifetime ago when he would stumble back from town in the dead of night after too much whiskey. Eli gazed at the empty windows that lined the upper floors, relieved to find that the vast house was dark and silent. Avondale would be operating with only a skeleton staff—aside from maintaining the structure and grounds, there would be little to do.
Eli slipped his fingers under the edge of the lower window and tapped on the top left corner while gently pushing upward. The window inched up slowly, though with a lot more resistance than he remembered.
Above his head another roll of thunder echoed, and he cursed softly as the rain once again came down in sheets. Quickly he wrestled the window the rest of the way up and swung himself over the sill, then lowered the window behind him. The abrupt cessation of the buffeting wind and the lash of rain was almost disorienting. He stood for a long moment, trying to get his bearings and listening for the approach of anyone he might have disturbed.
But the only sounds were the whine of the wind and the rattle of the rain against the windows. He breathed in deeply, registering the yeasty scent of rising dough and a faint whiff of pepper. It would seem nothing had changed in the years he’d been gone.
The kitchens were saved from complete blackness by the embers banked in the hearth on the far side. Eli set his pack on the floor and wrenched off his muck-covered boots, aware that he was creating puddles where he stood. A rivulet of water slithered from his hair down his back, and he shivered, suddenly anxious to rid himself of his sodden clothes. He left his boots on the stone floor but retrieved his pack and made his way carefully forward, his memory and the dim light ensuring he didn’t walk into anything. Every once in a while, he would stop and listen, but whatever noise he might have made on his arrival had undoubtedly been covered by the storm.
He crept soundlessly through the kitchens and into the great hall. Here the air was perfumed with a heady potion of floral elements. Roses, perhaps, and something a little sharper. He skirted the expanse of the polished marble floor to the foot of the wide staircase that led to the upper floors. Lightning illuminated everything for a split second—enough for Eli to register the large arrangement of flowers on a small table in the center of the hall, as well as the gilded frames of the portraits that he remembered lining the walls.
He shouldered his pack and slipped up the stairs, turning left into the north wing of the house. The rooms in the far north corner had always been his when he visited, and he was hoping that he would find them as he had left them. At the very least he hoped there was a bed, and something that resembled clean sheets, though he wasn’t terribly picky at this point. His stocking feet made no sound as he advanced down the hallway, running his fingers lightly along the wood panels to keep himself oriented. Another blaze of lightning lit up the hallway through the long window at the far end, and he blinked against the sudden brightness.
There. The last door on the left. It had been left partially ajar, and he gently pushed it open, the hinges protesting quietly, though the sound was swallowed by a crash of thunder that came hard on the heels of another blinding flash. He winced and stepped inside, feeling the smoothness of the polished floor beneath his feet, his toes coming to rest on the raised, tasseled edges of the massive rug he remembered. This room, like the rest of the house, was dark, though unlike in the kitchen, there were no embers in the hearth he knew was off to his right somewhere.
Against the far wall the wind rattled the windowpanes, but the sound was somewhat muffled by the heavy curtains that must be drawn. Eli drew in a breath and suddenly froze. Something wasn’t right.
The air around him was redolent of scents he couldn’t immediately identify. Chalk, perhaps? And something pungent, almost acrid. He frowned into the darkness, slowly moving toward the hearth. There had always been candles and a small tinderbox on the mantel, and he suddenly needed to see his surroundings. His knee unexpectedly banged into a hard object, and something glanced off his arm before it fell to the floor with a muffled thud. He stopped, bending down on a knee, his hands outstretched. What the hell had he hit? What the hell was in his rooms?
It hadn’t shattered, whatever it had been. Perhaps it—
“Don’t move.”
Eli froze at the voice. He turned his head slightly, only to feel the tip of a knife prick the skin at his neck.
“I asked you not to move.”
Eli clenched his teeth. It was a feminine voice, he thought. Or perhaps that of a very young boy, though the authority it carried suggested the former. A maid, then. Perhaps she had been up, or perhaps he had woken her. He supposed that this was what he deserved for sneaking into a house unannounced and unexpected. It was, in truth, his house now, but nevertheless, the last thing he needed was for her to start shrieking for help and summon the entire household. He wasn’t ready to face that just yet.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said clearly.
