THE FOREST LORD By Susan Krinard

Either of us. He could not make clearer that they had been together, alone in the wood. But that was no secret.

“I see,” she said, allowing some of her disapproval to seep through. He would not believe her apparent change of heart if she seemed too accepting.

“Whatever you think of me,” Shaw said, “you may believe that I would protect Eden with my life.”

She clenched her teeth behind half-smiling lips. “I do believe it. And that is why… especially after tonight… I wish to declare a truce.”

His brow arched high. “A truce?”

“Let us be frank with one another. I have told you that I would not permit my niece’s involvement with a servant. My feelings have not changed. But Eden is not a child. My influence over her is limited. It is folly for you and me to be enemies, when we might deal reasonably together.”

“As you tried to deal with me before, Lady Claudia?”

She retreated through the doors. “Come inside. There is a dangerous madman abroad.”

He followed her as reluctantly as if he walked into a cage. What had become of the trap the hunter had set? Did it still lie in wait where the monster might come upon it?

“I promise that I will not bite,” she said with a twist of her lips. “I think it best if we continue our discussion in the sitting room, where we will not be disturbed.”

“Am I to be permitted such a privilege, my lady?”

She chose to ignore his sally. “If you will wait here but a few minutes, I will make certain that the household is asleep. Eden has already retired.”

“I wish to see her.”

Claudia bit hard on the inside of her lip. “Very well, if you keep quiet and do not wake her. I’ll meet you in the sitting room at half past the hour.”

He nodded dismissively and strode for the hallway. The moment he was out of sight, Claudia put on a pair of gloves and went directly to Eden’s secretaire in the sitting room.

The letter she sought was still there. Though Rushborough’s invitation had come a week ago, Eden had struggled over her response, seeking just the right balance of gratitude and distance. She had declared her initial efforts much too warm, and a number of rejected missives lay stacked in a drawer. Claudia found the one she wanted and carefully smoothed it out on the desk, where the invitation still awaited an answer.

Very little remained to complete the letter. Carefully Claudia arranged the invitation and the response so that they appeared to have been laid aside, forgotten in a moment’s distraction.

It might not have the desired effect. She did not pretend to understand a monster’s motives and concerns. But there was a chance, and that was enough.

She left the room and waited in a place where she could hear Shaw return. Soon he came down the stairs, mouth set, and went into the sitting room.

Silence. The hall clock ticked. She crept close to the door and listened.

Footsteps. Then the rustle of papers. An indrawn breath. More rustling, and then footfalls approaching the door.

She hid until he had gone down the hall, into the drawing room, and out the garden doors.

Success.

The garden doors were wide open to the night air. Claudia closed them firmly.

The papers in the morning room had been shuffled and replaced in almost the same position she had left them. She picked up the invitation, read it through once more, and then perused the reply she had chosen for Hartley’s edification.

My Dear Lord Rushborough:

It is with pleasure that I accept your kind invitation to join your house party at Caldwick on the eighteenth of October. I offer my congratulations on your recent purchase of a hall that has a fine reputation throughout the Lake District. I shall look forward to meeting old friends and making the acquaintance of those I have missed.

I had meant this letter to be a formal acceptance, but now I find that I must add a message of a more personal nature.

I have been a very poor friend indeed, and I have much to atone for. Your invitation is proof enough that you have forgiven my lapses of hospitality and manners. Your very generous offer to spend time with my son, in spite of his lack of social graces, goes beyond the duties of friendship.

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