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appeared on the verge of tears. “I am quite well, I assure you, my lord.”
    “You will join me for dinner in an hour or so.” He nodded at Munk who stepped forward.
    “Where is your portmanteau, Miss Rutledge?”
    “I have only that valise.” She indicated her old suitcase looking pathetically small in the vast entranceway.
    “You left your trunk behind because you thought you were running away and wanted no hindrance.” Raven raised a dark brow in question.
    Hodder piped up. “I’m afraid, my lord, that both ladies’ trunks are still in the hallway at Wimpole Street. When I found the ladies gone, I panicked and left everything behind.”
    Evangeline blushed, yet she met his eyes squarely, craning her neck to do so. “There was nothing in mine worth bringing, my lord, if the truth be told.”
    With a gesture Raven set the servants in motion. The young maids took their leave, still without a formal introduction to their new mistress. The footman took both suitcases and walked behind Munk toward the dark, stone staircase. She held a candelabrum aloft to light their way. Evangeline offered Raven a small curtsy and followed, Mrs. Brackett behind her.
    “Miss Rutledge,” he called after her. She turned at once to face him. “Let us have no more nonsense.” When she did not reply he said Sanguinarian 39
    more loudly, “Miss Rutledge! I said let us have no more nonsense.”
    “Yes, my lord, no more nonsense.” She dropped another small curtsy.
    “You may go.”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    Raven strode the vast distance across the Great Hall to the fire, dragged his chair several feet away and threw himself into it, one long leg draped across the wooden arm. “Wine,” he said absently, knowing a footman stood somewhere close by waiting to serve him.
    A glass was brought to him at once and he held it up to the light of the fire, looking into the gleaming ruby depths. He sipped the dark, dry wine, swishing it around his mouth. Wine was all well and good but what he really needed was to feed. From the pocket of his waistcoat he pulled a small vial of oil of cloves and tipped a bit onto his tongue, wondering if Dominica was in the mood to give.

    * * * *

    Evangeline gripped Mrs. Brackett’s arm tightly as they ascended the stairs. There was no banister to assist her, just stone walls on either side. She was suddenly dreadfully tired. It had been a long, exhausting day and everything was so dark and cold in the castle.
    Would daylight make it feel safer and warmer, if daylight could actually penetrate these thick, cold walls?
    At the end of what seemed an interminable walk, the strange, sullen Munk came to a halt and opened the door to Evangeline’s chamber. Like the rest of the castle, the walls were of ancient gray stone with no wooden paneling to give them warmth. The corners disappeared into darkness.
    Evangeline hated it at once. “It’s horrible,” she whispered to Mrs.
    Brackett, taking in the heavy, old furniture, all made from dark wood.
    The great four-poster bed stood looking like a mausoleum with draperies of thick velvet in black and purple. “I feel as if I am at a 40
    Fyn Alexander
    royal funeral.”
    “This is your chamber, Miss Rutledge.” Munk looked down at her. “I’ll send up the maids I have chosen to serve you.” She looked at Mrs. Brackett. “You follow me. I’ll take you to the servants’
    quarters.”
    “Now you look here!” Mrs. Brackett may have been several inches shorter than Munk, but she was wider by far and she’d take no nonsense from the likes of her. “I stay with Miss Evie, so you can give me the chamber next door and until it’s ready for me I’ll sleep here.” She stamped one foot hard on the freezing floor to punctuate her words. “When’s that monster going to marry the young lady?”
    Munk narrowed her dark eyes, staring hard at Mrs. Brackett. “Do not call Lord Ravenscroft a monster. He is nothing of the sort. The poor man has been grossly misjudged. He