But it was his face that had her mouth going dry. His jaw was sharp and shadowed with stubble, his brows a dark, heavy slash, his hair thick and long, the inky waves curling over his collar. His eyes, however, captivated her more than any other aspect of his person.
Captivated?She frowned. Strange word to think in that moment. Perhapsalarmedwould be more apt. Whatever word she used, however, the effect on her was undeniable. His eyes were a strange, pale brown, almost amber in color, and they were piercing, seeming to see straight to the heart of her.
“Miss?”
And his voice. Goodness, it was delicious, deep and smooth and making her think of the lowing of the wind just before a storm, luring you in, though you knew the danger that surely followed it.
“Miss? Are you all right?”
She blinked, her face flaming hot. Goodness, had she been standing there staring at him all this time? “Er, yes. So sorry.”
He tilted his head, his eyes never leaving her face. Once more she felt herself sinking into stupidity but was helpless against the pull of it.
Not without some effort she dragged herself from the brink of doing something utterly ridiculous, like batting her lashes, or evensimpering, for goodness’ sake. As her senses came back to her, however, so did her recollection of his actions from a minute ago.
Furious once more, she glared up at him. No easy thing; the man was ridiculously tall and broad as a boxer, after all. “What did you think you were about,” she snapped, “nearly killing my beetles?”
He blinked. “Yourbeetles?”
“Yes, my beetles. They came from my bag, didn’t they?”
Instead of looking thoroughly chastised, he merely raised one black brow, his gaze intense on her face. Which, of course, sent her mind packing once more.
Suddenly a dark-haired young woman sidled up to his side, a small sack clutched to her chest.
“I’m ready,” she said, turning suspicious eyes on Bronwyn.
“Of course.” He turned back to Bronwyn. “Miss,” he murmured. Then, touching a finger to his brim, he guided the young woman to a nearby carriage.
Bronwyn watched mutely as he helped the girl into the conveyance, trying to understand the sensations churning in her belly: bitterness and warmth and ice cold all at once. A strange mixture, that. And not at all a welcome one, if the way her stomach pitched and rolled was any indication.
When the man, about to vault up into the carriage behind the girl, turned her way, his intense eyes settling on her, Bronwyn was finally able to move. Gasping, spinning about, she hurried down Admiralty Row to The Promenade and home. It was not until she was nearly to Knighthead Crescent, however, that she realized she hadn’t even gotten the stranger’s name. She tamped down on the peculiar surge of loss that reared up at that and hurried up to her parents’ fashionable front stoop. He was nothing to her, after all. No doubt she would never see him again.
Chapter 3
He wanted to see her again.
Ash frowned as the thought crept through his mind, hardly aware of the thickly wooded area the carriage entered as he and Regina made their way ever closer to Caulnedy Manor. It was not the first time he had thought of the young woman since he’d left her standing on the pavement. No doubt it would not be the last. Not a mystery, really. It had been the most bizarre encounter he’d had in a good long while, especially with the lady’s peculiar protectiveness over a couple of insects, of all things.
And that had not been the only remarkable thing about her. For a bewildering moment he’d felt bewitched, as if she had put him under a spell. Perhaps she was a fay being; with those large turquoise eyes magnified by her delicate spectacles, the short mop of curls atop her head, and her slender, diminutive form, she could very well be one of those mystical creatures.
Whatever it was, he could only be grateful for the distraction. Returning to the Isle of Synne brought up emotions he had thought long buried.
They rounded a turn, and Caulnedy Manor came into view. He sucked in his breath at the sight of it, a place he hadn’t laid eyes on since he was a boy, yet it was eerily familiar for how often he’d dreamed of it. As he stared at the sprawling red brick house, it felt like a knife was lancing his chest open, laying him bare to all the hope and desperation and despair he’d experienced in the short time he’d carved out here.
As if she sensed his turmoil, Regina shifted in her seat. She had been silent for the majority of their four-day trip, speaking only when necessary, keeping her nose buried deep in one of the myriad books she’d packed for the journey.
She wasn’t reading her book now. Instead, she sat forward, peering out the carriage window at the house, a kind of aching hope in her wide eyes. She clutched a small package to her chest, the bundle of sweets she had insisted they stop for on Synne’s main thoroughfare before completing their journey. A gift to sisters who would no doubt resent being found out.
“Do you think they’re here? And do you think they’re well?”
Her voice was barely a whisper above the rumble of the wheels on the road and the rhythmic clipping of the horses’ hooves and jangle of the tack. But Ash heard the worry in it. It was the same worry that had been plaguing him for nearly a fortnight now.
“I’m certain they are, on both counts,” he answered quietly. Hoping beyond hope it was true.
They turned into the circular front drive, and within moments the carriage rocked to a halt before the manor steps. Ash, strung tight as a bow now that the moment was here, threw open the carriage door before the driver could reach it, vaulting to the ground. It took every ounce of self-control not to hurry to the front door and pound away at the hapless oak. Instead, he turned and helped Regina down, guiding her up the steps and ringing the bell with what he thought was impressive restraint. The sound of it was muffled as it echoed through the house, then faded away, replaced with a silence so loud he thought he would scream. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, footsteps. And not the shuffling ancient footsteps of Mrs. Wheeler, the woman who had been housekeeper here when he had come seeking refuge for him and his mother and who was still alive and well and watching over Caulnedy. No, these were quick and eager, like a puppy scrambling across tile. Suddenly the door was flung wide. And there stood Nelly, the excitement on her face quickly transforming to dismay.
“What are you doing here?”