My Lord Immortality (Immortal Rogues #3)(9)
Author: Alexandra Ivy

The frown disappeared as if by magic and the dark eyes abruptly glowed with pleasure.

"Nice, nice man," William chattered, hurriedly turning to pile the kittens in his large arms.

Sebastian suppressed a shiver. His aging housekeeper would no doubt desire his head upon a platter when she discovered his latest houseguests, if she did not simply walk out. And his privacy would be in constant danger with William wandering in and out of his home.

Still, he would do whatever was necessary to keep Miss Hadwell from Drake’s clutches.

No, he sternly reminded himself. Not Miss Hadwell, but the Medallion. It was the Medallion that was important.

He heaved a heavy sigh.

"No, not a nice man," he muttered. "Merely a man who wishes he was back among the peace of his books. Now bring your cats along before I come to my senses."

Chapter Three

Amelia endured yet another sleepless night.

On this occasion, it was not the formless shadow nor the impending sense of danger that kept her pacing the floor of her bedchamber. At least not directly.

Instead it had been the memories of Mr. St. Ives that had haunted her thoughts.

Why did he disturb her so?

He was beautiful, of course. Perhaps the most beautiful man she had ever encountered. More than once she had discovered her gaze lingering upon his pale, elegant features as if she were a moonstruck idiot rather than a sensible woman.

And when he had touched her . . . well, she could not deny that he had made her heart trip and caused the most peculiar sensations to rush through her body.

But it was more than his physical appeal that made him linger in her thoughts.

There was something about him that was unusual, she acknowledged as she slowly pulled on a muslin gown in a shade of pale lemon. Something that she could not precisely pinpoint but nevertheless warned her that he was no common flirt who pursued her for his own pleasure.

The question now, of course, was—what did he want?

And how was he connected with the deadly shadow? A shadow that still remained an unnerving mystery.

Without thinking, Amelia reached up to touch the amulet. The Gypsy had warned of danger.

Now, Mr. St. Ives implied that she was in peril. It made no sense, but she was not willing to dismiss the notion. However absurd, she could almost feel the sense of impending doom. As if it were slowly creeping up behind her.

Amelia shivered.

Enough of this, she sternly chastised herself. She was no coward hiding in her room. If there were danger she would face it squarely.

The brave thought had barely formed in her mind when there was a sudden rap upon the door.

With a faint measure of surprise, she crossed the narrow room to discover her housekeeper standing in the hall with a harried expression.

"Oh, Miss Hadwell, I did not like to trouble you at such an early hour."

"It is no trouble," she assured the elderly servant. Although a dried-up wisp of a woman with a perpetually worried expression, Mrs. Benson had proved to be utterly loyal to both William and Amelia. "Is something the matter?"

"Well, not precisely, although it cannot be good news. I mean it never is, is it?"

Amelia blinked in confusion. "What cannot be good news?"

"That man," Mrs. Benson retorted, her thin hands wringing together. "They always mean trouble. Trouble, mark my words."

"I still do not know what you speak of, Mrs. Benson. What man?"

"That Mr. Ryan."

"Ryan?" Amelia frowned, quite certain that she had never met a Mr. Ryan. "Are you certain he has the right house?"

The tiny head bobbed up and down. "Asked for you in particular, Miss Hadwell."

"That is odd. I have never been introduced to a Mr. Ryan. What would he be doing here?"

"He be from Bow Street, miss."

Amelia felt a chill inch down her spine. Bow Street? What would such a man be doing in her home? How would he even know her name?

"I see," she forced herself to say slowly, careful to keep her unease hidden. The housekeeper was always a breath away from a fit of the vapors. Amelia did not want to get her worked into a pucker. "Did you put him in the front parlor?"

"Aye. Were you wishing me to send him upon his way?"

It was a tempting thought. Amelia did not imagine for a moment that a Bow Street runner could bring anything but bad news. And after her sleepless nights, she felt far from confident that she could deal with any potential problem.

Unfortunately, she feared that by sending him away she was only prolonging the inevitable. If the man de-sired to speak with her, then he would simply return. Perhaps it was best to meet with him and be done with it.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Benson. I will see him."

"And William?"

Amelia stilled in fear. "What do you mean?"

"The man be asking for William as well."

She pressed her hands to her suddenly quivering stomach. Had someone seen William in the alley the night before last? Was it possibly that they thought him a suspect? Did they …

Do not panic, she chastised herself sternly. She did not even yet know what the man wanted.

It might very well be nothing to do with her.

Still, it seemed wise to keep William out of the reach of the runner. Her brother could not be trusted not to reveal more than was wise.

"Has William risen yet?" she asked in strained tones.

"Yes, Miss Hadwell. He is down enjoying a nice breakfast of fresh ham and toast."

"Would you ensure that he remains in the kitchen? I do not want him troubled by this Mr.

Ryan."

An expression of determination hardened the thin features. However rattled the housekeeper might be, she would prove a formidable enemy to anyone foolish enough to threaten her beloved William.

"Depend upon me, miss. I’ll not let that man trouble the sweet boy."

"Thank you." Drawing in a deep breath, Amelia forced her reluctant feet to carry her through the door and down the narrow hall. The house was too small to give her much opportunity to compose her thoughts, but she did manage a calm expression when she at last pushed open the door to the sun-filled parlor and regarded the large, boyishly handsome man that swiftly rose to his feet at her entrance. "Mr. Ryan?"

"Yes." He performed a respectable bow. "Forgive me for intruding at such an awkward hour, Miss Hadwell."

"It is no bother," she lied smoothly, moving to perch upon the edge of a brocade sofa. "Will you not be seated?"

"Thank you." He resettled his bulk on a nearby chair, his expression pleasant but unreadable.