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“Binbrook. An hour ride away.”
Her hand lifted, rubbing her forehead. Lincolnshire. In the middle of nowhere.
“My turn, Sloane.”
Her look jerked up to him. It took her three gasps of breath before she could force air across her tongue. Her look dropped to the flames in the fireplace just behind Reiner. She’d made the deal, now she had to live by it. “My—my grandfather is the Marquess of Vinehill and…”
“And?”
Slowly, her look lifted to him, defiant. “And he will send warriors for me once he knows where I am.”
{ Chapter 6 }
The Marquess of Vinehill.
Her grandfather was a marquess he’d only heard of once. And at that, he’d had to tease out from vague recollections who the man was. He wasn’t an enemy—at least not one that Reiner knew of.
Reiner leaned toward the third level open window in his chamber as his fingers worked his cravat. Walking into the castle from his morning ride an hour ago, he saw Sloane and Vicky escaping into the expansive gardens that unfurled out from the south side of the castle.
His look trailed along the top rows of the evergreen hedges until he spotted a flash of pink. It disappeared, then reappeared a row away. A flash of blue. Disappeared. Flitting into view again two rows away.
Were his niece and Sloane running?
In her pink dress, Vicky appeared on the far edge of the rows, just outside the east border of the gardens. He saw the blue dress, saw Sloane sneaking up on her before Vicky knew what was approaching. An arm’s length away, Sloane lunged, catching Vicky around the waist.
Vicky squealed and then hysterical laughter floated up through the air to him.
Playing. They were chasing each other.
He scanned the outer edges of the garden. Claude stood on the far edge of the evergreen rows, kicking at rocks, a bored look on his face. Closer to the castle, Lawrence had moved around the side of the hedges to watch Sloane catch Vicky.
Sloane released Vicky and darted back into the hedgerows. With another squeal, Vicky dove in, chasing.
Reiner shook his head. The woman had constant mischief about her and was corrupting his niece. Vicky should be inside practicing her sheets of music. He looked at the mirror next to the window, crisping the lines of his cravat.
A screaming laugh shrieked into the air. Laughter that unsettled him.
He stepped to the right, searching the rows of greenery. Vicky must have caught Sloane, though he couldn’t see them past the tops of the hedges.
His bottom lip jutted up. In just the few days Sloane had been at the castle, Vicky was growing far too attached to their guest. And why not? The woman had a constant spark in her eye—she was clearly accustomed to having the world as her own grand park—hunting out the fun in any situation with uncommon enthusiasm. Enthusiasm that was infectious if one was in the orb of it.
Even knowing she was captive on his estate hadn’t curtailed her spirits—only when she looked at him. When she looked at him, sharp, incredibly pointy daggers surfaced in her eyes with one aim. Him.
Sloane and Vicky emerged from the lines of hedgerows and walked to the Butterfly Pond that ran lengthwise along the greenery. They sat on the granite stone ledge that lined the east end of the pond. Vicky was telling a story, her hands animated and flying through the air. A wide smile lit up Sloane’s face and she nodded constantly as Vicky talked.
He’d never seen his niece talk so much. To anyone. It was as though Vicky had been living in a clam-shell and Sloane had come along and cracked it open, setting her free.
He shook his head, the scowl deepening on his face.
Far, far too attached.
It was aggravating how much happiness seemed to swirl about Sloane. As if her only thought in life was what would make her happy in the next moment.
Happiness he wanted gone before it could corrupt Vicky.
His spine stiffened.
The woman was only here until Reiner could get answers about her purpose for trying to sneak into Wolfbridge. Once he got the answers, she’d be gone, one way or another.
