Kendra fought off a shiver, attributing the sudden chill to the fact that she’d entered the forest again. The big trees swallowed up the sunshine, leaving the woods in a perpetual shade. It made her uneasy. The space between her shoulder blades pricked with the sensation of being watched. The sensation deepened as she continued to walk. Not good.
She slowed to a stop and turned a full circle, scanning the forest, trying to probe beyond the trees and shrubbery thick with shadows. She made an instinctive gesture for the gun she no longer carried.
“Who’s there?” she called out sharply.
Around her, birds continued to whistle; insects whirred and chirped. If there was something bad lurking in the woods, wouldn’t the birds stop singing? Except she couldn’t shake the creepy feeling of watching eyes. Maybe it was an animal, a deer or a rabbit. Or—fuck—a wolf or a bear?
Her fingers shook with a phantom itch to hold the comforting weight of her SIG Sauer. Heart beginning to hammer, she moved forward, keeping her strides long and even. Her ears strained to pick up the slightest sound—a footfall, the snapping of a twig—to pinpoint the direction of her hidden observer. She’d gone about fifty yards and thought she heard something in the two o’clock position. She stopped, swiveling to stare hard in that direction.
She was wrong.
He came at her from behind, making no attempt to cover the noise as he broke free from the trees. Spinning around, she saw a man with long, tangled, sandy brown hair and ratty beard rushing toward her, waving his arms and yelling something guttural.
Her entire body tensed. Flight or fight. A part of her wanted to run, but her training had her standing her ground, even as her heart leaped straight into her throat.
“Stop!” she ordered, but the man continued his headlong rush toward her, his hands conveniently stretched out in front of him. It was too perfect, and she lunged forward, grasping his hands and viciously yanking back his fingers. It was a classic policeman’s restraining maneuver, and it worked as it was intended. The man gave a sharp yelp and tried to pull away. Kendra completed the maneuver by twisting his arm behind his spine, and driving him to his knees.
“Okay, asshole! Who the hell are you?” she shouted, adrenaline rushing through her veins. She jerked his arm up higher, twisting it near his shoulder blades until he screamed in pain. “Why are you following me? Tell me! Tell me or I’ll—”
“Miss Donovan!”
Her head snapped around. Alec was standing about twenty feet from her, having come from the direction of the castle. His expression was indecipherable as his gaze traveled from her to the man who was now whimpering on his knees before her.
“What, pray tell,” he drawled finally, “are you doing to the hermit?”
21
“Hermit?” Kendra repeated stupidly, not sure she heard correctly. “You have a hermit?”
“Not I. The Duke. All the best households have them.” Alec lifted one brow. “Mayhap you ought to unhand him. If you break his arm, he won’t be able to fulfill his duties.”
“Duties?” Was he serious? “You have a hermit. And he has duties.”
Alec grinned suddenly, and it occurred to Kendra that this was the first genuine smile she’d ever seen from him. If she wasn’t already feeling like someone had kicked her in the head, that might’ve done it. “I believe most hermits are required to leap out of bushes, frighten the ladies. Being ferocious and uncivilized, or brooding and poetic. Whatever the advertisement stipulated. I must say, you failed miserably with the ferocious part, Thomas. At least with Miss Donovan.”
“She’s breaking me bleeding arm!” the man cried out, sobbing.
Kendra let him go. He scrambled to his feet, eyeing her warily as he rubbed his arm.
“You actually advertised for a hermit?”
“Again, not I. Thomas is an ornamental hermit. The countess acquired him for the house party. It’s quite the thing.”
“It’s absurd,” she muttered. But was it any more ridiculous than millions tuning in to watch Jersey Shore or the Kardashians? Or cats on the Internet? People were freaking nuts, regardless of the century.
“The Ton delights in the absurd.”
Kendra eyed the strange man. If you looked beyond the matted hair and filth—good God, he stunk to high heaven—she saw that he was young, probably no more than twenty-two or twenty-three. “You actually get paid to skulk about the forest and terrorize women?”
“I don’t skulk. And the ladies want to be terrorized. I add a bucolic charm, the countess says. I’m an artist.”
“Of course you are,” Kendra said dryly. “Where do you live?”
He frowned, eyeing her suspiciously. “Why?”
“I’m curious.”
He hesitated, then gave a jerky shrug. “In the stone hut near the river.”
“Did you hear about the dead girl found in the lake?”
Thomas stepped back, his face becoming wooden. “Nay.”
“That’s odd. Everybody’s talking about it.”
Something flickered behind his eyes, then was gone. “Aye. Aye, I remember now. Word gets around.”
“So you did hear about it?”