“Not on your knees with my knife at your neck, I agree.” The knife tip twisted, though it didn’t break the skin.
“There is a reasonable explanation.” He fought back frustration. Dammit, but he just wanted to be left alone.
“I’m sure. But the silverware is downstairs,” the voice almost sneered. “In case you missed it.”
“I’m not a thief.” He felt his brow crease slightly. Something about the voice from just above him was oddly familiar.
“Ah.” The response was measured, though there was a slight waver to it. “I’ll scream this bloody house down before I allow you to touch me or any of the girls.”
“I’m not touching anyone,” he snapped with far more force than was necessary, before he abruptly stopped. Any of the girls? What the hell did that mean?
The knife tip pressed down a little harder, and Eli winced. He could hear rapid breathing, and a new scent reached him, one unmistakably feminine. Soap, he realized, the fragrance exotic and rich. Something that one wouldn’t expect from a maid.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“I might ask the same.”
“Criminals don’t have that privilege.”
Eli bit back another curse. This was ridiculous. His knees were getting sore, and he was chilled to the bone, exhausted from travel, and in his own damn house. If he had to endure England, it would not be like this. In a fluid motion he dropped flat against the floor and rolled immediately to the side, sweeping his arm up to knock that of his attacker’s. He heard her utter a strangled gasp as the knife fell to the floor and she stumbled forward, caught off balance.
Eli was on his knees instantly, his hands catching hers as they flailed at him. He pinned her wrists, twisting her body so she was now on her back on the floor, Eli hovering over her. He heard her suck in a deep breath, and he yanked a hand away to cover her mouth, stopping her scream before it ever escaped.
“Again,” he said between clenched teeth, “I am not going to hurt you.” Beneath his hand her head jerked from side to side. She had fine features, he realized. In fact, all of her felt tiny, from the bones in her wrists to the small frame struggling beneath him. It made him feel suddenly protective. As if he held something infinitely fragile that was his to care for.
Though a woman who brandished a knife in such a manner couldn’t be that fragile. He tightened his hold and cleared his throat. “If you recall, it was you who had me at a disadvantage with a knife at my neck. I will not make any apologies for removing myself from that position. Nor will I make any apologies for my presence at Avondale. I have every right to be here.”
Her struggles stilled.
Eli tried to make out her features in the darkness, but it was impossible. “If I take my hand away, will you scream?”
He felt her shake her head.
“Promise?”
She made a furious noise in the back of her throat in response.
Very slowly Eli removed his hand. She blew out a breath but kept her word and didn’t scream. He released her wrists and pushed himself back on his heels. He heard the rustle of fabric, and the air stirred as she pushed herself away. Her warm, exotic scent swirled around him before fading.
“You’re not a maid,” he said.
“What?” Her confusion was clear. “No.”
“Then who are you?” he demanded. “And why are you in my rooms?”
“Your rooms?” Now there was disbelief. “I don’t know who you think you are or where you think you are, but I can assure you that these are not your rooms.”
Eli swallowed, a sudden thought making his stomach sink unpleasantly. Had Avondale been sold? Had he broken into a house that, in truth, he no longer owned? It wasn’t impossible. It might even be probable. He had been away a long time.
“Is it my brother you are looking for? Is someone hurt?”
The question caught him off guard. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you need a doctor?”
Eli found himself scowling fiercely, completely at a loss. Nothing since he had pushed open that door had made any sort of sense. “Who owns Avondale?”
“What?” Now it was her turn to sound stymied.
“This house—was it sold? Do you own it?”
“No. We’ve leased Avondale from the Earl of Rivers for years. From his estate now, I suppose, until they decide what to do with it.” She paused, and he could hear suspicion seeping from every syllable. “Did you know him? The old earl?”
Eli opened his mouth before closing it. He finally settled on, “Yes.”
“Then you’re what? A friend of the family? Relative?”
“Something like that.”
“Which one?”
Eli drew in a deep breath that wasn’t wholly steady. He tried to work his tongue around the words that would forever commit him to this place. That would effectively sever any retreat.
He cleared his throat. “I am the Earl of Rivers.”