Blackthorne. Ruth Langan

      “You seem quite smug. Is that why you’re here? To accuse me of eavesdropping?” She folded her blue gown, the one she’d intended to wear tonight to sup with her aunt and uncle and cousins.

      “On the contrary. I am appalled at my sister’s behavior. And I came here to make amends.” He walked up to her and extended his hand. “Hello, cousin. I am Wyatt Lindsey. Could we begin afresh?”

      For the space of several seconds Olivia stared at his hand, then into his face. Despite the elegant cut of his clothes, there was a certain boyishness to his smile. She sensed that he was very aware of his charms, and accustomed to using them. “I... suppose we could.” She offered her hand. “I am Olivia St. John.”

      He continued holding her hand a moment longer than necessary, until, flustered, she forcibly removed it.

      He chuckled at the color that flooded her cheeks, though he couldn’t tell if she was flattered by his attentions or angry.

      He was more than a little surprised by what he’d found. Pleasantly so. When Catherine had called their cousin a spinster, he had imagined a much older, plainer woman. Why this lovely creature was unmarried was a mystery. But as long as he intended to spend a few days here before returning to his country home, he planned to sample his pretty little cousin’s wares.

      He nodded toward the valise. “Where are you planning on going?”

      “I have no thought, other than that I must leave this place, where I am so unwelcome.”

      “Perhaps I could...help you.” He touched a hand to a tendril of dark hair that had fallen loose from the neat knot at her nape.

      At once she pulled back from his touch. “In what way can you help?”

      He smiled. She was not going to make this easy. No matter. He enjoyed a challenge. He reached into his waistcoat and removed a rolled parchment. Unrolling it, he walked to the writing table and handed her a quill.

      “First, you will sign your name to this document.”

      Mystified, she moved closer. “What is it?”

      “Nothing of any importance. It merely names me executor of your estate.”

      “My estate?” She gave a harsh laugh. “Your parents informed me I was penniless.”

      “And you are. It’s merely a formality. But as a solicitor, I prefer everything to be tidy. Sign here.”

      She eyed the document, then shook her head. “The words have my head spinning. I would rather take my time and read it. Perhaps if you’d care to leave it...”

      His smile, which only moments earlier had been warm and friendly, suddenly looked dangerous. He took a step closer and watched as she backed away. He took another step, and she did the same, until her back was pressed against the wall.

      “You don’t want to anger me, cousin. I make it my business to know all of the wealthy and titled here in London.” He pressed his palms to the wall on either side of her face and leaned close until his lips were mere inches from hers. “I might be... persuaded to help you secure a position. That is, if you are willing to be...very nice to me.”

      Outraged, Olivia tried to shove him away, but his strength surprised her. “I may be a country lass, unaccustomed to the ways of your London friends, but I understand what you’re suggesting and I want no part of it.”

      At the last moment she managed to turn her face, so that his lips brushed her cheek.

      “Stop this.” Again she pushed against his chest, but she was no match for his strength. “Let me go, Wyatt, or I shall scream.”

      His eyes narrowed. “Go ahead and scream, little mouse. My parents are out in the garden. And the servants would never dare interfere.”

      As she started to protest, his mouth covered hers, stifling her words. His hot breath filled her lungs.

      A sense of panic welled inside her. This couldn’t be happening. Not here in the home where her mother grew up. Not in a place where servants bustled about in the hallways just beyond the door.

      She struggled, harder now, as the panic grew. She kicked and bit and scratched, managing to draw blood along his cheek. But each time she fought him, he became more aroused.

      This was what he’d wanted. The chase. The duel. The chance to subdue his opponent. And then the humiliation. That final act of domination was, to him, the ultimate reward.

      He moved so quickly she had no time to react. Within minutes he had thrown her to the floor. With one hand he pinned her arms up over her head while the other hand fumbled beneath her skirts.

      The boyish smile had been replaced by a look of evil. “Now, cousin, I will show you how I intend to bid you welcome. And when I’m through, you will sign anything, if you know what’s good for you.” His eyes narrowed to slits as he straddled her and shot her a look of triumph.

      He was suddenly doused with a bucket of cold water. It poured over his head, causing him to gasp in shock. As the water spilled down his tunic and immaculately tailored waistcoat, he rolled to one side, releasing his grip on Olivia. She sat up, shoving damp hair from her eyes.

      Old Letty stood over them, holding an empty bucket.

      “Forgive me, m’lord,” she said apologetically. “I was coming in to help the young miss with her bath, and I seem to have stumbled over the rug.”

      “Why, you old hag! No one takes a cold bath.” His voice thundered with rage.

      “The young miss specifically requested cold water, is that not so, miss?”

      “Y-yes. Indeed it is,” Olivia managed to say as she struggled to her feet.

      Wyatt’s eyes were dark with fury. “You old witch. I ought to...”

      “I summoned your father and mother.” Letty’s eyes bored into his. “His lordship should be upstairs any moment.”

      “What is it, Letty?” came Robert’s voice from the hallway.

      At once Wyatt scrambled to his feet and rearranged his soaked clothing just as his father stepped through the doorway.

      “A bit clumsy I was,” the old servant explained. “And the young lord was kind enough to help me clean up my mess.”

      “So I see.” Robert arched a brow at the puddles of water on the floor. Then he flicked a glance over Olivia, pale and trembling, and his son, one cheek scratched and bleeding, working frantically to straighten his soaked clothes. “Come along, Wyatt. Leave that for the servants.”

      Wyatt’s eyes were chips of blue ice, his voice a whisper for Olivia’s ears alone. “One day soon we’ll meet again. Without the old hag to protect you. And then you’ll pay. Oh, little cousin, how you’ll pay.”

      When the two had gone, Olivia turned to Letty. “How can I ever thank you? I thought...” Without warning she began to weep.

      “There now, young miss.” The old woman drew her into her arms and held her until the tears had run their course. “Everyone here knows about Master Wyatt. He has despoiled many of our young servants. All of them fear him.”

      “Why doesn’t someone tell his parents?”

      “No need. They’ve seen for themselves. But they choose to look away, and blame others for their son’s flaws. ’Tis always the servant’s fault, and the poor young woman is dismissed and branded a slut.”

      “Is that what they will say about me?”

      The servant shrugged, unwilling to inflict more pain on this distraught young woman than she already bore.

      But though the words were unspoken, Olivia knew. “Why don’t you fear him, Letty?”

      The old servant sighed. “What can he do to the likes of me?”

      “He