Ruth Langan by Blackthorne Page B

I’ll talk for you.”
    Bennett looked thunderstruck. The servant, Minerva, clapped a hand to her mouth. And Quenton’s look darkened to fury. “You will take your seat at once, lad. And when we’re finished here your governess and I will have a little...”
    Before he could finish, Bennett reached a hand to Liat’s. For a moment he merely stared into the boy’s eyes. Then, with a barely perceptible nod of his head, he smiled.
    There were several moments of stunned silence before Quenton pushed away from the table and got to his feet. “Mistress Thornton, have the stable lad return my brother to his room.” He nodded toward Olivia. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some ledgers to see to.”
    When he took his leave, Pembroke placed a decanter of whiskey and a box of cigars on a tray and followed. It was common knowledge that the lord worked late into the night on his grandfather’s accounts.
    Olivia watched as Bennett was carried up the stairs to his bedroom, followed by Minerva. It saddened her that Lord Quenton had made no attempt to speak to his brother. But, she amended, the loss was his.
    Catching the boy’s hand, Olivia trailed behind the others. “I was very proud of you, Liat. That was a very kind thing to do.”
    “I just wanted him to know that he isn’t a monster. He’s just a man who can’t talk.”
    She had to swallow several times as they climbed the stairs.
    “Sometimes I don’t like to talk either. Especially when I’m feeling sad and lonely.”
    “I understand. I guess it’s the same with everyone. Well,” she whispered, when they reached their chambers. “tonight wasn’t so bad, was it? Lord Stamford did look at you. He even spoke to you.”
    The lad nodded his head. “Aye, miss. But that may be even worse than before.”
    “Why?”
    “Now I’ll have to worry about answering his questions.”
    As Olivia led him to his bed and helped him into his nightclothes, she felt a kinship with this lad. She was beginning to think she would much prefer being ignored by the lord of the manor to being singled out for his wrath.
    In the future, she would try to keep her thoughts to herself. With that resolve firmly in mind, she decided to go below stairs for a soothing cup of tea.
    The hallway, like all the others at Blackthorne, was dimly lit, with candles guttering in pools of wax. As her footsteps echoed hollowly, Olivia paused. Had she heard someone behind her?
    She turned, but could see no one. Feeling slightly foolish, she stiffened her spine and continued on. But the hair at the back of her neck prickled and she knew, without turning again, that there was indeed someone behind her.
    Her stomach clenched, and it took all her willpower to keep from running. Still, determined to remain composed, she lifted her skirts and quickened her pace. And knew, with absolute certainty, that the one following her had also picked up speed.
    “Pembroke? Mistress Thornton?” The slight quiver in her voice shamed her. But when she stopped and turned, she was certain she saw a shadow dart away.
    This was nonsense. She was allowing some childish notion to overrule her common sense. What reason would anyone have for following her? Yet she was convinced that someone was.
    The tea was forgotten. Now, all she wanted was to return to her own chambers and close herself inside. Despite her attempt at caution she was running now, darting looks over her shoulder, her breath coming in short gasps. As she rounded a corner she went crashing into solid muscle. Strong arms gripped her. She couldn’t scream. Couldn’t even cry out. All she could do was hold on while her breath tore at her lungs and she found herself looking up into Lord Stamford’s scowling face.
    “What’s wrong?” He could feel the fear vibrating through her. Instinctively his arms tightened, and he ran a hand down her back to soothe, to comfort.
    “I can’t...” She sucked in a breath and struggled for calm. Her chest heaved from the effort. Her