Page 10 of Marriage Most Scandalous
“Eating? At this time of day?”
“No. It’s where he lives.”
That should have surprised her, but it didn’t. The man lived in a ruins, after all. She did roll her eyes, however, but only because the boy was probably hoping for such a reaction from her, and he was. His grin grew wider.
“Point me to the kitchen?” He did. She smiled at him. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, miss.”
“Lady,” she corrected.
“Cor, really?”
He seemed so surprised, she guessed he’d never met a titled aristocrat before, or perhaps not one of the female gender. Which was more likely. The Raven wouldn’t work for women, after all.
Her annoyance returned with that thought. She nodded and went the way he’d pointed.
After traversing a narrow stone passageway she came to a door. She opened it and was indeed in a kitchen, but not one of the medieval era. She was standing in a very large room that had been paneled in oak and contained a new-looking stove and other furniture one would expect to find in the kitchen of a fine manor house. She was surprised to see a dining table with six velvet upholstered chairs and a fireplace that was lit and crackling, with a window on each side of it that looked out on what appeared to be a conservatory behind the ruins. Indeed, The Raven’s kitchen was rather cozy.
And he was in it.
Actually, after looking at him more closely, she hoped he wasn’t the right man. Good God, he looked distinctly—menacing, she supposed, would aptly describe him. Taller than the other fellow, younger, dark, dangerous.
But that’s a good thing, she tried to tell herself. He looked like a man who could get things done, which was what she needed. Her other option was to give up. She’d already hired other men. She’d already tried to accomplish her goal herself. She’d done all she could. This man came with a guarantee. He never failed. That’s what people said about him, and it was the finest recommendation she could think of, particularly since she had so little information to offer about what needed to be accomplished.
Before she could change her mind, she marched across the room. He didn’t glance up. He was so deep in thought, a glass of brandy in hand, she wasn’t sure he even knew he had company.
She cleared her throat, but he either didn’t hear her or was deliberately ignoring her, so she asked politely, “Could I have your attention for a moment, please?”
She got it, and wished she hadn’t. His golden eyes were so bright they seemed to glow like those of a predatory animal—on the prowl. They were riveting . . . mesmerizing, in a face that was distinctly handsome. She hadn’t noticed at first how handsome he was. The menacing aura about him had definitely taken precedence. And still, it took Margaret a few moments to notice anything other than those startling golden eyes.
Smooth cheeks, a firm jaw, narrow, hard lips pursed in annoyance. A long, straight nose, sharp cheekbones, black brows of medium thickness but with barely any curve to them. His hair was very short, blackest black, bangs divided toward each temple with a few strands loose across his brow, one long strand down his right cheek that she watched him push back automatically behind his ear, making her realize his hair wasn’t short at all but clubbed back at his nape.
Those golden eyes were slowly perusing her. “I don’t suppose you’re one of the tavern wenches come to take on the bet?”
Margaret managed not to blush, even though she knew exactly what he was intimating. The locals had told Edna about the bet, and Edna had told her. Apparently, it was as renowned in this area of France as he was.
“Hardly,” she said in her haughtiest voice.
He shrugged, his interest in her apparently gone. “That was my original assumption, so be a good girl and get out. You’re trespassing.”
It was the shrug, and the new angle of his face as he glanced away from her, that rendered Margaret incredulous. Not because he’d just dismissed her, but because she finally recognized him. She was too surprised to speak. She was so surprised that she started laughing.
Chapter 5
IT HAD BEEN TWELVE YEARSsince Margaret had last seen him. That had been at her sister’s engagement party. She’d been only eleven at the time and not interested in the young men who’d been present—until he showed up. She’d always found him somewhat fascinating, the most eligible bachelor in the neighborhood, handsome and charming. Most females were fascinated by him, no matter their age. But her encounter with him that night had fixed him in her mind as a romantic hero to whom she’d unfortunately been comparing every man she’d met since. She wasn’t surprised she hadn’t recognized him immediately, though. Rude and menacing, this fellow was nothing like the charming young man who’d dazzled her all those years ago.
He was now staring at her as if she were daft. She couldn’t blame him. Amazed and delighted, she explained what prompted her laughter. “I find this rather funny. I came here to ask you to find a man for me, and here you are, that very man.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“So this is how you’ve been hiding yourself, Sebastian? By assuming this Raven identity?”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Margaret Landor. My father was George Landor, sixth earl of Millwright. You might remember him. My sister was—”
He cut her off. “Good God, you’re little Maggie Landor?” “Not so little anymore.” “No, I can see that.”
