“You cannot run this person off. I will not be able to find you a constant stream of servants until I return.”

He opened his eyes and stared blankly up at the awful cheerful mural overhead. Fields of green pastures and deep blue skies and puffy white clouds. All bucolic with no hint as to the evil in the world.

“Unless you’d rather I remain behind,” she murmured. “Because I will,” she continued quickly. “If you’d rather I remain here, instead, and care for you, then just—”

“Go,” the command ripped out of him, gravelly and sharp as a captain’s directive. Go from this room, and off to London, and let me be.

She took that for the assent she sought and climbed reluctantly to her feet. “I will return shortly and perform introductions.” She sailed off in a whir of skirts, retreating with greater speed than Boney’s forces through the frozen Russian roads.

As she closed the door behind her, Lucas rolled onto his side and stared at the drawn brocade curtains. He welcomed the hum of the familiar silence and his own tortured thoughts.

Chapter 2

They said Castle Rayne was haunted.

They said the ghosts of the lords and ladies who’d once dwelled within the sprawling estate roamed the halls and that was why no sane man or woman would take work there now. But then, most people, sane or otherwise, were not as desperate as Miss Eve Ormond.

From somewhere deep within the Earl of Lavery’s stone manor, better suited a medieval keep than a country estate, a door slammed. On a gasp, she jumped.

Heart racing, she focused on drawing in smooth, even breaths. It is just a door. Of course there were no ghosts here. At seven and twenty years of age, she’d long ceased fearing ghosts and goblins and shadows in the night. Time had proven there were far greater perils among the living.

She heard the rapid footfalls of people rushing through the halls and then silence once more fell. Eve stared at the closed door, tension thrumming inside her. She’d no place being here.

By the dark history that stretched between her family and the Raynes, these people would sooner see her to the devil than in their employ. Even if they did require reliable staff. Any staff, given the reports she had inadvertently been handed at the agency where she sought employment.

They’ll never know you as an Ormond. To the family she’d soon serve, Eve would exist as nothing more than a dutiful maid, overseeing whatever tasks they charged her with. They’d not know that she shared blood with the same ancestor who’d robbed them of an ancient artifact and then sold it off to their rival family.

She thrust aside the unwanted guilt in being here. The problem with being an unwed woman past the bloom of youth was that there were few options. For security. For work. For really, anything. It was that truth which brought Eve to the Earl of Lavery’s Kent estate. That...and also, the need to escape.

Seated in one of the earl’s parlors, Eve took in the room. The mahogany piano and gold satin wallpaper adorning the walls were at odds with the jagged stone mantel that harkened to long ago times. Everything in this property exuded wealth and influence. It was not vastly different from the world she’d once known, a world she’d been neatly and deliberately snipped out of. Her insides twisted in a vicious knot.

The elaborate gladius, glimmering in the morning light snagged her notice. Restless, Eve shoved to her feet and wandered past the broad piano, over to the mantel to take in that great weapon. The metal shone bright and mocking. The ornate hilt and marked carvings bespoke its origins. This was the piece that families had fought for. The gladius that her late ancestor, Captain Tobias Ormond, had stolen and sold. This same sword had seen the Ormonds ruined and now made them outcasts throughout England.

Not that Eve held Society, polite or otherwise, at fault. After all, welcoming the daughter of a traitor, hanged for treason, would take a wealth of generosity, she’d not expect of them, or anyone.

She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, as the shock and horror revisited her as real now as it had been the day she’d discovered her father’s treachery. Nay, his evil. For her father, the late Lieutenant Colonel Ormond, who’d proved a man could sell more than his soul, even now burned for his crimes against his country. Her gaze wandered once more to that gleaming sword.

Then, hadn’t the Ormonds proven their greed years earlier when they’d wrestled control of an ancient gladius from the Rayne family and sold it off to another, all to increase the size of the Ormond purses?

Eve balled her fingers into her skirts, welcoming the hate rolling through her. Hate for the father who’d betrayed his country and sold battlefield secrets to the French. She allowed that hate to calm her. Hatred for her late sire was good. It was safe. It kept her from thinking about her own precarious circumstances, as the fates rightly found her serving penance for her family’s sins.

“An impressive weapon, is it not?”

She gasped and spun around.

