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He threw open the door, almost running over the same couple he’d encountered yesterday. The gentleman’s muttered oath and the woman’s gasp of wide-eyed fear giving him a good idea of the picture he made.
Scary bordering on terrifyingly insane.
At least he looked the part of monster. Lancelot clothed his evil behind a façade of cultured aristocratic polish.
The heirs of Kilronan wouldn’t know they were being hunted until it was too late.
But then—he closed his fist around an invisible weapon—neither would Lancelot.
“The carriage is ready, Lady Sabrina.”
She winced at the title used by the shy young priestess sent to retrieve her. Already her exile had begun. The loosening of ties. The move from one existence to another.
She ran a hand over the coverlet on her bed as she took one last look around. The plaster crack up one wall that resembled an upside-down duck. Teresa’s dog-eared copy of The Children of the Abbey upon a bedside table. The lopsided corner cabinet held closed by a gadget of paper jammed between the doors.
She didn’t want to leave, and yet the bedchamber no longer seemed like hers. It had already taken on a stark distance. A week from now would all trace of her be gone?
Heat pricked her eyes. If only she could roll herself in her quilts and play invisible until Mr. Dixon—Aidan’s pint-sized dogsbody—gave up and left.
“My lady?”
Sabrina whipped around. “Don’t call me that. Ever.”
“No, my . . . I mean no, ma’am.” At Sabrina’s continued glare. “I mean no, I won’t. Sabrina.” Darted back out the door like a whipped dog.
She sighed. Why did the title upset her? Mr. Dixon had been addressing her as Lady Sabrina unceasingly for two days now. No wonder the sisters were confused.
Standing, she drew on her gloves. Buckled closed her fur-trimmed pelisse. Smoothed the ribbons of her bonnet. All provided by Mr. Dixon with a note from the new Lady Kilronan.
Excuse the audacity. Aidan insisted I send along clothing enough to see you to Dublin. And you know how he is. If I hadn’t agreed, he would have done it himself and who knows what you would have ended with. Can’t wait to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much. All of it good, of course.
—Cat
Catching sight of her reflection, she had to admit—grudgingly—Aidan’s wife had style. No one would ever mistake the elegant fashion plate in the mirror with the scrubbed and unadorned apprentice of a few short days ago.
Too bad it was all for naught. She never was nor ever would be the Society man-catcher Aidan wanted her to be. And she’d tell him so the first chance she had.
Catching up her reticule, she sighed. Took one last look around, sending up a heartfelt plea to the gods for guidance.
This exile was temporary. She’d return to the bandraoi by spring. No later.
So why did she feel as if she were saying a long and very permanent good-bye?
Lord Kilronan wasn’t in town. He was expected, but no, he couldn’t say when. Mrs. Norris, the earl’s lady-aunt, was not at home to visitors. No, Mr. MacLir was not welcome to leave a note.
The strange little dwarf had been firm. As well as extremely unpleasant.
Unable to pass on his warning, Daigh departed before his frustration turned ugly. Already rage uncoiled from that dark pit in his mind where the presence waited. It fired along his taut nerves. Called to the blackest parts of his soul. Filled his vision with its cold, yellow eyes.
“Really, Sabrina. Lord Kilronan can’t be a complete fiend.”
A punch to the gut. A spear to the brain. Both served to kick him loose of the presence’s mounting spiral of violence. He ground to a stop. Spun around to see two women emerging from a coach drawn up to Kilronan’s door.
Rigidly erect. Face marble white beneath the brim of her bonnet, Lady Sabrina Douglas gazed upon the town house’s brick façade with obvious dread.
Ignoring the grumble of passersby as they elbowed their way past him, he watched her ascend the steps. Stared at the closed front door for long minutes after as if willing her to come back and explain herself.
Damn it all to hell. What was she doing here? She was supposed to be in Glenlorgan. Closeted away behind a phalanx of High Danu bandraoi. Protected. Safe. Out of harm’s way.
