Chapter 4

After sending her warning to Fin via carrier pigeon, Bridey couldn’t resist stopping in the nursery. She’d never have children of her own, but she cherished little ones, and these two intrigued her.

A single small lamp burned in the dark recesses of the long chamber. The nursemaid nodded off in a rocking chair. The twins were tucked into the cots they’d pushed together, their arms wrapped around ragged dolls. Opening her senses for a peek, Bridey saw the pink aura still hovering protectively over them.

It seemed the twins really didn’t need a nanny to guard them.

Bridey had an intellectual craving for the ability to speak with ghosts, but a very real fear of possession. Besides, what would she say to one, after all? It was apparent the twins’ late mother lingered to watch over her babies. Perhaps Bridey could ask her how much good a ghost could do, but that would be cruel. Instead, she nodded respectfully at the wary aura, then backed out, shutting the door with a click.

She returned to her own chamber—where Mr. Pascoe had settled into her reading chair, one leg crossed over his knee, a Malcolm journal in his lap, for all the world as if he belonged there.

After the haunting loneliness of the nursery, she almost wished he did belong on her hearth. She would like someone with whom to discuss ghosts and twins and other familiar subjects. But he was all arrogant, presumptuous man and worthless to her.

“Out,” she commanded, standing in the doorway and pointing at the corridor, while her irrational heart slammed against her corset. She might be a widow and allowed more liberty than an unmarried girl, but she had no intention of letting men exploit that freedom.

He lifted his head. The firelight glinted in the blue-blackness of his pomaded hair and shadowed the high bones of his cheeks and his long thin nose. Reluctantly, he closed the book and stood, filling the room with the force of his character. He did not leave. “The dovecote works well with the pigeons, does it not?”

How did this devil know about Fin’s pigeons? He’d only been here a few hours!

“I have no idea what you mean. I want you out of my room now, before I call the servants.” She was vaguely aware that the servants were mostly women. She’d have to call Theo to throw out his own uncle. Helplessness made her furious.

“Don’t go missish on me,” he said in disdain, with a dismissive gesture of his long-boned hand. “We’re adults, not foolish adolescents who need to bow to society’s whims.”

She didn’t need to be reminded that as a lonely widow, she was fair game. He was a full grown male, a predator primed with society’s expectations of their sexes. Even without opening herself to his aura, she could see the intensity of his needs in his heated gaze.

Still in his formal evening wear, Mr. Pascoe was imperiously handsome despite his affected monocle and dandified silk pocket handkerchief.

“We cannot possibly have anything to say to each other that cannot be said in public,” she countered.

“Our hosts have no interest in Northbridge. We do. Do be sensible and sit down. I’ll be leaving in the morning and don’t have time for games.” He spoke curtly, like any overworked government official. He gestured with his stick at the second chair before the fire—the smaller one without the wing back.

“Have a good journey,” she answered with a cold smile. “Now leave.”

Sighing impatiently, he set the stick aside. “I dislike threatening people with whom I’d prefer to work, but you don’t leave me much choice. I would prefer your cooperation in determining the solution to Northbridge’s mining problem, but I have a feeling I cannot do so if the earl and the village insist on calling you a witch who has cursed the entire town.”

All her frosty bravado melted. He knew. The devil had walked in here a few hours ago and already knew her deepest, darkest pain.

She wanted to fling things and shout for the servants, but he was right. That was only her wounded pride reacting—and her fear for her brother.

“And why should I trust an errand-boy for the king?” she asked with the same disdain he’d displayed earlier—but despite her outward display of fearlessness, she entered and closed the door as requested. If he could provide her with information, she must protect Fin.

Pascoe shrugged and crossed to a table where he poured a drink from a decanter that hadn’t been there when she’d last been in the room. He offered her a glass—just as if she were a man and his equal. She wouldn’t trust even this gesture.

When she refused, he poured one for himself. “Why do I have the feeling you would not trust any man?”

“Perhaps because you are perceptive.” Angry that he understood her so well, she took the large chair he’d abandoned, leaving the smaller one for him.

Instead of sitting, he paced, filling the room with vibrations so strong that Bridey thought she might pluck them like the strings of a harp. “You conceal far more than you reveal,” she added. “Please do not underestimate my intelligence.”

