Secrets of Seduction (Legendary Lovers 3)

“Yes, my lady. Additionally, he asks for shelter from the approaching storm. But we were instructed by his lordship to deny him entrance. How should we proceed?”

Skye was inclined to reject the baron’s request for an interview, although it would be heartless to refuse him shelter, especially for his servants and horses.

Rachel looked discomfited, but Daphne evidently believed her brother’s contrition for she pleaded in his favor. “Please, Skye, this could be our best chance to mend fences.”

Just then Skye heard a low rumble of thunder in the distance. The storm decided it for her. She could hardly turn him away when she had faced the same circumstances upon her first visit here. And they had the advantage of numbers—herself, her uncle Cornelius and aunt Bella, and a castle full of servants to protect Daphne and Rachel if necessary.

“Very well,” Skye murmured. “Show Lord Farnwell here to the drawing room.”

They all rose to their feet when the baron entered. He bowed politely to the ladies and Lord Cornelius but waited to speak until the butler had withdrawn and shut the door behind him.

Farnwell’s manner seemed much calmer this time. Indeed, he offered a charming smile. “I would rather speak to Mrs. Donnelly alone, but I can see why you would prefer differently.”

“You may speak to all of us, Edgar,” Daphne interjected.

“Very well.” He inhaled slowly, as if bracing himself for an unpleasant task. “It was unforgivable of me to have threatened you, Mrs. Donnelly,” he said then, his tone amazingly repentant. “Pray understand that I was angry and shocked to have my very legitimacy called into question. Now that I have had time to consider, however, I am prepared to make you a lucrative bargain. I will pay you the bulk of my fortune if you will leave the country and disappear again.”

Daphne stared at her brother before shaking her head with an expression somewhere between amusement and indignation. “You believe you can bribe her with money?”

Rachel held up a hand. “I must decline, my lord. I hid myself away in near seclusion for a quarter of a century, and before that I was your father’s wife and therefore his property, no better than chattel, completely at his mercy. I will never live like that again.”

A look of frustration crossed the baron’s features, but he visibly struggled to tamp

down his anger.

Cornelius stepped forward. “She has suffered more than enough, Farnwell.”

“I have no desire to make her suffer further, but consider my position. As long as she is alive, I run the risk of being exposed.”

“You will just have to trust her to keep your secret,” Cornelius insisted.

“That I cannot do,” Farnwell snapped. “She could cause my disinheritance at any moment.”

“I told you, my lord,” Rachel reassured him, “you have nothing to fear.”

He gritted his teeth. “That is not an acceptable answer. You will leave England at once, do you hear me?”

His face was flushed red, like a child about to throw a tantrum, but in his eyes there was a lethal rage of a full-grown brute.

Skye felt a twinge of alarm when his hands curled into fists, and profoundly regretted that she had ever permitted him inside the castle, especially when he had been specifically barred.

Her chin raised, Rachel stood her ground, which only angered her nemesis more.

“You will rue defying me,” he hissed, raising his fist as if prepared to strike, evidently believing he could physically force her agreement.

For Cornelius, seeing his beloved threatened was too much. With a low growl, he lunged at Farnwell and let loose a blow to his chin, which sent the baron staggering backward.

He recovered quickly, though. With a snarl, Farnwell sprang at Cornelius and threw a powerful punch to his stomach, felling him to the carpet, where he lay curled and gasping for breath. Farnwell then gave a vicious kick to his ribs for good measure.

For an instant, Skye’s own shock held her immobile as Rachel cried out and rushed forward to kneel beside Cornelius, followed less swiftly by Isabella.

After that, everything was a blur of motion. Shaking off her paralysis, Skye leaped at her uncle’s attacker, but Daphne beat her to him, evidently not as caught off guard by her brother’s actions. She charged at Edgar, arms akimbo, trying to tackle him to the floor. In response, he hunched over and, far more agile than his portly bulk would suggest, threw Daphne off like a rag doll and tossed her onto a side table. The collision was followed by the dull sound of shattering glass as a lamp upended.

Feeling her own rage, Skye used the defensive measures that her brother and cousins had taught her: Raising her skirts, she kicked out hard. Her slippered foot was a flimsy weapon, but she put all her strength into her straightened leg and struck the side of Farnwell’s knee.

His scream of pain as he crumpled told her that she had debilitated him, at least temporarily. Breathing hard, Skye looked around, intending to help Daphne, who was sprawled facedown in a daze. Her satisfaction at vanquishing Farnwell turned to fear at the bright, flickering yellow glow she spied.

Evidently the lamp had broken apart when it hit the floor, spewing oil all over the carpet.