Chapter Three
Eight Years Earlier...
May 1888
Lucien froze, gazing through a copse of trees at a girl sitting on a rock above a burbling brook. Her pale hair glinted in the sunlight; her lovely voice lifted in song. For a moment, he wondered if he’d stumbled upon a woodland nymph. A fanciful thought, but he couldn’t find any other words to describe her. Her faded green dress hinted that she was probably not truly of thefae, but her delicate features and ethereal voice had certainly enchanted him.
He hesitated to make himself known, not wanting to startle her, selfishly wanting to enjoy her song for a little longer. She obviously thought herself alone, and the pleasure she took with the haunting melody of “Greensleeves” seemed something very personal.
He couldn’t imagine what she was doing here, at his ancestral seat; the main house on the property had burned down nearly a decade ago. The old gamekeeper’s cottage was still occupied but even that lay almost a mile away. Here, in the heart of the property, he’d expected to find nothing except the ghosts of a better, happier time.
Unable to help himself, he joined his voice with hers on the final chorus. He’d been told he had a passable tenor, and he’d always enjoyed singing. Singing with her, however, seemed something more. She turned at the first sound of his voice, but her own lovely soprano did not falter. Instead, she held his gaze, a slight smile upon her lips as the last of the song faded away.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She shook her head, pulling her bare feet from the brook and tucking them up under her skirts. “Do you know that you’re on the Earl of Hawkesmere’s land?”
“Do you?” he fired back, amused.
She flushed, a becoming pink staining her pale skin. “Oh, aye, I know it. You needn’t worry, though. The earl hasn’t been here since the big house burned down a decade ago.” Though her tone remained friendly and casual, he noticed she reached into her pocket and curved her hand around something, a pistol by the shape of it.
His interest and admiration for her grew. She wasn’t as vulnerable as she looked, a fact that was becoming more evident by the moment.
“I was hoping to talk to the gamekeeper, Mr. Pratt,” he told her, moving toward her slowly, hoping not to get a bullet in his chest on his own land. “His home is around here somewhere if my memory serves me right.”
“What’s your name?” she asked, sounding suddenly suspicious.
“Luke,” he answered easily, which wasn’t exactly a lie. His brothers and a few close friends had always called him that.
“Hello, Luke,” she replied. “I’m Serenity Pratt. I’m afraid my father is not available.” A catch in her voice as she spoke alerted him to the fact that all was not as it should be in the Pratt household. He’d known Pratt nearly all his life. Why hadn’t he known his gamekeeper had a daughter?
“Well, I’ve come all this way,” he said with a smile, sitting down on the rock a few feet away from her. “I suppose I’ll just have to sit here and soak my feet with you until he returns.” The prospect was quite tempting, and he began stripping off his boots. The ride up from London had been long and dusty. Once he’d arrived, he’d situated his horse and bag in the dilapidated stables and taken this long route to the old gamekeeper’s cottage. He’d hoped to reacquaint himself with the property, wanting to relive the days he’d spent playing along the river with his younger brothers.
She scooted back a bit, obviously unprepared for that answer. She stared at him, wide-eyed, for a moment, then dropped her gaze. “My father is a drunk and a wastrel,” she told him in a low voice. “He took off about six weeks ago, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“That’s somewhat troubling,” he muttered, confusion washing over him. “Especially since he wrote to me just last week, assuring me everything was fine here.”
She shot him a sharp look, then suddenly scrambled to her feet. “Luke? Lucien Strathmore?Lord Hawkesmere?”
He grinned lazily. “I’m afraid so.”
She shook her head, still backing away. “You’ve... grown up.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”
“No!” she said sharply. “I mean to say... I used to see you and your brothers sometimes around the estate. Before... you moved away.”
