Turkish carpet brought back to the original castle by some marauding Cadgwyck ancestor after the final Crusade. As she had gazed upon his forbidding visage for the first time, it had been all she could do to keep Mrs. Spencer’s congenial smile pasted on her lips.
The earl stood well over six feet, but it wasn’t his height—or even the intimidating breadth of his shoulders beneath the shoulder capesof his greatcoat—that was so imposing. It was his effortless command of the room and all who were in it. Another man might have looked ridiculous standing there with hat in hand and mud-caked boots, but Dravenwood looked more inclined to bellow “Off with their heads!” while the potential victims scurried away to fetch him an ax.
Perhaps both his barber and his valet had met with just such a fate. The thick, sooty waves of his hair weren’t artfully trimmed as was the current fashion but were long enough to brush the collar of his greatcoat. Striking threads of silver burnished the hair at his temples, and his beautifully sculpted jaw was shadowed with at least two days’ worth of stubble.
His dark-lashed eyes were gray, as gray as the mist that swirled over the moors. Anne had always thought gray to be an ordinary color, but his eyes had the disconcerting habit of flashing like summer lightning when he was displeased.
The greatest threat to them was the glint of intelligence in those eyes. He was not a man who missed much, and that, more than anything else, could prove to be their downfall if they weren’t careful. When she had introduced herself, his gaze had flickered over Anne, taken her measure, then dismissed her for what she was—a menial, an underling, his inferior. He didn’t find her wanting; he simply found her beneath his notice.
Which was exactly where she needed to stay.
“Well, you have to admit dispatching him with a poker would have solved most of our problems,” Pippa suggested cheerfully. “Or at least bought us a bit more time to continue our search before the next master arrived.”
“Not if we all ended up in the village jail, awaiting a visit from the hangman. But you are right about one thing: the sooner Lord Scowly—Lord Draven wood,” Anne corrected herself, “is in a carriage andon his way back to London, the sooner things can go back to normal around here.”
“Normal? We’ve spent the last four years combing the manor from the cellars to the attics for a treasure that may not even exist. I’m not even sure I remember what normal is.”
Hoping to hide her own misgivings from Pippa’s bright, dark eyes, Anne said firmly, “The treasure exists and it’s only a matter of time before we find it. Once we do, we can leave this place forever and make a home of our own far away from here.”
“But what if it’s nothing more than a family legend? A fairy tale trotted out to entertain children and stir the imaginations of dreamers? Dreamers have been searching for Captain Kidd’s buried plunder for over a century now and not a single coin has been found.”
Anne touched her fingertips to the familiar shape of the locket that always hid beneath her bodice, and never strayed far from her heart, reminding them both of why they had no choice but to keep searching. “I stopped being a dreamer a long time ago. Which is why I know the treasure is real and that we’re going to find it. We simply have to send Lord Dravenwood on his way as quickly as possible so we can get back to the business at hand. Preferably without the assistance of any hearth tools.” Sweeping the makeshift weapon from Pippa’s hand,Anne started down the gallery, her steps once more brisk with confidence. “The earl may appear to be invincible, but he’s already proved he has the exact same weakness as any other man.”
Pippa trotted along behind her. “And just what would that be?”
Anne stopped in front of the portrait that faced the descending staircase, holding her candle aloft.
The earl stood well over six feet, but it wasn’t his height—or even the intimidating breadth of his shoulders beneath the shoulder capesof his greatcoat—that was so imposing. It was his effortless command of the room and all who were in it. Another man might have looked ridiculous standing there with hat in hand and mud-caked boots, but Dravenwood looked more inclined to bellow “Off with their heads!” while the potential victims scurried away to fetch him an ax.
Perhaps both his barber and his valet had met with just such a fate. The thick, sooty waves of his hair weren’t artfully trimmed as was the current fashion but were long enough to brush the collar of his greatcoat. Striking threads of silver burnished the hair at his temples, and his beautifully sculpted jaw was shadowed with at least two days’ worth of stubble.
His dark-lashed eyes were gray, as gray as the mist that swirled over the moors. Anne had always thought gray to be an ordinary color, but his eyes had the disconcerting habit of flashing like summer lightning when he was displeased.
The greatest threat to them was the glint of intelligence in those eyes. He was not a man who missed much, and that, more than anything else, could prove to be their downfall if they weren’t careful. When she had introduced herself, his gaze had flickered over Anne, taken her measure, then dismissed her for what she was—a menial, an underling, his inferior. He didn’t find her wanting; he simply found her beneath his notice.
Which was exactly where she needed to stay.
“Well, you have to admit dispatching him with a poker would have solved most of our problems,” Pippa suggested cheerfully. “Or at least bought us a bit more time to continue our search before the next master arrived.”
“Not if we all ended up in the village jail, awaiting a visit from the hangman. But you are right about one thing: the sooner Lord Scowly—Lord Draven wood,” Anne corrected herself, “is in a carriage andon his way back to London, the sooner things can go back to normal around here.”
“Normal? We’ve spent the last four years combing the manor from the cellars to the attics for a treasure that may not even exist. I’m not even sure I remember what normal is.”
Hoping to hide her own misgivings from Pippa’s bright, dark eyes, Anne said firmly, “The treasure exists and it’s only a matter of time before we find it. Once we do, we can leave this place forever and make a home of our own far away from here.”
“But what if it’s nothing more than a family legend? A fairy tale trotted out to entertain children and stir the imaginations of dreamers? Dreamers have been searching for Captain Kidd’s buried plunder for over a century now and not a single coin has been found.”
Anne touched her fingertips to the familiar shape of the locket that always hid beneath her bodice, and never strayed far from her heart, reminding them both of why they had no choice but to keep searching. “I stopped being a dreamer a long time ago. Which is why I know the treasure is real and that we’re going to find it. We simply have to send Lord Dravenwood on his way as quickly as possible so we can get back to the business at hand. Preferably without the assistance of any hearth tools.” Sweeping the makeshift weapon from Pippa’s hand,Anne started down the gallery, her steps once more brisk with confidence. “The earl may appear to be invincible, but he’s already proved he has the exact same weakness as any other man.”
Pippa trotted along behind her. “And just what would that be?”
Anne stopped in front of the portrait that faced the descending staircase, holding her candle aloft.
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