Wicked - Shannon Drake Mills & Boon M&B

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of murder, the kind of cunning and malicious premeditation that killed my parents.”

      Evelyn was silent for a minute. Despite the year that had now gone by, it was impossible to remember how the late earl and his countess had died without feeling a terrible sense of pain and horror.

      Brian walked to the occasional table behind the chairs, poured a portion of brandy into a snifter, swallowed it down and then looked at Evelyn. “Forgive my manners,” he said. “My dear, would you like a brandy?”

      “Yes, actually,” she said, smiling. He poured some into her snifter first, then refilled his own.

      Lifting his glass to her, he said dryly, “To the night. To darkness and shadows.”

      “No, to the day and the light,” she said firmly.

      He grimaced.

      “It’s time, I’m telling you,” Evelyn insisted. “We must somehow find you a delightful young woman. Not incredibly wealthy or titled. That would be too absurd, considering…well, with your reputation, no one would believe it. Still, there would have to be just the right circumstances, the right someone. She should be young enough, beautiful, compassionate and possessing a certain charm, as well. With the right woman by your side, you’d be able to continue your investigations without worrying about desperate mothers ready to sacrifice their daughters to the beast, all for the sake of the wealth of Carlyle.”

      “And where do I acquire this charming beauty?” he asked, grinning. “She must have a certain intelligence—and the charm of which you speak—otherwise having her at my side would do no good. The concept of searching the streets to hire such a woman would not work, either. I can promise you that we will not find such a sweet, well-spoken beauty in such a quest. So there is little hope. It’s most unlikely that such a perfect candidate will come knocking at the door!”

      It was precisely then that a tapping did sound, firm upon the door to the den.

      Shelby, in his footman’s attire—a little bizarre, but certainly imposing upon a man of his great size and musculature—cracked open the door when bidden to do so.

      “There’s a young woman to see you, Lord Brian.” He seemed quite baffled.

      “A young woman?” Brian repeated, frowning.

      Shelby nodded. “Actually, a very beautiful young woman, waiting down at the gates.”

      “A young woman!” Evelyn exclaimed, staring at Brian.

      “Yes, yes, we’ve established that,” Brian said. “What is her name? Why has she come?”

      “What does it matter?” Evelyn said. “You must invite her in and find out what it is that she needs or wants.”

      “Evelyn, certainly it matters. She must be a fool, to be coming here. Or she’s working for someone,” Brian said.

      Evelyn waved a hand in the air. “Shelby, you must bring her in. Immediately. Oh, Brian! Please, you mustn’t always be so suspicious.”

      He arched a brow.

      “Brian, please! We haven’t had an actual visitor here since…in years!” she finished with a flush. “I can serve a delightful meal. It’s actually quite exciting!”

      “Exciting,” Brian said dryly. He lifted his hands. “Shelby, do invite the young woman in.” He looked at Evelyn. “For, indeed, she has come tapping at our door.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      CAMILLE HAD BEEN QUITE CAREFUL regarding every move she made, including their conveyance and their appearances. Ralph was handsomely decked out in one of Tristan’s day suits with a proper cap, giving the impression of a properly clean and dignified individual, but one in service. She had drawn out her best gown, a feminine concoction in deep maroon, the bodice neither too high nor too low, the bustle of a medium size, the overskirt in satin, with lace bordering the underskirt, showing through the delicate scallops at the hem. It was an outfit, she had determined, that dressed a young respectable woman who did not possess a great fortune, yet had the most respectable means to see one through life.

      She definitely begrudged the money she had to pay the hansom cab to bring them so far out of the city, but the driver was courteous, glad of the fare and quick to assure her that he was willing to wait to return them to London. So it was that she stood at the massive gates to Carlyle Castle, staring at the massive structure of wrought iron that prevented them from entering, and turned to Ralph in disbelief.

      “You two determined that you must scale this wall?” she said.

      He shrugged unhappily. “Well, if you follow the wall itself around a bit, there’s a damaged area. It was actually quite easy to get a foothold, and then…well, I boosted Tristan and he dragged me. Really, I might have broken bones escaping, since I had to depart the same way, and by that time there was some kind of very large hound after me. Unless, in fact, he does raise wolves…but no matter. I did escape, and I do swear I wasn’t seen.”

      Ralph blushed, aware that she hadn’t in the least appreciated his story.

      She had already pulled upon the massive cord that presumably rang a bell somewhere in the castle.

      “Tristan is within,” she murmured.

      “Camie, honestly, I’d not have deserted, ever!” Ralph protested. “But I didn’t know what else to do, other than come to you.”

      “I know that you wouldn’t have deserted him,” she said softly, then added, “Hush! Someone is coming.”

      They heard a pounding of horse’s hooves, and a man on top of a huge steed appeared behind the gate. When he dismounted, Camille could very well understand the huge horse, for the fellow was a giant. He stood many inches over six feet, and his shoulders seemed to have the breadth of a doorway. He was no lad, but neither was he ancient. She thought his age to be, perhaps, midthirties. Muscled and tense, he made his way to peer through the gate.

      “Yes?”

      “Good evening,” Camille said, flustered despite herself by the fellow’s size and foreboding tone. “Excuse the late hour and the unannounced call, I beg you. It’s imperative that I see the master of the house, the Earl of Carlyle, on a matter of utmost urgency.”

      She had expected questions; she received none. The man stared at her from beneath dark, bushy brows, then turned.

      “Excuse me!” she cried.

      “I will see if the master is available,” he called over his shoulder. He leaped atop the huge horse once again, and the sound of the animal’s lope disappeared into the darkness of the trail that led to the castle.

      “He won’t be available,” Ralph said pessimistically.

      “He must be. I will refuse to leave until he sees me,” Camille assured Ralph.

      “To most men, the thought of a lady waiting at the gates in the darkness would be distressing. But we are dealing with the Beast of Carlyle,” Ralph reminded her.

      “He will see me,” Camille insisted.

      She paced before the gate.

      “No one is coming back,” Ralph said, growing distressed.

      “Ralph, our hansom is waiting, but I will not leave without Tristan. If no one appears soon, I will ring that bell until they are all half-mad from the sound,” Camille said.

      She stood still, arms crossed over her chest.

      Ralph began to pace. “No one is coming,” he repeated.

      “Ralph, it is some distance to the castle. The man surely had to go to it, find his master and then return to us.”

      “We will sleep out here,” Ralph warned.

      “Well, you do know how to break

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