The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(2)

"Aye, right enough, a fair few letters."



"Can you please fetch me a pot of tea?"



The older woman beamed. "Gladly, Miss. Supper at the usual time?"



Sarah had already begun flicking through the letters on the tray, sorting them into hers and Jonathan's. "Oh, yes, thank you."



Another rumble of thunder shook the house.



Jenny looked up in mild alarm. "My, that sounds close."



"Never fear. Let's just be grateful none of us is out on such a wild evening, though one does have to feel sorry for the poor beasts in the fields." She peered out the window and saw nothing but the rain cascading down the glass outside.



"Aye, but I am glad you hurried back smartish. Caleb says he heard tell that the Almanac gives wild storms indeed. Anyway, I'll just fetch that tea."



As Sarah worked, she could hear the wind howling all around the house, circling like a wild animal stalking its prey. A sudden thought set her to put the letters back on her desk for a moment while she hurried through the lower rooms to make sure all of the windows in the house were shut tightly against the against the furious gusts.



The last room she entered was the front sitting room, where she found the ferocious gale tearing at the lace curtains. She was shaken in the wind's icy jaws as she struggled against the spring storms's might and power while she tried to slam the last casement closed.



Her task finally completed, Sarah chafed her upper arms to warm them and then pushed her heavy fall of dark hair out of her eyes. She crammed her hairpins in more tightly to try to tidy her wind-swept hair. She only hoped everything outside was more secure than her coiffure.



"Caleb, are the horses and milkers all safe in the outbuildings, and everything battened down?" she called down the hall towards the back of the house.



"I'll go back out just to check one more time, Miss," Jenny's husband said.



"Thank you, Caleb. Do be careful."



"Aye, Miss. No need to worry about an old reprobate like me." He waved and stepped out of the kitchen door.



Sarah was just about to settle herself by the roaring fire in her small study to rely to all her letters when she heard a rap at the front portal.



She hurried out into the hall and reached to open the latch herself without standing on ceremony and waiting for Jenny to answer it.



A huge flash of lightning lit up the sky behind the towering figure, throwing him into shadow. For a moment she thought the ground was shaking under her feet. Then she realized the strength of the wind was actually tugging at the woven mat she was standing upon, snatching at the hem of her skirts.



"Yes, can I help you?" Sarah Deveril said, raising her voice above the whistling wind.



"Is this the home of Jonathan Deveril?" the tall, shabbily-dressed man asked.



Sarah struggled to keep the door from being torn out of her grasp and nodded and smiled. "Yes, that's right."



He stepped up into the small porch. "Major Jonathan Deveril?"



"Yes, he did hold that rank not so long ago."



The dark-haired stranger, who looked to be in his late twenties, fumbled with his drenched hat and stared at her.



"He isn't at home. Is there something I can assist you with?"



"It's just that, well- Do you not recognize me?" He held out his hand in mute appeal.



She realized with a start that he was blind.



Sarah stared at the handsome face, with a high brow, elegant nose, and the most piercing pair of pale golden eyes she had ever seen. An aquiline nose, generous lips, and a finely hewn chin with a cleft completed his god-like appearance.



The only mar to his absolute perfection was a scar which ran from the corner of his left eye back into his hairline, giving him a Devil-may-care look which was both stirring and disturbing.



"No. I've never seen you before. Should I know you?" she asked in confusion.



"Yes, of course, if I have the right house. My name is Jonathan Deveril."



Sarah stared at him. This had to be some sort of prank.



Yet he didn't look like a rogue or rattle. The man had a most dignified bearing, tall and straight, aristocratic even despite his badly-mended, poor-quality brown homespun garments.



She guessed he had to be one of the other Rakehells, her brother Jonathan's group of Radical friends who had gone to school and then served in the Army together. He must have been delayed in his journey and thus missed the wedding.



Normally it would be another round of back slapping and tattoo-showing all around, except that they were all away on their various travels.



Still, he had obviously come a long way, the weather was growing more and more inclement, and the poor man was soaked, weary-looking and blind.