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last seen upon the road before this very castle.”
    He looked at her hand a long time before deciding to bow to courtesy and accept it, bending over it. The lips beneath the mask were searing as they touched her flesh, yet he released her instantly, as if it were he who had touched hot coals.
    “Ah,” he said simply, walking past her.
    Though not so tall as the giant who had come to the gate, he was certainly a few inches over six feet, and his shoulders were very broad beneath his handsome smoking jacket. His stature was trim, his waist quite narrow, his legs long and powerful. He appeared both strong and agile, whatever the condition of his face. A beast? Perhaps, for she could too easily recall the heat of his lips against her flesh, the length of his fingers, the power in his hand.
    He didn’t speak; his back was to her as he, too, surveyed the painting above the desk.
    At last, she cleared her throat. “Lord Stirling, I do apologize with the greatest regret for intruding upon you at this hour and without inquiry. But I am, as you can well imagine, distressed beyond all measure. The dear man who raised me is missing, and there are so many dangers in the woods. Cutthroats, wolves…all manner of creature might be about in the night. I am so very worried, and therefore I pray that I may turn to a man of such high position as Your Lordship.”
    He turned, once again very amused.
    “Oh, come, my dear! All of London has surely heard of my reputation!”
    “Reputation, sir?” she said, feigning innocence. It was a mistake.
    “Ah, yes, the misbegotten beast! Were I simply the Earl of Carlyle and recognized as such with a modicum of respect and dignity rather than fear, dear woman, you’d not have come to the gates with the least hope of being received by me.”
    His tone was flat and harsh, allowing no quarter for a pretense of ignorance. In fact, she nearly took a step back, but refused to allow herself to do so—for Tristan’s sake.
    “Tristan Montgomery is here, somewhere, sir. He was traveling with a companion and disappeared outside your gates. I want him given into my care, immediately.”
    “So you are related to the loathsome rascal who crawled my walls like the most common of thieves this evening,” he said, unperturbed.
    “Tristan is no loathsome rascal,” she denied hotly, although she refrained from declaring that he was certainly not a thief. “Sir, I believe he is in this castle, and I will not leave without him.”
    “I hope then that you are prepared to stay,” he said flatly.
    “So, he is here!” she claimed.
    “Oh, yes. He took a bit of a fall in his attempt to relieve me of my possessions.”
    She swallowed, trying to maintain her composure. She had never expected the man to be so blunt, or to hear a tone that could be both flat and entirely ruthless all in one. A new fear was also triggered within her.
    “He is hurt? Badly?” she inquired.
    “He will live,” he said dryly.
    “But I must be taken to him. At once!”
    “In good time,” he said simply. “You’ll excuse me for a moment?” It wasn’t really a question; he meant to depart the room and leave her again, and he didn’t give a damn if she did or didn’t excuse his rudeness. He strode toward the door.
    “Wait!” she cried. “I must see Tristan. Immediately.”
    “I repeat, you may see him. In good time.”
    He departed, leaving her alone once again. She stared after him, confused and angry. Why would he agree to see her, only to disappear after a few minutes’ worth of heated conversation?
    She walked around the room, trying to calm herself, studying the titles of books as she bided whatever time she was to wait. Yet the titles did nothing but swim before her eyes, so she found a seat before the fire.
    He’d admitted that Tristan was here. Hurt! Caught in the act of thievery.
    Good God! No one could expect her to sit still while her guardian lay somewhere, perhaps in pain, perhaps even direly injured!
    She jumped