Chapter One

M ajor Rafe Delafield, retired, halted his carriage at the top of the hill so he could study the rambling fortress that sprawled across the far side of the valley. Castle Carrollton was the Delafield family seat and when he'd summered here as a boy, the warm Cotswold stone had glowed golden in the sunshine. He'd gone swimming in the lake and ridden ponies and played with his cousins and suitable local children such as the offspring of the local vicar and gentry.

Those had been good days. He felt a sharp pang at the thought of his boy cousins and the local children, and particularly the small girl child who had been his best friend then. So many gone now.

Now at the end of October, the fortress loomed as dark and ominous as a castle in one of the Gothic tales that the ladies loved. His destiny and his doom. He wasn't sure what he would choose to do if he actually had a choice, but he didn't. The Carrollton responsibilities had fallen on him, and he'd never shirked a responsibility in his life. Though sometimes he'd been tempted…

He'd survived Waterloo. Now, much worse, he must face his Great-Aunt Agatha, the widowed Countess of Carroll who was privately known as the Gorgon. He had promised to visit her after he'd recovered from his wounds, and he couldn't put this visit off any longer. Hoping he wouldn't have to stay long, Rafe set his horses forward and started down the hill. He'd survived Napoleon, he could survive his Gorgon great-aunt.

*

The vast entry hall of Castle Carrollton had originally been stony, intimidating, and decorated with displays of weapons, but in more recent years carpets and tapestries and furniture had made the space more welcoming. Though Rafe hadn't been in the castle for ages, the butler who greeted him was familiar and his voice was warm as he bowed. "It's good to see you again, my lord. We were all pleased when the news arrived that you'd survived…" he hesitated, "the late unpleasantness."

Waterloo was the "late unpleasantness?" An understatement of massive proportions. "I was lucky," Rafe said without inflection. "Too many other men weren't."

Looking uncomfortable, the butler said, "Her ladyship is anxious to see you."

Deciding to get his initial meeting with his great-aunt over with quickly, Rafe said, "I'll go up to her now. I assume she's in the same rooms?"

The butler's expression was pained as he studied Rafe's travel-stained clothing and stubbled chin, "Surely you'd prefer to freshen up first, sir?"

Cheered at the possibility of shocking the countess, Rafe said smoothly, "I wouldn't dream of keeping her waiting."

Knowing that the butler would be looking pained again, Rafe headed up the right-hand set of curving steps. The children who used to infest the castle had always loved the banisters and there had been only a few injuries caused by sliding down them.

Today he had the sense that he was being watched. That was confirmed by a rustle of feminine murmurs and a few giggles. It was no more than he expected since he'd been brought here to become the prey of a pack of husband-hunting young women.

As he turned from the stairs to the upper passage, he caught a glimpse of himself in a gilt-edged mirror: unshaved, dark hair too long, his ruined face. He turned away from the image and continued to his great-aunt's rooms.

The footman who stood by the entrance to the countess's chamber bowed and silently opened the door. Rafe stepped into warm, jasmine-scented air. The chambers were not pretty, frilly, and feminine. Instead the colors were cool blue and gray and everything was organized with military precision.

The countess waited in royal splendor in her receiving room, her jewelry glittering and one hand resting on the silky fur of a fluffy gray cat. The Carrollton cats were many and there were odd stories about them, though Rafe thought all cats could be considered odd. That was one of the reasons that he liked them.

The current cat looked exactly like the one that had been on the countess's lap the last time he'd seen her. He wondered idly if it was the same cat, who would be ancient by now, or a descendent. He'd made friends with the fluffy cat the countess had owned when he was a young visitor, but this one studied him with the air of a hanging judge.

"So you finally made it here, my boy," the countess said tartly. Her disapproving gaze went over him. "You look as if Napoleon's heavy cavalry rode over you."

Rafe took a seat, not waiting for an invitation. "It was Napoleon's lancers, not the heavy cavalry. I'm still rather surprised that I survived."

"Other than being skin and bones and dressed like a beggar in Seven Dials," her ladyship said, "you look well enough, which is fortunate, given the reason you're here."

