‘Miss Phoebe Benedict. The Countess of Coltonby sent me in her stead.’ Phoebe started forwards, but the snow brushed against her skirt, weighing her down, making her footsteps heavy, as if even the weather had decided that this was a bad idea. ‘I have a letter.’
‘John, Diana is there, isn’t she?’ The man’s voice held a note of impatience. ‘I sent you to bring back my sister, not some stranger off the wayside.’
‘No, Mr Clare, I brought this one on your sister’s expressed instruction. Miss Diana sent her with her best wishes. It ain’t my fault.’
‘Throw her back at once.’ Mr Clare lowered the lantern. Phoebe put her hand to her mouth, unable to stifle a gasp. The light suddenly highlighted a black eye patch and a scarlet burn that covered half the man’s face. His hair was far longer than fashionable, flowing ragged about his shoulders. She had thought to meet a model of urbanity, but Mr Clare bore a closer resemblance to a wild savage. ‘I sent for Diana. She is the only one who can help! I do not have time to waste on strangers.’
He began to swing away. In another moment, the door would be closed, and her chance gone, all down to her weakness and indecision. She would have to go back cap in hand to her sister-in-law and admit that she had failed and had been utterly wrong to try. Phoebe tightened her grip on the basket. Impossible after the scorn the Dreaded Sophia had poured on Phoebe’s head when she had explained her determination to save James from his fate. And how could she condemn her stepbrother to life in a debtors’ prison because a man’s appearance shocked her into inaction?
Phoebe squared her shoulders and looked directly at Mr Clare, willing him to keep the door open. ‘Lady Coltonby sent me. I have a letter from her in my portmanteau explaining.’
‘The devil she did. Who precisely are you?’
‘Phoebe Benedict.’ She made sure her words were clear and precise. Said it slowly so that he could understand. ‘I am Lord Coltonby’s second cousin.’
‘And why in the name of all that is holy should Diana send you? Why should she wish to foist you on me? My sister should know her duty. When you have finished gawping at me, you may go.’
Phoebe winced, hating that he had seen her bad manners.
Whatever had happened to the man, it was not his fault. Nor was it any of her concern. Her concern was with James and the aid that Lord Coltonby would give him because she had agreed to this task. The Benedicts might be poor now, but they would never stoop low as taking charity. There had to be a payment for the favour. ‘I have had experience with scarlet fever. My younger stepbrothers had it several years ago. Lady Coltonby felt I was ideally placed to look after your son.’
She refused to flinch under his gaze and ignored the stubborn downturn of his mouth. She could be immovable as well. She returned his dark brooding gaze, measure for measure. Suddenly something flared in his eyes and she knew she had won a small victory.
‘Miss…Miss Benedict, it is all very well and good, but I sent for my sister. I specifically requested her. Why isn’t she here? Why has her husband sent you? Jenkins! Jenkins! Where is that butler when I need him?’
‘Is there a problem, master?’ A tall man appeared behind Mr Clare. ‘Where is Miss Diana? I heard the coach.’
‘Lord Coltonby has kept her from me and has sent this person in her stead.’ Mr Clare gestured imperiously with his cane. ‘Once again Coltonby has turned my world upside down.’
‘Lord Coltonby told me that I was specifically to inform you that he opposed my coming here.’ Phoebe drew a calming breath. She had worried her cousin was being sarcastic, but now she saw he had known the sort of welcome she might encounter. ‘It was my cousin’s considered opinion you would not allow me past the front door and would waste everyone’s time, pigheaded idiot that you are—his words, not mine. He was most insistent that I say those words to you. I apologise for them.’
‘I know what my brother-in-law is like. I am well acquainted with his way of speaking.’ The scar on his temple throbbed. ‘Continue with the story.’
Phoebe kept her head up and concentrated on the warm enticing pool of light behind Mr Clare, rather than on his thunderous scowl. She did not have the luxury of walking away. There was more than her pride at stake. ‘Lady Coltonby disagreed. She felt you would understand her reason. It was only through her pleading that Lord Coltonby relented.’
‘Ah ha, why didn’t she send her maid Rose? Rose understands the situation. She knows Robert and his escapades.’
‘Lady Coltonby’s reason for remaining in London is not something I would like to discuss during a blizzard. May I come into the warmth?’ Phoebe took several steps forward. Another blast of arctic air drove the stinging snow against her body. Her toes and the tips of her fingers no longer appeared to possess any feeling. He couldn’t be such a monster as to slam the door in her face, not after she had journeyed all this way. ‘Your coachman and I have been travelling almost straight from London, with only brief stops to change horses, and I am near perished. If you will not allow me entrance, Lord Coltonby indicated that I could rest at his house before returning to London.’
‘You had best come in, then. I refuse to give my brother-in-law the satisfaction.’ Simon Clare gestured with his cane. ‘Say your piece. In the morning, you may return to London and inform Coltonby that I require my sister. But I will not have put it about that Simon Clare fails to provide hospitality to Coltonby’s messengers or relations on a night like this!’
Phoebe closed her eyes and willed herself to hang on to her temper. Mr Clare was upset that his sister was not there. She had seen his letter with its bold spiked handwriting and terse demand for his sister to return, but she had also glimpsed the blotch under his name as if he had hurried the words and had been far too worried to let the ink dry properly.
‘I would not like to be in your shoes, miss. The master appears to be in a right royal temper,’ the coachman said in an undertone. ‘I ain’t seen him like this for years.’
‘He has had his expectations dashed.’ Phoebe eyed the man in the doorway whose fury appeared to grow with each breath. ‘He will understand once I give him Lady Coltonby’s letter. He will see the sense in what his sister and I have done.’
‘I will be ready in the morning, miss, early, like. I’d go now but them horses will only be fit for the knacker’s yard if they don’t get some rest.’
‘I refuse to depart without performing my task. I have given Lady Coltonby my word.’ Phoebe fought to keep her voice steady. ‘All Mr Clare has done is to make me more determined.’
‘Like I said, miss, the morning will suit me fine.’ The coachman touched his hand to his hat and began to lead the horses away.
Phoebe straightened her spine and marched towards the house without a backwards glance. But suddenly the bone-rattling coach seemed far more hospitable than the large, grey house.
Crossing the threshold, she closed her eyes for a second, savouring the warmth. Hearing an impatient cough, Phoebe opened them and discovered she was staring into Simon Clare’s furious face. He had been handsome once, but one side of his face bore fierce red marks, and he had a blaze of white running through his hair. He leant heavily on a cane as if his side pained him. Antagonism bristled from every pore as he moved slowly to let her in. Phoebe revised her opinion—not a savage, but a pirate captain, someone who wanted to bend the world to his will.
‘I believe you said my sister sent a letter, explaining her reasons.’ He held out a stern hand. ‘I will have it now.’
The ticking of a large clock filled the silence as she waited for Mr Clare to finish reading. With each ponderous tick, a little more of her easy optimism faded, vanishing until it became