5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

I zzie’s eyes cracked open to a shard of sunlight cutting into the air above her.

Instant pain lanced through her brain and sent her eyes squinting closed.

Well, ballocks.

The bastard drugged her.

Drugged her with that damn wine and she had fallen for it.

When she took this assignment, Callum, Lord Hedstrom’s cousin-in-law, had insisted Lord Hedstrom was honorable—at least at his core. But apparently, she hadn’t been manhandled by his core, she’d been manhandled by the rotten bastard of a man wrapped around his core.

For it was now morning—Izzie could see that in the light she’d shut her eyes against—and the arse had drugged her so deeply she’d been dead to the world the entire night.

Her nose twitched.

She didn’t stink.

Not anymore.

Even though she’d smelled like the back end of a horse for the last week, her nose hadn’t grown accustomed to the smell.

To play the part, one had to smell the part. A common edict of Hector’s, who was head of the Guardians of the Bones.

Her eyes stayed closed as she sniffed.

The dung smell was gone and now she smelled like…the sea. Possibly some lye soap. But mostly like she’d come in from swimming in the sea at Lyme Regis, not in the swampy brine water at Southend-on-Sea where the Thames washed its filth into the sea.

Fresh, rock-pounding seawater had submerged her, her skin slightly tightened from the salt of it. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know that the dirt and muck that had covered every speck of her skin was now gone.

She’d been cleaned.

Cleaned and washed while she was pliable and dead to the world.

Which meant…

No. Not her hair.

Instant fear shot through her and her fingers whipped up to her head.

What in the hell?

Her fingertips met not a tangled mess of the wild hair she’d carefully crafted over the last week living in that barn, but smooth strands, all in falling in a line.

How in the world?

Her fingers moved about her head, waiting to find a bald spot where Lord Hedstrom had sheared her like he was about to last night. But no. Her hair was still all there, at least at the roots.

He hadn’t cut it. Hadn’t sheared her to her scalp, which she was sure he was going to do.

Not that she would blame him if he did.

She’d almost wanted to shave it all off herself for the itch of it.

It had been a risk, coming into Ravenstone Castle like this, but it had been necessary for the ruse. After Lord Hedstrom had fired the driver the Guardians had sent in a month ago because he was so suspicious of the man, Izzie knew she wouldn’t be able to come into his castle as a maid. The man had only had one maid coming and going from Ravenstone, and that was so infrequent—once every other week—it wouldn’t have been much help to the mission.

This disguise was impenetrable—for who would do this?

Who would willingly turn feral merely to protect someone that didn’t want protection?

No one.

It was a bizarre situation she’d manifested—so bizarre it had to be true.

She’d surprised herself in coming up with the plan, and had been even more astounded she managed to sell Hector and Callum on the idea. One came up with the most brilliant ideas when one was desperate—and she was that. She was also lucky that, no matter how little Hector thought of her at the moment, he’d always counted on her for the trickiest missions that came to the Guardians of the Bones.

Her performance thus far had worked.

She’d only had to hit the maid that had been trying to drag her into the bath once to send her running. That she had caught some of the poor woman’s skin under her nails, drawing blood, was unfortunate, but it did the trick.

Izzie couldn’t have come up with a better scenario than Lord Hedstrom coming into the drawing room and trying to force her into that bath. All the better to impress upon him just how wild and unmanageable she was.

Especially when he was coming after her hair.

She’d played the part perfectly, and if he hadn’t backed off, she would have fought him for some time. But in all honesty, the itching of the fleas and the matting of her hair were driving her straight to bedlam.

As much as the feral act worked wonders, it took her back to a place she didn’t care to revisit. She was good at this particular disguise because she’d once lived the reality of it.

But now she was clean with her hair miraculously intact, a feat that she’d assumed would have taken two more days for Lord Hedstrom to manage.

She would just have to not think about who had touched her while she was unconscious—or where.

