He had to get away before this devil of a woman uncovered something she wasn’t meant to know.
He’d done the same perhaps a dozen times before—grasped her arm to lead her away from hidden silk gloves in a stack of crates or illicit French plums stashed in the larder. But this time, when he touched her skin, her lips parted on an indrawn breath. She had a tiny stripe of white mortar drying into dust on her cheek, and he had to stifle the desire to brush it away.
It occurred to Archer that, for the first time since he’d first seen her at Gravesmuir’s townhouse, she was not wearing her fussy little gloves.
It occurred to him that he was imagining her bare hands on his skin.
When she spoke, her voice was the faintest bit unsteady. “And the rest? At dice with Tamsin, Lamentation said he served under you in the Royal Navy. How did he come to be a footman?”
Slowly, the import of her words registered in his mind. In his belly, which went sick and cold.
He dropped her elbow as though it had gone straight to molten iron in his hand. It was one thing for her to question his role in the house. He could manage her questions—at least, hethoughthe could manage them, though it was seeming less and less likely by the day.
But he did not dare let her turn those ruthless eyes upon his crew. He couldn’t allow his people to come under suspicion. He would not let them get hurt.
“Lamentation was in service before he came aboard the ship,” he lied smoothly, “to a countess.”
“Was he? Which countess was that?”
Instead of answering, Archer stepped around her and moved toward the door.
As he did, he thought about Gerry and Lamentation in his office. He thought of sea wrack and lettuce. Of bugs and schemes. Of little clear-eyed blonds with penetrating eyes and a tendency to ask far too many questions.
He thought of Professor Quenby.
And then he thought:The hell with it.
The hell with trying to cozen and cajole her. It was not working.
He felt as he had when facing a French warship with twice as many cannons as his own—reckless with fear and stubbornness. He looked at her mortar-daubed face and abandoned all caution and sense. “The truth is, Lady Ruby, I did not come to the library today to discuss House di Sangro at all. I came to warn you.”
She paused. Blinked. “To warn me?”
“You mustn’t leave the manor alone,” he said. “Not without protection.”
“I’m—sorry?”
He dropped his voice. In a tone of lethal earnestness, he said: “The Scourge of St. Petroc’s has been sighted again. Along with the remains of its victims.”
Her lashes flew up. She was still holding the mortar knife, now brandished at the level of her chest. “Itsvictims?”
“Oh yes. The bits left, of course. After it has devoured their hearts.” He smiled at her: a wolf’s smile, all teeth. “From what I hear in the village, it has a particular fondness for young ladies.”
Chapter 8
There was almost certainly no such thing as the Scourge of St. Petroc’s. Alice, who was Ruby’s authority on all things nature, had never heard of it. When Ruby had related Captain Archer’s story to her friends, Alice had immediately begun to take notes upon the creature’s habitat and diet. (“The hearts of young ladies does seem awfully specific, don’t you think?”)
For her own part, Ruby didn’t believe in the creature at all. The Scourge, thus far, had only been mentioned in moments of extremity on the part of both Captain Archer and his staff. Admittedly, she’d heard some mysterious scraping and moaning outside of her chamber the last two nights running, but the sound had stopped promptly upon her opening the door. When she’d got the candle lit, she had glimpsed angelic blond ringlets vanishing around the corner.
No. She was quite, quite positive that Lamentation had invented the sea monster, and Captain Archer had gleefully embroidered the details during their encounter in the library.
Except—
Well. She did not believe in the Scourge. And yet, as she crept into the larder at four o’clock in the morning, the shadows deep and the sound of growling still lurking in her memory, she felt the smallest,tiniestbit unsettled.
She gritted her teeth. There was nothing to be frightened of. Sea monsters didn’t exist—only charming, suspicious sea captains with dreadful blue eyes and criminal dimples.
And besides, she had a plan to carry out. She was too busy to be afraid.
