If He's Noble (Wherlocke Book 7) (Paranormal Historical Romance) Read online

  “And they just allowed you to ride away alone? None of them offered to be your guard? Just how old is your brother?”

  “Nine and twenty. Six years older than me. Two of the friends he was visiting are wed and new fathers. They could not go off adventuring.” Primrose sighed. “I did not even think to ask the others. They are good enough men to have thought of it after I left but it would have been too late by then. And, to be fair, I am not sure they even considered that when I said I had to find Simeon, that I actually intended to do so myself.”

  Bened said nothing but decided Primrose had been surrounded by people who had had little to do with the darker, harsher realities of life. It was often a problem when dealing with the gentry, especially those who spent much of their lives in the country. He studied Primrose as she rode beside him with an admirable skill. He suspected she was naïve but not blindingly so. It was something he was counting on because using his skill to keep her calm and unafraid could not continue indefinitely. It was good now, allowing him to gain information and some trust, but could quickly exhaust him. That would hinder his ability to hunt down her brother, something he believed was imperative.

  It was growing dark by the time they reached the village where he had planned to stop for the night. Bened was relieved to find there were still two bedchambers available, side by side, which would help him keep Primrose safe during the night. After washing the travel dust off, he went down the stairs and ordered them a meal as well as a private parlor.

  Taking a seat at the table in the private room, Bened sipped at his ale and thought about what he was doing. He realized he was acting just as he did with the lordlings he had watched over for the last few years. That might prove to be the wrong way to behave with a baron’s daughter. A woman who went out on her own to hunt down her brother undoubtedly had a very independent nature. Such a woman would object to him trying to lead her about.

  He thought on what little she had told him and frowned. There was something she was hiding from him. Bened was certain of it. Primrose was hunting her brother for more reasons than to inform him that their father had died. That was not enough cause for a gently bred female to set out on a journey on her own. Bened was determined to find out exactly what had made her so desperate. Every instinct he depended upon was telling him that she was in trouble and he needed all the information he could get from her if he was to protect her adequately. It surprised him a little when he realized just how determined he was to do that.

  Primrose finished brushing the travel dust from her gown, hung it up, and dug a clean one out of her bag. She pushed aside a pang of disappointment over the fact that she had brought only a few serviceable gowns. The strange urge to look nice for Sir Bened was unexpected. She was not even sure she could trust him. He could be the chivalrous man she had called him but she no longer so readily believed such people exist. Recent events had shown her that her judgment of people was not as sound as she had once believed.

  She had certainly misjudged her aunt and uncle. When her father had generously allowed them to move into the dower house when her uncle had lost his money through bad investments, she had soon deemed them both to be foolish, rude, and somewhat mean-spirited. Having had as little as possible to do with them from then on, she had not altered her opinion of them by much. Then her father had died and her aunt and uncle had moved into the manor to, as they told anyone who would listen, care for young Primrose until her errant brother returned. She had quickly decided that her aunt was still rude and mean-spirited but that the woman’s foolishness was mostly an act. Augusta was cunning, coldhearted, and dangerous. Although she had no proof of it, Primrose was certain Augusta had killed her father.

  The pain of that loss struck her hard and Primrose nearly collapsed beneath the smothering waves of grief roiling inside her. Her father had been six and fifty years of age when he had suffered his fatal heart seizure. It was not something that should should have raised any questions. Then her brother had not returned home, not even for the burial, and Primrose had begun to grow suspicious. The air of contentment, even smug victory, Aunt Augusta had assumed grew more noticeable as the woman took over more and more of the running of the manor. She had pushed aside all Primrose’s attempts to become the lady of the manor as was her right, and not always with tact or even subtlety. It was all just another good reason to find Simeon as soon as possible.

  She had hesitated even then for she had been afraid of setting out on her own. It had quickly become clear that she had no one she could really trust, no one who could go against Augusta anyway. Only her father’s man of business could still be trusted but she knew he would have done all he could to stop her. Every other person with any power who had been close to her father or worked with him had fallen away over the last year. That had been strange but she had always assumed it had just been because they had all been getting older and traveled less. Now she began to think her aunt had been slowly but surely isolating them. Why the woman would do such a thing was the question, and none of the answers Primrose came up with were good ones.

  Shaking off her grief and pulling free of her meandering thoughts, Primrose quickly braided her hair and secured it with a ribbon. Bened had said he would get them a meal and a private parlor and she had already left him waiting on her for too long. Her stomach rumbled to remind her of how long it had been since she had eaten so she hurried out of the room.

  With every step she took, Primrose plotted out what she would say to the man. She needed to thank him for his help and then send him on his way without offering any offense. The man had been all that was kind, assisting her when she needed it and clearly prepared to keep doing so. It was tempting to let him continue as she had no wish to keep traveling around alone searching for her brother, an adventure fraught with danger. She would not drag Sir Bened into the middle of it and put him in danger as well. There was also the fact that he was really a stranger to her and every female was told from a very young age that she should beware of any strange men. Before she had a chance to even ask the maid where Bened was, the young woman waved Primrose to the battered door from near the foot of the stairs.

