Ruthless (The House of Rohan 1)

The blood was running down his arm and dripping onto the carpet, and he cursed. She was costing him a fortune. He’d have great pleasure taking payment for it with her eventually agreeable body.

If he didn’t manage to distract himself in the meantime. He headed back into his bedroom, stripping off his clothes as he went, signaling for his valet. Georges was asleep in the dressing room, and he appeared almost immediately, stifling a yawn until he looked at his master’s bloody clothes.

“Milord, what has happened?” he said, shocked. “Your wound is bleeding again. I will call the doctor…you must lie down…”

Rohan batted away the valet’s nervous hands. “A simple slip. I was awkward. We don’t need the doctor—you can rebandage me. But first I want you to go into the outer room and cover the young lady with a blanket. ”

Georges looked understandably confused. “A young lady? Out in the sitting room? You don’t want her in here?”

Rohan allowed himself a wry smile. “I believe the young lady would object. She’s asleep now—be certain not to wake her up. Take the silk throw—I don’t want her destroying the fur one. I’ll manage to divest myself of these bloody clothes and then you may assist me. ”

“But, milord…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Did I give the impression that this was open for discussion?”

Georges blanched, clearly terrified of him, as most of the servants were. With reason. He was not a good man.

“Don’t wake her,” he said again. “Or I’ll be most annoyed. ”

“Yes, milord. Of course. ” He took the silk coverlet from the freshly made bed and disappeared with his usual silence. A moment later he was back.

“She’s gone, Monsieur le Comte,” he said, his voice shaking slightly.

Rohan slammed past him, into the sitting room, but Georges had told the simple truth. She was gone. He went to the window, half expecting to see her running down the street as if the hounds of hell were after her. No sign of her.

“Take the other servants and look for her,” he said in a sharp voice. “If she’s not in the house, send someone after her to ensure she arrives home safely. ”

“Should he attempt to bring her back, milord?”

Rohan shook his head. “There’ll be time enough for that,” he said lightly. “Once you’re done, come back and dress me. I believe I’ll go out. I feel the need of company tonight. Female company. ”

“Yes, milord. ”

Anyone would do, he told himself. He should have known that oh-so-convenient sleep was feigned. Miss Harriman was, after all, a delightfully burgeoning liar. Either she had pretended to sleep, or awoken when he’d set her down but been too clever to show it. The moment he’d closed the door she would have been off and running.

He’d let her think she’d escaped. For now. It was almost time for the Revels, and he had other things to do. More than enough to keep him busy for the next few weeks. For now, she could mistakenly feel safe

.

For now.

It was a great deal later when Elinor finally arrived home, half-frozen, exhausted. The fire in the front room was banked, the coals sending a warm glow through the room. In the past she and her sister had slept on pallets in front of it, but there was no sign of Lydia. She tiptoed down the narrow hallway. The tiny storeroom that had held nothing but dust and cobwebs had been swept clean and now held a bed and a wash-stand. Her sister lay on one side of it, sound asleep.

It had been an endless day. It was hard to believe that it had barely been twenty-four hours since she’d first run afoul of the Prince of Darkness. Twenty-four strange, unsettling hours that were now over.

She tiptoed back to the living room. There was a settee, which reminded her a little too much of Rohan lounging on the one in his salon, plus two small chairs. She ignored all of them, curling up in a tight ball in front of the fire.

And forced herself to remember.

11

She’d been seventeen, not yet convinced that a happy life was out of the question, despite the Harriman Nose. She was young, strong, and hopeful. To be sure, their fortunes had begun to decline. They were living in a ramshackle house on the edge of the city, and Lady Caroline had been without a steady male companion for months.

Elinor preferred it that way. The men who came and stayed tended to treat her mother with a familiarity that made her uncomfortable, and that familiarity reached her daughters as well. When Lady Caroline was uninvolved she still went out most nights, gaming, drinking, but there were days when she was home. Sometimes she was morose, with a vicious tongue that could flay her daughter with its caustic truth. Those words never touched Lydia, thank God. Like Elinor herself, Lady Caroline doted on Lydia. She reserved her complaints and criticisms for Elinor.

But there were other times, times her mother was bright and gay and laughing, lighting up any room she entered, and that was one of those times. She’d come in from an afternoon visit, taken young Lydia’s arms and danced her around the drawing room, the two of them laughing, Elinor standing to one side, enchanted. Her mother could charm anyone, and six years ago, when she’d been seventeen and Lydia eleven and Lady Caroline hadn’t begun to show the signs of her illness, back then her charm had been at its brightest.

Author: Anne Stuart