Cracking her eyelids once more, she blinked several times, looking up at the ceiling. Soft cushions were under her back. Damned uncomfortable. And that was not the same coved ceiling that she’d noted in the drawing room last night. Rows of books lined the shelves that abutted the dark wood paneling across the ceiling.

“You’re awake. Good.”

Her face turned toward the sound to find Lord Hedstrom reclined in a wingback chair, a book in his lap and his right ankle crossed over the top of his left knee. He stared at her. Hazel eyes. Hard, searing hazel eyes that she couldn’t read, other than that they were tired. Or more likely, soused, if all she’d been told about the man was true.

He was handsome—something she hadn’t been expecting. Not for how exasperation laced everything his cousin, Nemity, had said about him. Thomas is impossibly overbearing. Thomas is cantankerous at every opportunity. Thomas has no regard for anything other than his fingers wrapped around a whisky bottle.

It had gone on and on, and because of it, Izzie had expected Thomas to be somewhat of a troll. Far from it.

She realized she was lying on a settee and although she reacted quickly, she wished she’d moved a second earlier as she flipped off the settee and onto the floor. On her hands and knees, she scrambled away from Thomas, spotting a long table with various books open atop it, and she dove under it.

Her hair had flipped in front of her face, and she didn’t push it out of the way, curling into a little ball and watching him from behind the strands.

He heaved a wretched sigh and got to his feet, strolling over to the table.

He was dressed better today, like he’d actually taken care with his appearance. Boots that were shined. Dark trousers and a jacket that weren’t rumpled with deep-set wrinkles in them like his clothes were yesterday. A full cravat even, along with a waistcoat with an understated black and grey weave to it. Dour, like he was going to a funeral.

Though from what Callum had told her of his life, every day must feel like a funeral to him.

Thomas stopped in front of the table and bent over, looking in on her. “I can see you watching me.” He held out his hand. “Come. We are going for a ride.”

A ride?

This was interesting.

She curled her arms tighter around her legs, scooting backward on the floor away from him.

He wouldn’t have it and reached under the table, grabbing her left wrist and dragging her forward.

She instantly started to fight him, scratching at his arm as her legs flailed about, but he growled—more of a roar—straight into her face. “You can fight me, or I can punch you the hell out and still throw you in the carriage. What will it be?”

Izzie stilled, dipping her head.

She didn’t move willingly, but she didn’t fight him as he dragged her out from under the table and then jerked her upward onto her feet.

Pain shot though her shoulder. He’d jerked her so hard, she was certain he’d just dislocated her shoulder.

It had first happened to that shoulder years ago, and ever since then, that shoulder liked to pop out of place with the slightest force.

Knowing it didn’t help the pain of it.

Teeth gritting, she held back a wince.

She wasn’t about to lose this job because of an ornery shoulder.

Not noticing in the slightest he’d injured her, Lord Hedstrom dragged her out of the library and through the stone corridors of the castle to the main door.

Outside, he pulled her toward a waiting carriage. Hal, another Guardian they’d set in place as a coachman, was standing at the heads of the horses, his eyes meeting hers for only a second before Thomas picked her up and tossed her inside the coach.

Her dislocated shoulder crunched onto the front bench on the way in, and she landed on the floor of the carriage. Face down, she curled into herself, more reality than for show as she swallowed the cry of pain that almost slipped through her lips.

Three silent gasps of air against the pain, and then the carriage shifted as Thomas bounded up the step and slammed the carriage door behind him. He gave three pounding knocks on the roof.

On the floor of the carriage, Izzie shoved herself into the far wall, hiding, turning away from him, because this ride was going to hurt like hell with every bump knocking her shoulder, and she wasn’t about to let him see it in her.

Let him think she was still feral and didn’t know what a seat cushion was for.

Pain was the price for this to go exactly as planned. There was only one thing he needed to see in her.

She was a wild animal, nothing more.

No matter how clean she got.