At Last the Rogue Returns (Avenging Lords 1)

Thank the Lord the children were safe. Perhaps it was a blessing Roberts had sold his livestock. No one wanted to listen to the cries of distressed animals.

Miles surveyed the area. The smell of smoke still hung in the air. Jack Painter and Mr Roberts poked and prodded the remains though nothing could be saved. Beneath the debris, the dying embers still smouldered.

Miles wandered over to the well and raised the bucket. He used the water to wash his face and hands. The best laundress would struggle to remove the soot and dust from his white shirt.

He stared at his reflection in the water as he contemplated recent events.

The fire was deliberate. An attempt to destroy the barn and blacken his name. A few possible candidates sprang to mind. Gilligan. Edwin. Stephen. Perhaps one of the tenants lied and were less than forgiving. Perhaps Roberts had started the damn thing himself out of spite.

The man in question came trudging over, his face covered in black smudges, his shoulders hunched. “I say we douse the embers. There’s nothing more to do here.” From the grave look on his face, Miles knew the man was innocent of any involvement.

They’d watched the fire all night—merely as a precaution. There was always a chance the culprit would return to finish what he had started. Dariell had arrived at three in the morning and Miles sent him back to the manor to keep watch.

“Can you tell me anything more about who did this?”

Roberts shook his head. “Like I said. I heard the barn door slam, saw a figure running down the lane. Heard someone shout Greystone.” A deep frown creased the man’s already weathered brow. With some hesitance, he added, “And twenty minutes later you arrived.”

“I supped at The Wild Boar. Numerous people can bear witness to the fact.”

“I wasn’t accusin’ you, milord.”

“Someone is out to make mischief. Rest assured, it is not me.”

Roberts nodded.

“You’re certain you only saw one man?”

&n

bsp; “Aye. He was short and stocky, strong by the looks of it. He bolted down the lane fast as you like.”

“Definitely not Gilligan then?” Miles doubted the steward would show his face in the area again. With only a few personal possessions at the manor, the steward must have another abode. Nor did the description bear any likeness to Stephen or Edwin.

“No, milord.”

Miles rubbed his chin. “Would you do something for me?”

“Aye, milord.”

“Would you move into the gatehouse? Just for a week or two.” Whoever burnt down the barn was willing to take risks to make a point. Miles would not have the death of Mr Roberts’ boys on his conscience, too. “The place needs cleaning, but I shall send Mrs Guthrie to assist you.”

Mr Roberts looked at the cottage, and his mouth thinned. “I’ve not left my home since … since …”

“I understand.” Miles sighed. “But it’s imperative your children are safe. At least until we’ve found the culprit.”

“I suppose it can’t hurt.” The man’s gaze drifted to a point beyond Miles’ shoulder. He raised his chin. “Happen someone’s come to brighten your day.”

Miles glanced back to find the delectable Miss Lovell, flushed and breathless. The mere sight of the woman sent his heart leaping about like a frog on a lily pad. With pinched cheeks from overexertion and stray tendrils of hair escaping her bonnet, the lady was as beguiling as the night he’d ravaged her mouth and taken liberties with her body.

Guilt should have gnawed away at him—and yet he knew he would fall under her spell again if given a chance.

As Roberts ambled away, Miles turned to face her. Blood pooled heavy and low in his loins as he imagined kissing her again.

“Lord Greystone.” She stared at him for a moment, the power of those penetrating blue eyes touched him like a soothing caress.

“Miss Lovell.” Lydia Lovell. The words carried a sensual tone as they drifted through his mind.

“So it is true,” she continued, scanning the pile of charred rubble and shaking her head in disbelief. “I came as soon as I heard. What happened?”