He nodded agreement. “You want honesty.” After a moment’s thought, he yanked off his starched collar, shrugged out of his form-fitting coat, and unknotted his neckcloth. Shocked, Bridey almost stood up to run from the room, but she sensed his restraint. A man this intense did not peel off his clothes with dispassion if he meant harm. She froze and watched his performance with fascination.

In a few strokes, he cast aside the insouciant, fashionable diplomat and transformed into a real man of broad shoulders, muscled chest, and determination. He ran his hand through his overlong hair, rumpling until it fell across his wide brow. That gesture alone altered him into the kind of man she’d want in her boudoir, a powerful man she would love to trust with all her lonely heart—and a lot more.

Only the impatience in his dark eyes and gestures said he wasn’t thinking about the bed looming not feet away—or not overtly, at least. His actions reminded her that he was a destructive, self-centered man, the same as any other.

“This is me, as I am, concealing nothing,” he said roughly. “I may be a bastard in the eyes of the world, but I’m a father who wants the best for his children. I’m a gentleman who wants what is best for his country. I do not mistreat women and children, although I’ve been known to torment fools and bash heads when required. I am no saint. I accept that Lady Aster’s family is unusual. I do not, however, believe in witches.” His emphasis was almost angry.

Had she been a few years younger, she would have been impressionable enough to swoon at his looks and declarations. Experience hardened her.

“Very pretty,” she said dryly, acknowledging his manly form and speech in disparaging dismissal. “Witches haven’t been burned at the stake in a hundred years, so it matters little what you believe. What do you wish of me? Because do not mistake, I know you are a schemer who uses people. I have not yet consented to being used.”

Silent, he was all male animal prowling in the firelight, considering her reply. She liked that he actually listened, even if he was determining how to use her. Watching him pace, Bridey fought irrational urges, because he was right. They were both adults here. What would it be like to share a bed with a real man and not a gout-ridden doddering invalid?

“The mines and furnace at Northbridge are of national importance,” he finally said. “Their new process produces iron faster than anywhere else in the world. The foundry is operating with processes no one else possesses. The king cannot allow the mine to close or the furnace to shut down.”

Bridey wished for the brandy she’d refused. Fin’s furnace had been noticed outside Northbridge?

When he’d been at school, her brother had convinced engineers from Edinburgh to turn their talents on Carstairs’ extensive coal and iron ore holdings. She’d persuaded her husband that the techniques would make him more money than they would cost. After years of effort, they had been well on their way to improving the lives of the miners and the foundry laborers when George had died. Their goal had been to help the village, not the entire kingdom.

Her late husband had been self-absorbed, so it had been easy to persuade him to hand tasks over to others. Once Fin had his degree, George had hired her brother to run the operations. As long as more money poured into his coffers, he’d been happy to let Fin do as he pleased.

The new earl, George’s nephew, was a preening, spineless, simpleton. The kingdom would go to hell before she’d help the new earl and his evil brother.

She folded her hands in her lap and watched Pascoe with disinterest. “And what am I to make of that? It’s not as if we’re at war and in need of new ships—or that I know anything of making iron.”

He glared at her, and she almost shivered.

“I was told to head for Northbridge straight away,” he said, his impatience giving way to irritation. “I gave up the family outing I’d promised the twins to ride here without all the facts in hand. I’m a man who deals in facts. The more I know going in, the faster I can fix whatever the problem is and get out.”

“I still fail to see how I can help you,” she said.

He frowned. “Do not sit there and look innocent. A woman of your intelligence had a hand in every simmering pot before you left. I’m surmising that the old earl’s death, his nephew’s arrival, and your departure are all part of the mine’s current problems.”

“A trifle obvious,” she agreed. “Things changed once the new earl appointed new management. He would not listen to me. The problems are not ones that can be fixed by riding in and throwing the king’s weight around. One cannot fix stupidity, arrogance, and avarice.”

The half smile he offered was so far beyond wicked that it gave her heart palpitations.

“Now, you are underestimating me.” Finally, he took the smaller chair she’d left for him. Nursing his brandy between his palms, he leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees. Firelight gleamed on the bronzed chest he’d exposed. “Or perhaps I should say, you are underestimating the king’s power. The mine and furnace are a matter of national security. Stupidity can be removed.”

