Page 3

“Our oppressor!” cried the girl. She struggled to sit up against the ropes. The dog gave a sharp bark.

“Lord Graymont,” said the other with a brief curtsy. “Hector,” she called the dog, and the beast trotted to her side and sat. The girl in black attempted to squirm out of her bindings. Her sister pushed her down and applied the knife to a strand of rope, cutting through it easily.

*

Cordelia turned to the viscount. Her prepared arguments went out of her head. The gentleman in front of her was not the dissipated crony of her father’s that she’d been expecting–an inhabitant of the London clubs, a card player, rumpled and reeking of smoke and spirits. Graymont was young, perhaps not thirty. Damp locks of dark hair curled around a lean face. His collar lay open, exposing the strong, sinewy column of his throat. His bare feet were planted firmly on the courtyard stones. Sand clung to his toes. With a shock of recognition, she realized that he’d been for a swim. At her beach.

While she had been nerving herself to face the loss of her home’s furnishings, the new owner of Delamere had been on a sea-bathing holiday. He had descended to the beach, stripped, and plunged into the surf, pitting his strength against tide and current, indifferent to the frigid waves. She reached out and put a hand on Hector’s head. Everything about Graymont suggested the ease and command of a man who might do whatever he wished with his property. Oh, Papa, what have you done to us!

She curled her fingers into Hector’s fur and squared her shoulders. “My lord, you are welcome to Delamere.”

“Am I?” His dark brows went up. His gaze bordered on uncivil, as if he were weighing an adversary. He turned to his man. “Winter, is this piano on the list of furnishings to be auctioned?”

The man, Winter, made a show of flipping through the sheaf of papers in his hand. “Let me look, my lord. Here it is. Square piano, mahogany case, satinwood name board, square cartouche by Clementi & Sons, uh”—Winter glanced at Graymont and received a look Cordelia could not read—“to be moved to the Lodge.”

“Very well then, Miss …” Graymont turned to Viola.

“Viola Staveley. I’m the youngest of the tribe.” Viola shook off the severed rope and leapt down from the piano. “You don’t look like a viscount.” She stared at him with all the frankness of her nature.

“Viola!” Cordelia admonished. “My lord, please pardon my sister.”

“You have some notion of how a viscount must look?” he asked, looking not at Viola but at Cordelia. Again, she felt herself measured and dismissed.

Viola chattered on. “Well, of course, we thought you’d be older to be playing at cards with Papa, didn’t we, Cordelia? And more stou—”

“Viola, enough!” Cordelia said. “Thank you, Lord Graymont, for clarifying the status of the piano. It was our mother’s, and naturally, Viola is attached to it.”

“You mistake me, Miss Staveley. No thanks are due. Naturally, you want your father’s creditors paid as soon as possible to preserve whatever you can of your family’s reputation.”

“Naturally,” she said through gritted teeth. He was deliberately provoking, reminding her of their family’s disgrace and her helplessness.

“Then we are in accord. I trust my men may continue their work without further interference or delay.” He nodded to Winter. “And, Winter, can you arrange an apartment for me here?”

Winter nodded and crossed to the courtyard entrance. Graymont’s gaze swept the courtyard. “I wouldn’t house my dogs at the local inn.”

Viola’s mouth opened, and Cordelia squeezed her sister’s hand hard. “You’re going to live here?” she asked the viscount in what she hoped was her ordinary voice, and not the one shrieking No! in her head.

“My prerogative, I believe.” His gaze came back to her. “I will remain until the auction is concluded, and I decide on the most profitable way to deal with the castle.”

“Profitable way? I don’t understand.” At least she was trying not to. He meant to remain at Delamere for thirty days, and to profit from the castle in some way.

The carters began to file back into the courtyard. Two of them picked up the gilded velvet bench from the foot of her mother’s bed.

“There’s an ancient building practice,” Graymont said, “reusing materials. Delamere’s stones alone are worth a good bit. I don’t doubt the timber can be sold as well.”

“So, you would take the castle down? It’s been here since 1356.” The idea of taking it down had never occurred to her. She had assumed the new owner would take little interest in a place so far from London, that Papa’s debts would be paid, and that they would soon be home.

“As I say, I’ll have to see what can be done. Now, you must excuse me.” With a nod Graymont picked up his boots and walked away across the courtyard toward the southeast tower stairs.

“Come, Viola,” Cordelia tugged her sister into motion. She snapped her fingers and Hector followed. At the arch, Viola turned back. “Lord Graymont, if you’re going to stay here, you should know, the beach is Cordelia’s beach. She swims there.”

Chapter Two

The first raindrops, fat and cold, hit Cordelia as the lodge came into view. She gathered her skirts in one hand and urged Viola to run. They made a dash for the porch and arrived wet and dripping.

Miranda opened the door. “Did you save the piano?” she asked.

Viola grinned. “I did. The carters will bring it. And we met the viscount.”