Page 13 of Bound By The Christmastide Moon

It was not Mallory’s choice to keep her vision from Felicity, but the countess’s. She’d been right, though. Her dear friend was burdened by many deaths in her life, and the countess hadn’t seen the need to speak of it to her ward.

Aunt Hettie had agreed, and Mallory had promised to remain silent on the matter.

That had been during their visit the year before.

Mallory sighed and released the cord holding her window shut and the winter cold out. The sky was as it had been earlier, without a cloud. The trees in the distance swayed from the wind coming off the ocean. In the distance, Castle Keyvnor stood high and proud along the cliffs, ancient, mysterious, but also, in an odd way, welcoming. Could it be the ghosts—and other less human entities—drawing her to them? Did her special gifts align her with others of her kind?

Perhaps Aunt Hettie and her companionship was not enough to soothe her ragged soul.

Male voices drifted up to her second-floor window, and Mallory leaned forward, expecting to see the Tetbery Estate’s groundskeeper or a groom, but she quickly leaned back inside when she glimpsed Lord Lichfield below. Inching out to peer over the window ledge again, Mallory saw he spoke with the duke. Both appeared at ease, as if they’d met before and conversed about something, but their voices were not loud enough for her to discern what they spoke of.

It was not impossible Lord Lichfield was acquainted with the Duke of Wycliffe.

England wasn’t an overly large country, as it were, and London could be downright stifling with people, or so Aunt Hettie had proclaimed numerous times over the years.

She watched as both men chuckled, Lichfield throwing his head back, allowing his mirth to travel up to Mallory above. She couldn’t help but think her betrothed was not one quick to laughter. When their chuckles halted, Lichfield ran his hand through his wayward, onyx curls. She wondered if his hair would be of silky softness or coarse to her touch.

Her stomach fluttered at the thought of running her fingers through a man’s hair—that it was her soon-to-be husband only caused her pulse to race once more. Mallory was uncertain what she’d expected to happen when they met. Seeing his death was as startling as the realization that she found him pleasing to the eye. Had she ever thought a man handsome before?

Perhaps, there had been a groom or footman at Blenheim Park she’d fancied herself smitten with, but rarely did she make the acquaintance of a proper lord.

The Duke of Wycliffe was a decent enough man, yet she hadn’t imagined her fingers in his light brown hair.

The sound of horse hooves signaled that Lord Lichfield’s mount had been brought round, and he would soon depart for the castle and his family.

Mallory risked being spotted as she moved ever closer to peer down at the men.

With the swiftness of a man used to horsemanship, Lord Lichfield mounted his horse and waved farewell to the duke.

However, instead of going toward the castle, he maneuvered his horse in the opposite direction. But that could not be. He’d stood before her and claimed he needed to return to the castle.

Mallory glanced back in the direction of the sea cliffs as unease settled over her.

Why had he lied about his intended destination?

They were not wed, only betrothed.

Until they joined as husband and wife, the earl had little need to share anything of his daily comings and goings with her. In fact, even after they wed, it was not her business to question him on such matters. As her father was wont to say, men—lords especially—were challenged with duties and responsibilities mere females could not possibly understand.

Certainly, Mallory did not believe a word of it.

She stood at the window and kept her focus trained on Lord Lichfield as he rode at a leisurely pace away from Tetbery Estate.

Her mother, the marchioness, might be resigned to such old-fashioned ways of thinking, but Mallory was not.

The earl had lied to her. Looked her directly in the eye and told a falsehood. But to what end?

Was this the stepping-stone to what would eventually cause his downfall?

Her aunt was correct: Mallory had no obligation to inform Lord Lichfield about her vision; however, she did have a duty to keep the man alive, at least until after they’d wed. If she remained unwed, the prophecy of her aunt’s vision would be undeniable.

Mallory would forever more remain a spinster.

No home to call hers.

No family of her own.

Forever at her brother’s mercy.