She wanted to believe him—just as she’d believed so many people in the past, people she’d known and trusted. No more. He was using her, just as she’d predicted and he’d admitted.

“Gilroy is nothing like his uncle,” she said, because that would be obvious to anyone who met him. “He is young, impetuous, and eager to spend his inheritance. He has hired his brother to run the operations of mine and foundry.” None of that was anything Pascoe wouldn’t learn by riding into town. “I know nothing more.”

“And this brother is cut from the same cloth as the earl?” Pascoe demanded, concealing his impatience. The woman was more enigmatic than the Sphinx, and about as forthcoming.

The intimacy of practically sitting knee-to-knee in her bedchamber heightened his awareness. The countess was gorgeous with the light of the fire dancing in her rich auburn hair and warming her ivory shoulders. Her nose had a slight up-tilt to it, and her lips were too plush to successfully pull off the Frost Queen demeanor in close proximity. Only when she stood tall and regal at a distance did the small details disappear behind her very large attitude. He could see why people labeled her witch. The strong women he knew were often labeled with that epithet, but their only magic was in frightening ignorant people.

“Worse,” she said reluctantly. “Oscar Darrow is also a brute.”

Pascoe grasped the difficulty. Two impetuous, privileged idiots would not listen to a woman, no matter how experienced she might be. If one of the dolts was inclined toward violence, especially toward women, then she had been right to leave. What he could not ascertain was why she was reluctant to discuss her obvious anger and the reasons for it. There was more at work here than she was revealing. If he offered aid, could he gain her trust?

“The miners and foundry laborers are suffering,” he suggested.

“Possibly,” she said. “I have not been there for some months.”

“You do not communicate with anyone in Northbridge?” he asked, knowing that was a lie. The pigeons alone gave her away.

“Why should I? They scorned me as a devil-worshipper and were relieved when I left. It’s not as if I had much in common with miners.”

He didn’t have time for this. If he stayed longer, he’d end up thinking of seduction rather than the problem at hand.

“I am not asking for aid with the miners. I’m asking for your aid with information, which you continue to withhold.” He finished off his brandy, set the snifter aside, and stood up to don his coat. “If you don’t wish to help the kingdom and possibly the lives of many, fine. I don’t have time to pull teeth. I’ll find out what I need on my own.”

“You will do as you please no matter what I say,” she said. “I have left Northbridge behind and intend to move forward with my life.”

“You know more than the two imbeciles I must consult tomorrow. But you prefer to sit in a tower, wasting your intelligence and knowledge on delivering babies,” he said in scorn. He didn’t know why that irritated him so much, but it did. “How does this make you better than Carstairs?”

“That’s insulting,” she said with suppressed rage. “Now leave.” She stood commandingly, as if she were accustomed to ordering people from her presence.

Pascoe had been the brunt of too many people who considered themselves his superior to tolerate taking orders from anyone except a monarch now. He stood a mere stride away, and she faced him as if he were of no more importance than a fence post. The temptation, combined with his frustration, was simply too great.

He crossed the small distance, dragged her up against him, and kissed those luscious lips as he’d been longing to do since their first encounter. She felt like heaven in his arms, and smelled and tasted of dreams he might never achieve. Her kiss opened an ache where his heart ought to be.

At first, she stiffened and shoved her hands against his chest—until embers flared, fires ignited, and she melted into his embrace, curling her fingers in his linen. He felt her longing because it reflected his own. He wanted to lift her and carry her to that bed. . . .

That was when he realized the danger and set her away. “I do not apologize,” he said curtly, suffering the loss of her warmth and suppleness already. “I enjoyed that far more than I should have. If I had any choice at all, I would know more of you. Unfortunately, I do not have the luxury of time. I will be leaving early in the morning. Will you look in on the twins while I am gone?”

She balled her fingers into fists and glared at him. “Fortunately for you, I do not blame the sins of the fathers on the children. Good evening.” She pointed at the door.

He hadn’t handled a situation so badly since his youth. His only excuse was that she’d crawled under his skin and gnawed there like some irritating insect he needed to swat.

And now he was paying the penalty, probably with a fatal sting.