the noon hour was never a good sign regardless of where on earth it took place. And by the looks of it, the sky above hadn’t seen the kiss of sun in ages.
Inching back to stand at Sarina’s side, Nevan turned her way. “This is the magickal land Father spoke of? It looks more like Hell, if you ask me.” His deep amber eyes grew wide with bewilderment typical of a twelve-year-old.
She nudged him with her elbow. “There will be no talk of what Dundaire does or does not look like. We’re guests here.”
“So too were Adam and Eve in The Garden of Eden. And look what consorting with the Devil got them.”
Having a younger brother who was far too intelligent for his age, did nothing to calm her nerves. Nor did it ease their situation as Nevan’s future relied on the success of their father’s studies. Which, as far as she understood, remained unfinished. “Lord Lycansay is not the Devil.”
Nevan harrumphed. “So says you. I, on the other hand, will retain my skeptical view until I fully assess the man.”
Sarina rolled her eyes. “You will do no such thing, Nevan. Devil or no, Lord Lycansay is owed our respect. He’s providing a home for us, as well as funds. And I will not have you interfere with either of those necessities which we are in dire need of. Have I made myself clear?”
“Very. But should I conclude otherwise, this agreement between the two of us shall become null and void.” He scowled up at her. “On the instant.”
Sarina plastered what she’d hoped was her best fake smile across her lips as she nodded in silence. Pest. No way was she buying into Nevan’s bait to further ignite their debate. She’ll take what she could get from the miniscule little beast as temporary good behavior from him was far better than endless anarchy.
If only those bloody wolf teeth of his could bite.
Turning away from Nevan, Sarina tucked a stray curl behind her ear as a gust of wind came out of nowhere and blew across the gravel-lined courtyard, slamming her right side.
“It’s bloody freezing up here,” Nevan said in a rather annoyed tone. “Probably Lycansay’s doing.”
“Oh, really, Nevan. For once I wish you would just let things go.” She pulled her blue cloak closed.
“I’m just saying, Sister.”
“Well don’t.”
“But you didn’t seem put out by the wind and you should have been.”
Of course she was put out by the blasted wind that only seconds ago hadn’t even existed. It only exaggerated Dundaire’s dreary and haunting appearance. But what good would it do to allow her wild imagination to take root of her already on edge thoughts? “I remained calm because I had no reason to do otherwise. Think about it. Freezing cold air proves Lord Lycansay is not the Devil as Hell isn’t a frigid place. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“Hell does, at times, freeze over, Sister.”
Another round lost to boy genius. She cursed to herself.
In silence, Sarina stared straight ahead.
A tall man, with light brown hair, appeared in the doorway of Lycansay Hall. As he approached, the muscles of his thick arms and broad chest flexed under his white shirt and navy waistcoat just enough that Sarina found them to be an appealing distraction to Nevan and his morbid demeanor. And further pleasing were the well-toned thighs the oncoming man hid under his navy trousers. Not that she should be inspecting a total stranger as if he was an intimate partner, but what her eyes saw could not be disputed. And to ignore such attributes was probably a sin as she did remember being schooled as a child that the body was to be cherished as if it were one’s own temple.
She glanced lower.
A pair of highly polished boots completed the man’s ensemble. “Miss Ogilvy,” he said.
Sarina looked up, her sight-to-behold man now standing no more than a few inches in front of her.
“So good to finally meet ye.” The marquis extended his hand just as a second gentleman emerged from the house, though judging by his all black attire and stern look, this new man appeared to be a servant rather than one of the marquis’s peers.
“Lord Lycansay.” Sarina curtsied.
Nevan remained ramrod straight.
She kicked him, gently, in the foot.
Nevan bowed. “Your Lordship.”
“Ah, this must be Master Nevan.”
“I am,” Nevan replied. “Though in truth, I prefer Mr. Ogilvy as I am now man of the family.”
“Nevan!” Sarina had never been so embarrassed in all her life.
Lord Lycansay smirked, but refrained