Alexander-Fyn-Sanguinarian

shadows. Light bothered him dreadfully even on sunless days such as this. Standing at the corner of the building, he watched the two women climb reluctantly into the carriage and drive off, hoping he would have no more trouble from Miss Rutledge.
    With his hands in his pockets he strolled back into the building through a side door. He disliked being stared at, and he always was, even by people who did not know he was the Raven. Unusually tall and lean, his pale, chiseled face and long black hair always drew stares. Mr. Charters rose to his feet, making an awkward bow when Raven entered his office.
    “Close those damn curtains.” Raven shielded his eyes with his arm. The bank manager hurried to obey, apologizing profusely as he did so.
    Raven sank into an armchair, his long legs stretched out before him, waiting until the other man sat down again. “Now tell me all you know about Miss Rutledge,” he said, in the tone of a man used to being obeyed. “That odious little man, Sidley, told me nothing except that she was young and healthy.”
    “She is, my lord, eighteen years old and never a day’s illness that I’ve heard of, and fortunately, she’s very pretty.” Mr. Charters smiled.
    “Is she? I did not notice. Her looks are irrelevant. Continue.”
    “Yes, your lordship. Her uncle has banked here for thirty years, though the account has never been large. I must say though, he had more money than he ever spent on that young lady. He could have afforded to send her to school, though he never did. No yearly draft has ever been made out to a governess, so I don’t believe she has had any education, though I’m told by her uncle that she speaks well and seems to read rather a lot.”
    “A bluestocking, how sweet,” Raven sneered. “Why was she in Sanguinarian 31
    his care?”
    “She is an orphan. Her mother was a concert pianist, very talented by all accounts. She was barely twenty herself when she died in a carriage accident on the way back to London from a concert in Liverpool. The young lady’s father was in the coach also. The public coach. They never had a great deal of money.”
    “What did he do?”
    “A scholar, a very learned man, Oxford-educated. He wrote scientific papers and books, though I believe the lady’s concerts paid most of the bills. Shall I transfer Miss Rutledge’s inheritance to your account now, my lord?”
    “You might as well. I shall be marrying the girl within days. Are there any other relatives?” Raven asked.
    The bank manager shook his head sadly. “None, I’m afraid. No school friends, no particular acquaintances. She never had any money to go out into society.”
    “She is alone in the world.” Raven licked his lips unconsciously.
    “An innocent.”
    “That sums her up for you, my lord.”
    “Perfect.” Raven rose elegantly. All his movements were fluid, though sometimes rather languid as if they were an effort. He moved quickly only when he had to. “You have been very helpful, Charters, I’ll see what business I can send your way.”
    The man rose and bowed. “Most obliged, my lord, most obliged.”

    32
    Fyn Alexander

Chapter Three
    A sharp wind shook the carriage back and forth, and with every stone that rattled beneath the horses’ hoofs on the rutted road, Evangeline’s apprehension grew.
    Castle Haven was an immense structure of gray stone, standing in the midst of a vast expanse of wild, rocky moorland in the northernmost part of Yorkshire. With the sun going down, its last rays gilding the castle’s Gothic outline against the darkening sky, it appeared menacing.
    When the horses finally clattered to a halt in the courtyard in front of a pair of wide, studded oak doors, it was all Evangeline could do to suppress a scream. She clutched Mrs. Brackett so abruptly that the older woman, who had dropped into a doze, sprang awake in terror to clutch her in return.
    “We’re here, Mrs. Brackett, God help us.”
    “Now you calm yourself at once, Miss Evie, because you are doing your heart no good and you’ll have mine stopped if you go on like this.” The woman patted her hand in a feeble attempt at reassurance. Her face—eyes wide, mouth tight—told another story.
    “Mrs. Brackett, if you left and went back to London I would never hold it against you,” Evangeline assured her. “You have cared for me with a mother’s devotion. You owe me nothing more.”
    Mrs. Brackett spoke firmly, “I’m going nowhere, dearie, you’re like my own