A maid entered with a tea tray and set it between Rafe and the countess. Her ladyship poured tea for herself. "I assume you'd prefer something stronger?"

Mentally giving thanks, he replied, "I would, thank you."

The well-trained maid produced a decanter of claret and deftly poured a glass for him. He would have preferred something stronger yet, but the claret was excellent.

The countess waved a hand at the various small sandwiches and pastries. "Help yourself, my boy. You need fattening up."

He disliked following orders, but he was hungry and the Carrollton cooks were very good. As he filled a small plate with savory tarts, sliced meats and cheeses, and more, the countess said, "It was never expected that you would inherit the earldom, but alas, the nearer heirs are all gone. You know why I summoned you here."

He grimaced. "You've filled the castle with nubile and well-bred young women, and you want me to choose a bride and produce an heir with all due speed. I regret to inform you that won't happen."

Her brows arched. "Were your injuries that severe, or do you have no taste for women?"

He almost smiled, recognizing that the countess was more worldly than he'd realized. "I like women very well, but ever since I unexpectedly inherited the earldom, I've been hotly pursued by every ambitious young woman of good birth whom I've met. The experience has given me a deep distaste for the idea of marriage."

"You're intelligent and capable and will make an admirable earl," the countess said in a stern voice. "Marriage is your responsibility and your fate."

"Not my fate, my lady. My doom," he said flatly.

The countess sighed. "It might take time to find the right bride, but at least consider the young ladies I've invited to the castle. All are charming, attractive, well-born, and have substantial dowries. Lady Cynthia Howard is particularly worth considering. She's the daughter of a duke, strikingly attractive, and has impeccable manners. She's also a couple of years older than most of the girls, so she's more mature."

"I've met her," Rafe said, trying to keep his voice level. "Despite her impeccable breeding and manners, Lady Cynthia is unable to look at my scarred face. That would be tiresome in a marriage."

The countess studied him. "The scarring isn't that bad. She would become accustomed in time."

"Well, I wouldn't," he retorted as he got to his feet. "I will not marry a woman who wants only my title and fortune but can't stand the sight of me. And if you say all cats look black at night, I will turn around and head straight back to London."

"Then I shall refrain from saying that," the countess said, almost but not quite smiling. "With a storm coming, it won't be a night fit for traveling and we don't want to lose another earl to lung fever."

He almost smiled himself. He'd always rather enjoyed her acid wit. "I believe you've arranged some kind of All Hallows Eve gathering for this evening. I shall make a brief appearance."

The countess's eyes narrowed. "I trust you'll look more presentable than you do now."

Rafe inclined his head, not committing himself. He turned and left the countess's rooms. The waiting footman escorted him to the suite of rooms he'd been assigned. "I'm Rhodes, my lord," the young man said as he opened the door. "Since you didn't bring a valet of your own, I've been assigned to serve you if that's acceptable."

Rhodes looked pleasant and willing, so Rafe said, "Thank you. I'll want a hot bath in about an hour."

"Yes, my lord," Rhodes inclined his head and left, closing the door behind him.

Rafe surveyed his surroundings. Not surprisingly, the rooms were far superior to those he'd shared with other boys when he was a young visitor.

Strange to think that he was legally the lord and master here. No one had expected that, least of all him. There had been half a dozen heirs between Rafe and the title. Some had been lost when a violent infection spread through the valley, others had died fighting the French, or in random accidents or disease. Life was uncertain at the best of times. It still amazed him that he'd survived his military years.

A warm fire had been laid against the October chill and Rafe's luggage had already been unpacked and his garments hung in the wardrobe. There were some advantages to this lord business.

He was mildly tempted to attend the evening's gathering in his current rumpled state, but he had been raised as a gentleman. Besides, shaving would make his facial scars more visible and perhaps frighten off a few more husband hunters.

But before he rendered himself presentable, he'd rest for an hour. It had been a long day. He stripped off boots and outer clothing, then sprawled on the four-poster bed and pulled a blanket over himself. Perhaps he'd sleep and dream of his happier youthful days at Carrollton Castle….