A young gentleman, tall with dark hair, stood in the doorway. With his sharp, angular features and broadly muscled frame, he’d be considered handsome by any Society standards. Yet, there was a jaded quality to his brown eyes that put Eve in mind of those unyielding marble statues; beautiful, but icy and unfeeling.

“Forgive me,” she said on a rush, sinking into a curtsy. “I did not hear you enter, sir.”

He ignored her greeting and came forward with a cocksure arrogance. Then stopped abruptly at the fireplace—beside her. His gaze lingered on the heart-shaped birthmark at the right corner of her lip. She held her breath until her lungs ached.

The Ormond mark, her father had once called it. And yet, any lord, lady, or servant in between could bear such a mark upon their skin.

When he again met her eyes, there was no hint of knowing. There was nothing more than that jaded hardness, before he looked again to that blade. “Men have fought and died for this sword, Mrs. Nelson,” he said suddenly, unexpectedly.

He had her at a disadvantage. “Gladius,” she automatically corrected.

Those piercing eyes made narrow slits that threatened to see inside her soul to all the darkness and lies there.

He knows. My God, he knows. How could he know?

“Aidan!”

They looked as one to the entrance of the room. A small, plump lady stood in the doorway, studying her. At the interruption, a wave of relief so strong gripped Eve, her shoulders sagged.

“I’m merely giving the young woman a lesson on the importance of the gladius,” the younger man groused.

The lady glared at him in return and then turned to Eve. “You are Mrs. Nelson, I assume?” she asked, coming over.

“I am, my lady,” Eve replied, attempting to place her. Surely she was too young to be the Countess of Lavery and, yet, she commanded respect and attention of a room with an ease, the queen would envy.

The other woman favored Eve with a smile. A real smile. So unlike the dark-frowning stranger before her. Or the glares and glowers that had greeted her almost two years earlier, upon her return to England. She fought to formulate a proper word or reply. Would the young woman be smiling now if she knew my identity?

After all, from a bad crow a bad egg.

“Mrs. Nelson doesn’t require a history lesson,” the young woman said dryly. “You must forgive Mr. Rayne.” She continued over Mr. Rayne’s glower. “I am Captain Rayne’s sister.” Oh, bloody hell. The duchess. “The Duchess of Devlin and this,” she waved to her brother, “angry, mistrustful man is my youngest brother.”

Eve’s skin pricked under Mr. Rayne’s scrutiny. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” Eve murmured, sinking into another flawless curtsy befitting the ballrooms of Europe. “I did not realize—”

“She was staring at the gladius,” Mr. Rayne put in through tight lips.

Eve balled her hands. Granted, the Rayne kin were deserved of their protectiveness of that long fought-over relic. Yet the last thing she wanted was to touch the sword that had so cursed her ancestors.

“It is an impressive piece that anyone would be hard-pressed to not admire,” the duchess countered and she gave Eve another supportive smile. “Aidan, if you’ll excuse us. Mrs. Nelson doesn’t need to begin her tenure here with you questioning her motives.” The gentleman frowned. “Go,” his sister said firmly.

The pair remained locked in a silent battle. Ultimately the kind-eyed duchess triumphed and her brother took his leave, but not before he favored Eve with a warning look.

The Duchess of Devlin sighed. “You must forgive him. It is a beloved artifact that had been lost to our family for many years. He’s wary of all who come near it.”

Had he gathered Eve’s identity, Mr. Rayne would sooner toss her out on her arse than let her gaze upon that gladius.

“Please, sit,” the duchess urged, motioning to a chair. “It is my understanding you’re here as a maid of all work,” the regal woman said, after they’d both sat.

Yes, which made this meeting with a duchess and countess, unorthodox, to say the least.

“I am, Your Grace,” she confirmed. Having returned to England two years ago, Eve had landed, in total, five posts—until her identity had invariably been discovered. Before that, however, she’d been welcomed into household staffs. Never had she been greeted in a parlor by the powerful peers who’d hired her.

Some of the light went out of the duchess’ eyes. “I would speak with you about my brother, Captain Rayne,” she began in halting tones. “Before you meet him, there is something you should know.” Eve stilled. Why should she know anything about the lady’s brother? It wasn’t a maid’s place to know anything of her employer’s kin. “He is not...” Whatever words she’d share were cut into by the sudden appearance of an older woman with graying hair and aged eyes.