  The scent of a rich stew and warm bread scattered her thoughts as she entered the private parlor. Primrose clapped a hand over her stomach when it roared its approval. Sir Bened stood up, pulled out a chair for her, and Primrose was quick to sit down. The maid hurried in with more stew and bread and Primrose silently cursed when her stomach rumbled again. She ordered mulled cider for her drink and turned her full attention on her meal.

  “This is very good,” she said when they were alone again after the maid brought her cider. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.” He pushed aside his empty bowl and sipped his ale. “’Tis but mutton stew.”

  “True, but it is hot, filling, and done very well.”

  “What are your plans for the morrow? Do you have a destination set?”

  Primrose stuffed some stew in her mouth to smother the curse she wanted to spit out. The man was evidently going to ask her every question she had hoped he would not ask. She had to find her brother but truly had no plan beyond that. Even she knew that would sound foolish and reckless. It was certainly the latter but desperation drove her. Since she did not want to tell him the cause of that desperation, she feared he would think her a witless fool.

  “I am following the sightings of my brother,” she finally said.

  Bened sat back in his chair and studied her as he sipped his ale. He had not known her long at all but, despite the way they had met and what she was doing, he had talked with her enough to know she was not lacking in wits. Just following a trail marked by people who had caught sight of her brother, however, was an idiotic plan. The way she was avoiding meeting his gaze told him she was hiding something. He suspected it was all the true reasons she was riding around the countryside on her own in a desperate attempt to find her sibling.

  For a moment he wondered if he should even push for the full t
ruth, getting himself more involved than he was now. His family had stumbled into a lot of trouble and danger in the past few years, mostly when trying to help someone else. This business with Miss Primrose carried the same feel. She hid it well but he could sense her desperation, her worry and fear. The part of him that reacted to such emotions was reaching out to her to calm and soothe. If he did stay with her, offer her his help, he was going to have to learn to rein it in or he would exhaust himself before they ever found her brother.

  He watched her nervously glance his way as she helped herself to some bread, spreading a thick layer of butter on it, and he inwardly sighed. There was no chance he would be able to let her ride off alone. There were too many dangers out there for a woman alone, especially a pretty little one like her. Instinct told him he was about to step into a tangled mess but it also told him he would never rest easy again if he turned his back on her and left her alone.

  “You are not doing this simply because your brother did not attend your father’s funeral.”

  Primrose tried to keep her expression calm with a hint of confusion. “I do not know what you mean.”

  Bened leaned forward, set his tankard down, and crossed his arms on the table, determined to get the full truth from her before they went one step further. “You are not some witless twit of a lady so cease acting like one.”

  “Thank you, I think.”

  “You are not one to leave hearth and home, ride out completely alone, and search the whole country for your brother in some blind, confused way.”

  “I love my brother and am worried about him.”

  “I am certain of that. Just as I am certain you know full well how dangerous it is to do as you have been doing. There is good reason women do not travel alone. So, tell me, what drove you from your home? What has truly set you on the road alone to seek out your brother?”

  Chapter Two

  Primrose stared at the man who watched her closely with those sharp, silvery blue eyes and the lies she was composing in her head died a swift death. He would not believe any of them. She would just embarrass herself by even trying to divert him with lies. Somehow she had given herself away and revealed her desperate need to find Simeon.

  The question was, could she trust him with the truth? Perhaps he was working for her aunt. Even as those thoughts ran through her mind, she discarded them. Her judgment of people may have failed now and then, but the feeling she had was that Sir Bened Vaughn was just what he seemed to be—an honest, decent man who only wanted to help her.

  “Staying at Willow Hill without my brother taking his place as the baron would not have been wise,” she said.

  “Ah.” He nodded. “Someone stepped up to try to fill the gap left by your father’s death and your brother’s absence.”

  “Yes. My aunt and uncle. Papa had allowed them to move into the dower house when Uncle lost all his money. Bad investments he said, but I have since discovered it was from gambling losses. Papa found out shortly before he died and he was furious. He intended to cut my uncle off from any connection to him, Willow Hill, and Wootten funds if the man gambled again. I think Uncle Rufford was gambling again. Some items of value had gone missing and each report only angered my father more.”

  “And then your father died.”

  She slowly nodded as she fought to push aside her grief again. “And within a day my aunt and uncle were fully moved into the manor.”

  “Do you think they may have killed your father?”

  “I think it but I cannot prove it. One moment they are all arguing, the next Papa is clutching his chest and falling to the floor. By the time I reached his side, he was already dead. He was not a young man but he had always been healthy and there had never been any sign that his heart was causing him any trouble.” She clenched her hands into tight fists as she remembered that night, all the soothing words her aunt had spoken even as the woman’s eyes had gleamed with triumph. “I checked my supplies of foxglove, both in my herb room and in my garden, and found none missing. I tried to examine what Papa had eaten or drunk but my aunt had already had it all disposed of.”

  “So they killed him because he was about to toss them out to fend for themselves.”

