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CHAPTER THREE

D ante's warning about Lady Cassia Montefort came to mind the moment Rolfe doffed his hat and came to stand just inside the low open doorway.

Dangerous.

He cocked his head to the side. The girl certainly didn't appear dangerous as he regarded her from across the disordered room.

She stood atop a wooden library ladder, and was at work removing books from a shelf that was filled with a number of leather-bound volumes, all of varying widths and sizes.

Other books were scattered around her on the floor, and a number of wooden crates, already packed with other various volumes, were neatly stacked atop one another near the doorway.

No, Lady Cassia didn't look dangerous at all.

She simply looked ... busy , thoroughly engrossed in the task of leafing through each volume before determining in which designated pile to place it.

In fact, for someone suspected of murder, she appeared oddly contented, even humming a cheerful tune to herself as she worked.

She had not heard him arrive, and rather than announce himself, he’d decided to remain silent a moment to observe her.

A person always revealed more about themselves when they were unaware of anyone else, so he crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the door, watching as she continued working across the room.

Her back was to him, but he could see that she wore an apron to protect her gown, a strict and undecorated frock made of dour mourning black.

Her chestnut-colored hair was caught back at her nape with a length of matching black ribbon.

It fell in a cascade down the length of her back, curling loosely just above her narrow waist.

She must have sensed him standing behind her for she said without turning, “Lynette, would you please ask Quigman if we have any additional crates for the rest of these books?

I've already filled the ones he brought earlier and I'm not even halfway through the shelves.

I will certainly be glad to see these dust-ridden things go.

And when we are finished here, we'll move upstairs to begin packing away Lord Seagrave's clothing for delivery to the almshouse at Bridewell.”

Her voice was deeper than he’d expected, silken. Rolfe remained silent.

“Lynette, did you hear me?”

Lady Cassia turned and simply regarded him as if she was not at all surprised to see him, a man, and a stranger at that, standing there in her doorway.

“Excuse me, sir. I did not know you were there,” she said crisply, gripping the shelf to keep herself steady atop the ladder. “May I ask who allowed you into this house?”

Rolfe did not immediately reply, for her face, now turned fully toward him, gave him a moment’s pause.

Heavens, but Dante hadn’t lied. She was a vision, more lovely than he could have expected.

Even in the low light, with dust motes floating around her, she was a sight that would bring nations to war, a mythological Helen reincarnate.

In fact words somehow failed him as he stared at her.

She was everything Dante had told she'd be.

Beautiful to the point of poetry. Impeccable in appearance. A study of elegance.

And, quite possibly, a murderess.

“Did you not hear me?” she asked, sterner this time. “I asked who allowed you in here, sir.”

Rolfe finally managed to take hold of his senses. “Your front door was open, my lady. I called, but no one answered.”

“And are you in the habit of entering people's homes without an invitation, Mister ...?”

“Ravenscroft, Lord Ravenscroft, actually. I apologize for showing myself in, but I come with an urgent message. I have been sent to you by the King.”

Her cross expression immediately vanished. Her face brightened and she smiled brilliantly. “His Majesty has sent you to me? Have you a message from him for me?”

If ever Rolfe had doubted her association with the king, seeing her now, he was assured of it.

The sudden transformation in her, the new softness to her voice, it irritated Rolfe, he didn't know why.

Why should it matter to him if this woman, this lovely piece of female stuff, was just another of Charles's many mistresses?

“Actually, yes, I do have a message for you from the king, though it is not, I am afraid, in written form. You see, I am the message.”

The woman regarded him with obvious confusion. She stepped down from the ladder, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. “Pray, continue, Lord ... Ravenscroft, was it?”

Rolfe nodded, then bowed. “I have been sent here by His Majesty, King Charles, with instructions to escort Lady Cassia Montefort to the Seagrave family seat in Cambridgeshire. I am to remain there with her until such time that her guilt or innocence of the recent murder of her father, Lord Seagrave, can be determined.”

