Page 96 of Wicked Rivals
“We ought to split up once inside. Search every room until we find her. Then we meet where we tied the horses. If you come across any servants or members of the household, restrain them so they cannot sound the alarm.” They would not kill anyone, not unless it was absolutely necessary.
Like dark wraiths they slipped into the house through the terrace doors, wearing dark clothes and black domino masks. If anyone saw them, they’d need to conceal their identities as much as possible. Brock was not foolish enough to think that Lennox would not figure out who had taken Rosalind, but the deception would buy them some time.
Lennox House was so very different from the stark and cold Castle Kincade. The halls were furnished with art, oriental rugs and statues. It was opulent compared to Brock’s musty rooms and dreary gray stone walls. He couldn’t help but despise Lennox that much more for it. A brute like him who hurt women and took advantage of them didn’t deserve to live in such a state of luxury.
Brock and his brothers paused as they reached the middle of the house, ears straining for the sounds of servants. The hour was late, and likely the servants were downstairs seeing to their own meals.
Brodie slipped past Brock and Aiden. “I’ll go upstairs.”
Aiden nodded down the current hall. “I’ll check these rooms.” Brock left him behind as he trod on silent feet to the hall on the opposite end of the house.
I hope the bastard hasn’t locked her away.He wasn’t sure he could break down a door without being overheard. Moving from room to room, he tested the handles, and each time the doors would creak open. Many were empty, and sheets covered the unused furniture. But the closer he got to the main hall, the rooms changing from bedrooms to parlors and drawing rooms, even a music room.
The last door before the hall greeted him with the distinctive and not unpleasant smell of musty books. A library? Brock nudged the door open wide enough to slide inside. One peek among the books wouldn’t hurt. He doubted Rosalind would be here, but he loved books.
A man’s library reveals his soul.It was something his mother used to say. After her death, Father had sold all of her books and left the castle library barren, save for a few old novels he and his brothers had tucked away beneath their mattresses.
The Lennox library was impressive. The tall shelves brimmed with hundreds of volumes, which made a small part of Brock ache deep inside. What he wouldn’t have given in that moment to settle in a chair and read one. Before Hugo’s arrival he had been planning the restoration of their castle, and a new library had been high on his list of priorities.
There was a fireplace at the far end of the library away from the books. A pair of chairs faced the fire, and the flames played with shadows against the warm fabric of the chairs. It was clear this part of the library was used frequently. But if the fire was lit, then that might mean…
A hint of movement in one of the chairs caught Brock’s eye and he froze. A feminine hand appeared around the edge of the chair and turned the page of a book that he now realized was resting on her lap.
The woman sighed, her soft sound full of longing. It called to him, and before he could stop himself, he was crossing the room toward the chair and its occupant, keeping to the shadows, hoping to perhaps steal a glance of her. The floor creaked beneath his boots, and the woman leaned forward, peering around the wing of the chair. He hastily pulled the domino mask off and tucked it into his coat, knowing it would be difficult to explain if he actually had to speak to the woman.
Blue eyes, like the waters of a loch beneath a midsummer sky. They struck him speechless, and for a moment he was lost in memories of sunlight and laughter. They reminded him of his mother’s eyes, only a deeper blue.
“Who are you?” the woman asked.
“It doesn’t matter who I am. Who areyou?” he asked.
“I’m Joanna Lennox.” She closed the book on her lap and slowly rose, setting the book and her blue tartan shawl aside.
Brock glanced at the shawl, instantly recognizing the tartan colors.
“I know that clan—MacCloud. Are you Scottish?” he asked.
“What? Oh no, my family has relatives who are, but not me.” She laughed sweetly, and the sound filled his heart with a strange, delightful warmth.
Joanna walked closer to him, her lovely features a mask of puzzlement. “You didn’t answer me. Who are you?”
Brock struggled to think of an excuse.
“I…” His mind blanked, and so he went with a truth that might at least aid him in his quest. “Is Lady Melbourne here?”
“Why yes, she’s—wait a moment. Are you one of her brothers? Did you come down for the wedding?”
Wedding? That gave him an idea.
“Aye. I received a letter from my sister and came down to attend the wedding. I only just arrived and didn’t wish to disturb the household.” He widened his stance slightly, expecting her to try to get by him.
“Oh dear, you must be tired after such a long ride. Have the servants taken your things to your chambers?”
“Thank you, my lady, I’ve already been seen to. I was just looking for a room to warm up a bit in before going to bed.” He watched her carefully, trying to find any trace of suspicion on her face that she didn’t believe his story.
“Well then, come sit by this fire. I just finished my novel and was planning to retire soon. I’d be happy to lend it to you—if you enjoy novels, that is.” She went over to the chair and handed him a book. “It’s one of my favorites.”
Brock stared at the title. “Lady Jade’s Wild Lord.” The author was L. R. Gloucester. He’d once adored novels, but his father had sold nearly all of them.
