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“Very well, Mr. Botley. I will come to the castle directly.” Cordelia spun. Her sisters had vanished. She checked the dining room, but even Henry had disappeared. She grabbed a shawl, no time for a bonnet, but as an afterthought, she stopped in the kitchen for a short, sturdy knife.

*

Maximillian Rayne, Lord Graymont, waded up the shingle through stinging surf after his morning swim, much restored. He’d spent an uncomfortable night at a local hostelry in nearby Clifton-on-Sea and was resolved not to repeat the experience. From the spot where he’d left his clothes, the crenelated top of Delamere Castle peeked into view above the trees, catching the sun’s early rays. He shook his head, toweled off with his cravat, and pulled on his shirt.

Delamere stood not half a mile from the shore above a sloping grassy decline, where in some past age, the cliff had crumbled into the sea. It was a short, squat edifice built on the grounds of a former abbey. Four towers stood around a central courtyard, and outbuildings sprawled to one side. One could not call it imposing. It had neither the height of neighboring Corfe Castle nor the grandeur of Windsor. Toward the sea, its lichen-crusted stone exterior suggested not strength so much as a stubborn unwillingness to yield. He suspected that living in the castle meant accustoming oneself to various discomforts. Gray grinned. That was the beauty of the place—its positively medieval inconvenience. Castle Inconvenience, he would call it.

He laughed. His older sister, Bernice, and his younger brother, Lionel, would hate it. They might denounce his latest architectural folly, but the threat of a visit from either of his siblings was unlikely. He knew from the moment he plunged into the sea that as long as he chose to reside at Delamere, he would be free of their interference in his life.

On the whole, he thought as he dressed, his unexpected acquisition pleased him. He had Tom Winter, his very capable man of business, to deal with any inconveniences that might arise. That was Winter’s job, and Winter had everything well in hand. The castle’s former occupants had removed to the lodge. The castle’s contents were to be auctioned, and once the place was emptied, Gray would sell the stones. The only remaining problem was how to gain title to the land itself. Sir Humphrey Staveley, its previous owner, had acquired the castle and estate by marrying Lady Catherine Leigh-Hunt. An obscure clause in the title documents meant that none but her descendants could own the acreage. That very clause had kept Sir Humphrey Staveley, who was up to his coat lapels in debt, from securing a mortgage. Instead, Staveley had used the deed as collateral in a card game, thinking to recoup his losses. Gray’s solicitor jested that Gray could simply marry one of Staveley’s four daughters. Gray encouraged the man to find a way to break that clause or find another client.

Gray shrugged into his coat and gathered his stockings and boots. He took the path up through tangled shrubbery, ready to inspect his new property. A half-dozen drays lined the drive outside the north entry, laden with the contents of the castle, covered in roped-down canvas. But there was no movement, no bustle. A group of carters stood to one side of a narrow stair that led through an arch to the inner courtyard.

The men laughed and smoked their pipes.

“What’s the delay?” Gray asked a fellow who was tapping his pipe on the heel of his boot.

“A troublesome woman.” The fellow spat. “Chit’s mad as a hatter. She’s tied ’erself to the piano.”

Gray took the stairs. He was well-acquainted with troublesome women, the sort that put a man off marriage entirely. His mother had been such a woman, and his sister, Bernice, had inherited the same controlling qualities.

Inside the courtyard, the scene that met his gaze appeared fit for the stage of a melodrama. Rays of sunlight through the gathering clouds made pools of light on the stones, and a cool ocean breeze snapped a flag on the battlements above. A line of objects apparently abandoned by the haulers crossed the courtyard—a gilded red velvet bench, two large jade porcelain lions, a rolled-up carpet, and a four-poster bed. Winter stood at the rear of the line of objects with a sheaf of papers in his hand, looking on. Staring at Winter with unnerving intensity was a large gray lurcher, the dog’s posture indicating a readiness to spring.

In the center of it all, a girl of fifteen or sixteen, clad in black silk, lay draped over a mahogany piano. Ropes bound her torso and legs. One pale hand gripped the mahogany edge of the instrument, and the other lay across her brow. Her feet dangled off the near end of the piano, and her long, honey-colored hair flowed over the far end. Standing next to her, speaking in a voice so low he could not make out the words, was another woman, older by a few years, and to judge by her expression, severely vexed. In her hand was a short, sharp-looking knife.

The black-clad maiden in her attitude of sacrificial victim was meant to draw the eye, but Gray could not look away from the woman with the knife. He judged her to be on the wrong side of twenty, as neat and contained as the girl in black was not. There was nothing remarkable in her sea-colored muslin gown or slight figure. She appeared to have both the coolness of temper and strength of will that made a good card player. Sunlight caught unexpected fiery strands in her dark hair, and her eyes flashed briefly with an emotion he could not name.

He moved closer, drawing the dog’s notice and a nod from Winter. Neither of the women appeared to see him.

“We missed you at breakfast, Viola,” said the woman in the watery-colored gown.

“Surely, Cordelia, you knew that I would not stand idly by while barbarians pillage our house.”

“Lying on Mama’s piano is a better strategy?”

“It’s working, isn’t it?”

The woman in sea blue did not reply. Their names meant nothing yet, but Gray guessed that these were two of Staveley’s daughters. He noted the straightness of the elder sister’s spine in contrast to the curving lines of the younger.

The silence stretched until the girl in black peeked from under the arm hiding her face. “We can’t let strangers take away every memory of Mama.”

“Of course not. Shall I bring some breakfast, then? Your stay is likely to be a long one. And it may be damp, as well. That breeze means rain is likely.”

“Don’t worry about me. I will endure.”

“Viola, we will not forget Mama. We simply agreed to part with certain furnishings in order to pay Papa’s creditors.”

“I did not agree. Delamere has a perfectly good dungeon. What we should have done was lock Papa in it.”

“Why did I not think of that! A missed opportunity.”

“You did not think of it because you always expect people to behave well.”

“How very foolish of me.”

The girl in black lifted her head and leaned back on her elbows. Her gaze found Gray. “Who are you?” she asked.

Gray set down his boots and strolled forward. “I’m Graymont.”