If this pronouncement frightened her, she did not show it. Instead, she crossed her arms in front of her. “You mean to tell me that you are to guard Lady Cassia, Lord Ravenscroft? And is it customary for a nobleman such as yourself to be employed in the role of common guardsman?”

It was evident to him that she was not pleased by his announcement. Her voice had indeed turned sour. Rolfe sought to avoid her questions. “You are the Lady Cassia, are you not?”

She came forward and he saw then that she had blue eyes flecked with gray, almost black. They were the sort of eyes a man could easily get lost in. “You have not yet answered my question, my lord,” she said. “Are you here to act as a guard to Lady Cassia?”

Rolfe stared at her. “I have been sent as a means of protection for Lady Cassia, yes, not a guardsman, I assure you, at the request of His Majesty, King Charles II.”

“Protection, you say? I would guess it more likely you have been appointed as a sentry, my lord. The king must needs make certain a suspected murderess doesn't attempt to flee the country for French shores, is that not the case, Lord Ravenscroft? Well, I am sorry, but I will not stand for it.”

She took his arm then, slender fingers gripping his coat sleeve.

“I thank you for coming, my lord, but you see, your services will not be required. I would that you would convey my appreciation to His Majesty for his,” she paused, “concern, but I assure you I am quite capable of taking care of myself. You see, I have no desire to leave London and hide myself away in the country, as if to say that I am guilty as everyone is so wont to believe. Thus your presence here is not required, Lord Ravenscroft. I thank you for coming. I am sorry you went to the trouble for no reason. Good day.”

Her dismissal had been performed in a most polite manner, and somehow, in that short space of time, she had managed to walk him all the way to the door, had ushered him out onto the step above the street without his even realizing it. She was now about to summarily close the door in his face.

Before she could accomplish this, Rolfe placed his booted foot in the doorway, preventing the door from closing. He then pushed himself inward and, in the process, forced the startled woman to allow him back inside.

“Just a moment, if you please, madam. For, you see, you have not yet answered my question either. Are you Lady Cassia Montefort?”

Rolfe knew very well that she was—who the devil else could she be?—but something made him ask regardless.

She frowned at him. “Pardon me, Lord Ravenscroft. I do apologize. Yes, I am Lady Cassia Montefort.”

“Good.”

He walked past her and headed directly back to the study where he'd first found her.

Weaving his way through the stacks of crates and piles of books, he took the liberty of seating himself in an armchair near the hearth.

It gave off a cloud of dust when he dropped into it.

He looked at her. “At least now I know I am where I belong.”

Cassia regarded him with an icy expression she'd no doubt used to success many times before. “No, Lord Ravenscroft, it is you who are mistaken for you do not belong anywhere near here. As I have already told you, your services are not needed—or, for that matter— wanted .”

Lady Winter.

That had been the name Dante had given her. Though Rolfe wasn't fond of the court's popular practice of attaching such tags to any person who stood out from the throng, he began to see how the lady had acquired it.

“Yes, I am aware of that, Lady Cassia. You have made your feelings on the matter very clear. But you see, I take orders from the King very seriously. I have been sent here to you in order to protect you and with instructions to take you from London to your family seat in Cambridgeshire. I intend to do just that, with or without your cooperation.”

Cassia sighed and cocked her head, an action Rolfe found most appealing. “Ravenscroft, you say? Pray, why does the name sound vaguely familiar to me?”

Rolfe tensed. “I was at one time a frequent visitor to the palace.”

“As am I. I am a lady-in-waiting to Queen Catherine, Do you not think it odd that we have never crossed paths before now?”

“Poor timing, I suppose. I am frequently on assignment.”

She shook her head. “No, that is not why your name sounds familiar to me. I do not believe it is for any recent reason, but there is something I remember...” She pondered a moment. “Something about an earl in exile...”

Rolfe frowned. “I have been away from court for some time, occupied with other concerns. But as of now, my only concern is in escorting you to Cambridgeshire.”

Cassia shook her head. “Again we return to the subject of Cambridgeshire. This is growing rather tiresome, my lord. Pray, tell me, why is this retreat to the country so necessary?”