The bounder. The cad. How dare he think to shorten her name to just an initial? She wouldn’t stand for it a moment longer. Blythe hurried to lock the window so he couldn’t come back inside. She really didn’t give a fig if he fell to his death.
Three
Tobias hung onto the side of Romsey Abbey outside Lady Venables bedchamber, enjoying the wind ruffling his hair. The abbey was as stuffy as the conversation with the lady he’d just left. He much preferred the wildness out here than the frost building in there.
But he couldn’t hang here forever. There were limits to his strength, and the stone walls were not as generous when it came to handholds as the rigging of a ship. On a whim, he climbed the abbey walls until he reached the rooftop and swung himself over the lip. He set his hands to his hips and spun in a slow circle, surveying the horizon beyond the roofline. Storm clouds were rolling up from the south, obscuring the stars as they came. Wet, mucky old England. He grinned and sat himself down on the battlements to enjoy the approaching inclement weather.
The cool bite of the air stung his nose, but a sense of contentment flooded him. He’d spent years dreaming of white winters, huddled around the family hearth and he would have his wish this year. After he’d paid penance enough for the distress he’d caused the duchess, he would go home to his parents’ house to live. The old place might need a bit of work to make it livable, but after his years onboard ship his standards were low. He had no illusions that he couldn’t be perfectly happy there, even if it was falling down upon his head. He could finally come and go as he pleased and live his own life. The problem Tobias had now was deciding what to do with that life.
He had no trade to speak of, besides the bit of carpentry skill required for ship repairs onboard the whaler. He wasn’t a man of letters. Land management held no appeal. He had little money, except for what his brother might give him, if Tobias could bear to accept it. Without purpose or independent wealth, he’d become miserable.
He scrunched up his nose. That outcome was unpalatable. He was a man of action, most happy when there was mischief afoot, a game to be won. He’d come up with something eventually, or else he’d have no choice but to leave in search of his own fortune.
Not yet though. Not yet.
He’d see how the game played out here before he moved on. He wouldn’t mind getting to know his elder brother again, and he would like to find Oliver and Rose. Hopefully Oliver would have fared as well or better than Tobias, but even as a young boy, he’d known Rosemary was bound for trouble.
He dug his fingers into the cold stone, imagining the worst that could have happened to his sister, his mind multiplying it tenfold. Rose’s last moments in his line of sight were imprinted on his memory. She’d been tossed onto a horse, over the thighs of one of the old duke’s men, kicking and screaming her lungs out, and threatening to bite the man if he didn’t release her immediately. The duke’s servant had called out to his companions but, maddeningly, Tobias couldn’t recall exactly what he’d said to them before they rode away at a gallop. He didn’t like to think of his parents lying murdered in the carriage. He hadn’t seen them to know for certain they were dead, but they had not made a sound when he’d called out to them. His captors had left them where they’d lain.
On the trip to the harbor, the duke’s men had assured him that Rosemary would be safe as long as Tobias caused them no further trouble. He’d complied. There were six of them after all, all armed, and one of him, fourteen, scared and alone. He’d gone along with them to the harbor and then …
No more England. No more family.
His captors had said Rosemary was to be returned to the old duke and held hostage to make certain Tobias behaved, but he’d later realized they’d lied. They hadn’t known anything about Rose’s fate once they’d parted company.
A window rattled below him and he looked down between his dangling feet. Lady Venables’ head poked out into the night, looked left and right, and then a softly uttered ‘blasted pirate’ filled the air. He grinned. Even his conversation with Lady Venables hadn’t impinged on his good humor. He enjoyed a good battle of wits with a worthy adversary. The beauty’s outrage and mild insults amused him.
The window rattled closed.
He scratched his jaw. Lady Venables was not mad as he had first thought. Not even close to that sorry state. She was angry with him, likely for having the indecency of making her faint. But she was also a very sad person. He’d listened to her muffled sobs as she’d covered her face so no one would hear. She’d been so caught up in her misery that she hadn’t noticed him enter the room and conceal himself in the shadows. He’d been quite ready to make nice and apologize once she’d stopped sniffling.
But then she’d spoken and all the nice, long discarded gentlemanly things he’d dredged from the corners of his mind had fled. Lady Venables could geld a man with that tongue of hers. Calling her prickly had been the kindest description for the shrew. There was a thick layer of ice around her that he had not detected from a distance, a foil for the beauty to keep gents at bay.
That suited him fine. She was far too prim for his tastes anyway. It might be amusing to suggest otherwise just to rile her, but when the need arose he’d find someone less inclined to frost to warm his bed at night. In the meantime, he’d verbally spar with Lady Venables when the mood struck, give some thought to his future, and consider who stalked the young Duke of Romsey. If Lady Venables wasn’t the one leaving dead animals about the abbey, then someone else was intent on frightening the duchess away. Someone who had escaped proper scrutiny so far.
Of course, it wasn’t really any of his business, aside from the fact that finding the culprit would clear both his name and Lady Venables’ once and for all. Leopold would undoubtedly find the truth in the end and ensure his son was safe. Not much stood in his brothers’ way for long once he’d m
ade up his mind. But still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep his eyes open.
A splat of cold liquid hit his cheek. His nose. His eye. Perfect. Rain, not the snow he’d been hoping for, pattered down on his head. A bolt of lightning pierced the gloom, landing half a mile distant from the abbey grounds. Perhaps he should retreat to somewhere less exposed to the elements. He climbed down the abbey walls, tapped on Lady Venables’ window just to irritate the shrew a little more, and then slipped back into his bedchamber. He left his window open to better hear the rain while he stripped off his damp clothing.
Her window rattled. “Oh, would you just go away,” she said.
Tobias leaned out the window. “Until tomorrow, B. Sweet dreams.”
Another bolt of lightning pierced the gloom.
Her eyes widened. “Where is your clothing, sir? You’ll catch your death.”
“Damp.” Tobias ran his hand over his bare chest. “But how nice that you are so concerned for my health, my lady. Such sweet consideration from your lips is music to my ears.”
She scowled. “You are impossible. Go to bed.”
“Was that an invitation to rejoin you, B?”
Maybe maneuvers with the lady wouldn’t give his rudder frost bite. She had full breasts, a tiny waist, and he’d bet her long hair would feel like silk across his skin once released.
Her jaw clenched and she disappeared from view. The window slammed down quickly.