man on the
point. Julian LeFevre would ever go his own way.
"Perhaps
now you will tell me how I may be of service,” Simon said. “Your letter did not
say what you wished to see in the castle. I warn you, some parts of it are in
serious disrepair."
Julian
walked to the hearth and appeared to study the roaring fire. "I am searching
for some papers.”
"Papers?"
"The
late countess may have had some documents that belonged to my mother. It may be
that during the Terror she sent them here, to her cousin, for safekeeping. I
have not found them in France.”
Julian’s
expressionless tone, and his obvious reluctance to provide details, raised a
wealth of questions, but Simon asked none of them. "I have come across no
papers here, although I have not explored all of the castle."
"They
may be hidden. Perhaps in the tunnels."
Simon
knew that tunnels under the castle led to caves deep in the cliffs. Smugglers
were reputed to have used them to store their loot. He’d never heard of
documents being hidden there.
"You
are free to inspect them." Simon rose. "And now it is time for us to
join my fiancée and her family."
Preoccupied
with Julian's strange quest, Simon did not immediately notice anything amiss as
they entered the parlor where the others had gathered.
Before
he could make introductions, however, a sharp gasp followed by an unnatural
silence told him something was terribly wrong. Sir Thomas looked outraged. Miss
Biddle looked stunned. But it was Miss Fitzhugh's condition that truly caused
alarm.
She
was staring at Julian as if she had seen a ghost. Behind him, Simon heard
Julian's softly muttered oath.
Miss
Fitzhugh’s shock instantly transformed into a look that plainly consigned Julian
to the devil.
"Mr.
LeFevre," she acknowledged in a chilly voice that could easily have frozen
the fires of hell.
Simon
frowned. Miss Fitzhugh might be blunt-spoken, but she had never struck him as
rude.
"Good
evening, Miss Fitzhugh," Julian drawled in an intimate tone that took them
all aback. "It seems I have been cursed with a dukedom since last we met.
I am Claridge now."
***
Amanda
had not seen him in eight years. She waited for the old feelings of shame,
humiliation, and anger to wash over her at the sight of the man who had tried
to bring about her ruin and very nearly accomplished it.
He
was the same. The same cruel slash of a mouth, the same contemptuous dark eyes,
the same undercurrent of amusement at her expense. And yet he was not. His face
bore deep lines of dissipation. His gaze was more tormented, his sharply planed
features more harsh. The frankly seductive air she remembered was tinged with something
that on another man she might have called desperation.
Julian
had aged, but she sensed that it was not age that had changed him. Perhaps it
was his own inner devils, the ones that made her realize years ago he was
incapable of giving, only of taking.
What
struck her most of all, however, was the manner in which standing in Lord
Sommersby's shadow diminished him. She had not expected that. No one had ever
cast Julian LeFevre in the shade.
Physically,
the two had much in common. Both were tall and imposing, their large frames
easily dominating any room. Both men filled out jackets with their broad
shoulders and trim, muscular forms. The earl was half a head taller, but it was
not that which gave him the edge. Rather, it was the cool authority, the unshakable
control, the keenly assessing air he radiated, as if he was prepared for any
eventuality. There was something solidly comforting about Lord Sommersby's
effortless mastery of himself, something intriguing about the unruly red mane
that suggested inner fire beneath the steely discipline.
Strangely,
those feelings of shame and humiliation Julian's presence should have
engendered did not come. Amanda was startled to notice instead only a deepening
awareness of Lord Sommersby, who regarded her curiously as it became clear that
introductions were quite
point. Julian LeFevre would ever go his own way.
"Perhaps
now you will tell me how I may be of service,” Simon said. “Your letter did not
say what you wished to see in the castle. I warn you, some parts of it are in
serious disrepair."
Julian
walked to the hearth and appeared to study the roaring fire. "I am searching
for some papers.”
"Papers?"
"The
late countess may have had some documents that belonged to my mother. It may be
that during the Terror she sent them here, to her cousin, for safekeeping. I
have not found them in France.”
Julian’s
expressionless tone, and his obvious reluctance to provide details, raised a
wealth of questions, but Simon asked none of them. "I have come across no
papers here, although I have not explored all of the castle."
"They
may be hidden. Perhaps in the tunnels."
Simon
knew that tunnels under the castle led to caves deep in the cliffs. Smugglers
were reputed to have used them to store their loot. He’d never heard of
documents being hidden there.
"You
are free to inspect them." Simon rose. "And now it is time for us to
join my fiancée and her family."
Preoccupied
with Julian's strange quest, Simon did not immediately notice anything amiss as
they entered the parlor where the others had gathered.
Before
he could make introductions, however, a sharp gasp followed by an unnatural
silence told him something was terribly wrong. Sir Thomas looked outraged. Miss
Biddle looked stunned. But it was Miss Fitzhugh's condition that truly caused
alarm.
She
was staring at Julian as if she had seen a ghost. Behind him, Simon heard
Julian's softly muttered oath.
Miss
Fitzhugh’s shock instantly transformed into a look that plainly consigned Julian
to the devil.
"Mr.
LeFevre," she acknowledged in a chilly voice that could easily have frozen
the fires of hell.
Simon
frowned. Miss Fitzhugh might be blunt-spoken, but she had never struck him as
rude.
"Good
evening, Miss Fitzhugh," Julian drawled in an intimate tone that took them
all aback. "It seems I have been cursed with a dukedom since last we met.
I am Claridge now."
***
Amanda
had not seen him in eight years. She waited for the old feelings of shame,
humiliation, and anger to wash over her at the sight of the man who had tried
to bring about her ruin and very nearly accomplished it.
He
was the same. The same cruel slash of a mouth, the same contemptuous dark eyes,
the same undercurrent of amusement at her expense. And yet he was not. His face
bore deep lines of dissipation. His gaze was more tormented, his sharply planed
features more harsh. The frankly seductive air she remembered was tinged with something
that on another man she might have called desperation.
Julian
had aged, but she sensed that it was not age that had changed him. Perhaps it
was his own inner devils, the ones that made her realize years ago he was
incapable of giving, only of taking.
What
struck her most of all, however, was the manner in which standing in Lord
Sommersby's shadow diminished him. She had not expected that. No one had ever
cast Julian LeFevre in the shade.
Physically,
the two had much in common. Both were tall and imposing, their large frames
easily dominating any room. Both men filled out jackets with their broad
shoulders and trim, muscular forms. The earl was half a head taller, but it was
not that which gave him the edge. Rather, it was the cool authority, the unshakable
control, the keenly assessing air he radiated, as if he was prepared for any
eventuality. There was something solidly comforting about Lord Sommersby's
effortless mastery of himself, something intriguing about the unruly red mane
that suggested inner fire beneath the steely discipline.
Strangely,
those feelings of shame and humiliation Julian's presence should have
engendered did not come. Amanda was startled to notice instead only a deepening
awareness of Lord Sommersby, who regarded her curiously as it became clear that
introductions were quite
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