  It made her heart ache with sorrow to hear that truth stated so clearly. “I fear so. I should have seen it, should have been able to see something that warned me.”

  “Why? Your father did not and he knew his brother better than you did. Had many more years of experience with the world as well.” He reached across the table to pat one of her clenched hands, her grief so deep and real he could almost feel it. “Few see the threat when it is family, even when it is family they have never much liked or trusted.” Finding that he liked the feel of her small, soft hand beneath his a little too much, he removed his hand from hers and sat back in his chair again. “The closer the connection the less chance the victim will think that person can ever be a true threat to them.”

  “I still find it difficult to believe Uncle Rufford could be part of it but he must be. His own brother, one who was always willing to help him.” She sighed and shook her head.

  “Something that undoubtedly ate at the man. But, your aunt was not blood. She may be the strong one in that marriage.”

  Primrose thought about that for a moment and nodded. “I believe she is. I first thought her just a foolish, mean-spirited, vain woman but had recently begun to see that she is actually very cunning, greedy, and cold. But, as I said, I found no proof to use against her. ’Tis but a feeling I have, one that is a certainty that she had a hand in my father’s death. It is possible she got some foxglove from some other garden or what she needed from some physician.”

  “You know your herbs and medicines.”

  “A hobby. And when you learn about what can help heal, you also learn about what can also harm or kill.”

  “But she would have to know what to get and how to prepare it.”

  “Any of the many books I have would tell her that and everyone knows it is a poisonous plant, just not always how and why.”

  “Do you think she might try to be rid of you next, if only because you have the knowledge to guess what she has done?”

  “You don’t question any of this, do you?”

  Bened shook his head. “Too many times a younger son or some other relative has grabbed both title and land through the all-convenient death of the heir. One of my cousins was caught up in such a mess about six years ago. She helped an earl whose uncle not only cuckolded him but wanted him gone so that he could lay claim to it all. He tried to kill the earl at least five times. The man even tried to murder the earl’s newborn son but had to settle for making the man believe the boy was dead. Put the babe with a woman dying after birthing her own stillborn babe but my cousin was there and saw it, saving the child.”

  “Was that the Earl of Collinsmoor?”

  “Aye. You have heard about that?”

  “A tale like that travels far and wide. Every time he or his wife is seen, it gets repeated.”

  “That does not surprise me. An earl, an unfaithful wife, a missing heir, and a mad uncle.” Bened grinned. “Who could resist chewing on such a meaty tale?”

  Primrose could not resist returning his smile. “Very true. It also had a happy ending. The perfect touch.” She cocked her head to the side as she grew serious again. “So, his uncle was mad?”

  “What else would you call a man who cuckolds his own nephew, plots to be rid of his own great-nephew by leaving the babe to die with some poor woman in a tiny, poor cottage, and makes plans to wipe out his entire bloodline from the nephew to his own wife and daughters.”

  Shock froze her in place for a moment and then she lifted one unsteady hand to push back a lock of hair that had slipped free of her braid. “Insane indeed. I do not believe my relatives are insane, not even Aunt Augusta. Cold, sly, greedy, bitter, but not mad.” Her eyes widened. “You think she means to kill Simeon?”

  “And you do not?”

  She
had to think about that for a moment. Although her desperation to find Simeon had mostly been born of her aunt’s plans for her, now she wondered if she had nursed a fear for his safety as well. If her aunt did not think Simeon could be controlled or ignored, she would see him as a threat. Augusta had been around enough to know her chances of getting Simeon under her thumb were very small indeed. It was now clear how Aunt Augusta dealt with anyone who threatened her comfort and her place in society.

  She took a deep breath to steady herself and said, “None of this is your trouble, however.”

  Bened watched her straighten her spine so that her slender body was perfectly erect in her chair. She clasped her hands together in front of her. Her expression was one of a cool, composed courtesy but he could see the uncertainty shadowing her eyes and sensed the taut fear she struggled to control. She was brave but that would not help her fight the dangers she would encounter if he let her continue on alone. Such things required an experience and hardening that she simply did not have.

  “It is now,” he said.

  “Why? You do not know me.”

  “True, but I know you need help. I also have some experience in hunting people down. I have been honed in battle and have a way of knowing when the enemy is near.”

  “What does that mean? What exactly is having a way of knowing? You have a skill for tracking people?” She had to admit that it would be a useful skill to have access to.

  “Do you know whom the Earl of Collinsmoor married?” Bened decided he might as well speak the truth now rather than have her discover it later and run from him at just the time she needed him close at hand the most.

  “The woman who found his son, Chloe Wherlocke. Oh. She is your cousin? They say some odd and, perhaps, unkind things about her and the Wherlockes, I am sorry to say. But, you said your name was Vaughn.”

  “Two branches of the same tree, the roots of which go back to the first Duke of Elderwood, maybe even further. I suspect that talk you mentioned is of the many eccentricities in the family, perhaps even whispers of witchcraft.” He shrugged. “Old talk. At least it remains but gossip now and not nearly as dangerous as it used to be.”