The Sapphire Heiress (The Silver Order #1)

1 The Storm

Chapter One

The Storm

33 years later

April 1842, Bristol, England

L ightning crashed on the moor, this time nearby. When her horse reared skyward, Mae Blackthorne strained to stay upright.

“Stand firm!” she shouted. Her dapple-gray gelding jerked back before righting himself. “ Easy. ”

With the threat of rain imminent, their only cover was the Northern Woods ahead, but not even her horse, Thomas, dared to enter. Gaining on a web of lifeless trees, he snorted and pulled back.

“Quiet…” Mae rubbed his black mane. “It’s no more than a bunch of trees.”

The words worked to reassure Mae, too. It took only another glance to freeze the blood in her veins. The trees were so dense that the ground had darkened to black, and inside, all was still and silent. Not a single insect, bird, or other small creature moved in the brush. There was only the whispering of leaves.

She risked a look behind her. The last of the evening’s light was gone. Dark, angry clouds rolled over the horizon. In the far distance, rain fell in thick, hazy streaks and bursts of lightning tore through a slate-colored sky. Blast. She’d thought she had more time .

Mae considered her options. There seemed little else to do but risk an awful cold. Her breaths grew shorter. She was far not only from the Rosewood estate, but from town, too. She had one option. Cutting through the woods had always been an obvious shortcut, though she’d never dared take it. Just the thought made her tremble. She cursed herself. What did she have to fear of the dark forest? No matter how difficult the terrain, Mae was sure she could cross it.

To hell with the servants’ ghost stories. Yanking the reins, she twisted Thomas toward the trees. Snorting again, he continued to resist. Only after the second pulse of thunder did he ease forward.

Past the threshold of trees, the darkness deepened. Cold moisture coated Mae’s skin. Amidst the rocks and fallen branches, Thomas struggled to maintain his footing.

Mae mouthed a silent prayer. She had assumed she was alone, probably for miles, and therefore helpless when a white light flickered out in the distance.

“Who trespasses here?” A voice broke through the still air.

Mae’s throat tightened before she could respond.

The white haze grew brighter in the mist, approaching rapidly until it stung her eyes.

“Whoever you are, you encroach upon private property,” a man said, his voice unrecognizable. Not a local, nor vagabond, given his accent and well-formed words.

“I—I didn’t know anyone owned this land.” Mae squinted.

The man lowered his light. He eyed her the same way everyone did when they noticed her deep-olive complexion. With practice, she had become skilled at ignoring it.

“I was only trying to escape the storm.”

“I imagine you were. And your companions?” Locke swung out the lantern to pan the forest.

“I have none, sir. I was just out for an evening ride.”

“I see,” he said, though he continued to eye her suspiciously. “ Your destination?”

Mae straightened, the personal inquiry giving her pause. “Home. No more than an hour’s ride—”

“ An hour ’s ride!” he exclaimed. “The storm will be upon us at any moment. You must allow me to escort you to my home. It’s not far.” He lifted his lantern, once again shining the light in her eyes. “What, may I ask, is the name of my guest?”

She swallowed. The last thing she wanted was to establish an acquaintance the man might soon regret. In this case, it was entirely unnecessary. “Sir, please, I wouldn’t like to intrude… The distance will be no trouble at all.” Mae jerked the reins to pass him, but his horse moved too, blocking her path.

Damn stubborn man.

“If you care to divulge your name, I can judge that for myself. I know every prominent family in the county and the distances of their estates.”

Silhouetted in the weak light of the lantern, she struggled to make out his face. Whether friendly or harsh, she could not tell.

“You are the lady of the estate, are you not?”

He clearly could not make her out in this darkness, either.

“No, sir. I didn’t mean to imply…” Mae blushed. “I have no estate. I’m no more than a governess.”

“Ah.”

“Sir, if you please…”

Lightning crashed again.

The man’s head tilted toward the sky. “The storm’s gaining on us. Come. I live just beyond those trees.”

To Mae’s shock, he pointed west. The forest went on for miles in that direction. The distance to another home in that direction would be greater than that to her own destination. Unless… Mae’s breath caught in her chest. He couldn’t possibly live within the Northern Woods. She lifted a cynical brow. Impossible. She would have heard .

Before she could question him, he disappeared. Curious now, Mae clucked her tongue, ordering Thomas forward. Between the trees, she could make out a subtle path, allowing for a safe gallop. Perhaps the home would be new.

Thunder roared again. As heavy sheets of rain crashed down, she quickened her speed. Shearing through the forest, she gained on the man. Skilled as she was, she sped ahead in a spray of mud.

But keeping her fast pace was no easy task. Her horse writhed with each long stride. Battered by the rain, her hands stiffened. Every muscle ached with fatigue.

The fog had thickened too, transforming the trees and rocks into dense, black shadows. Seeing a boulder, Mae yanked the reins just in time to leap over a fallen tree.

When she landed, the shadow of a building appeared seemingly out of the mist. She breathed in deeply with surprise. Not once had she heard of this man. All along, he had been her neighbor.

She pulled Thomas to a skidding stop. In the clearing stood a stone manor, stately yet modest in size. A burst of lightning illuminated the ivy that crawled its walls.

Mae swept round. A set of hooves squished in the mud, effectively catching her off-guard. The stranger was by her side.

“’Tis by good chance I found you.” He laughed, lifting his face toward the sky as if to relish the rain.

“And the name of my rescuer?”

“Forgive me. Ethan Locke.”

For a few moments, Mae forgot the rain. She held his steady gaze, his eyes no more than two glinting lights in the gloom. How on earth had she never heard of this man? The mystery surrounding him made her instantly suspicious.

“Shall we proceed inside, Mr. Locke?”

“Yes, of course.” He snapped to attention and trotted past her.

Mae followed him through a gap in the iron fencing. Holding out his lantern, he revealed a half-moon portico. An iron knocker glinted in the glow.

She hadn’t even time to drop the reins when the man dismounted and extended a hand. Despite his ice-cold skin, the gesture warmed her.

She couldn’t remember the last time someone had helped her off her horse, let alone offered her a hand. But like a lady once more, she thanked him, picked up her skirts, and rushed into the cover of the doorway.

Mr. Locke squeezed in beside her, his gaze tickling her cheek. She tried to glimpse his features, but she could still only make out the glinting intensity of his eyes. They were trying to take in her too.

“I’ll take care of the horses and meet you inside.” He unlocked the door with a click. “Take this.”

The lantern, pounds heavier than she expected, nearly slipped from her grip.

So quick, she near missed it, he flashed a smile. “Careful.”

He went and took the horses’ reins. Soon, all sight of him and even the clatter of hooves faded.

Mae gathered her courage and went inside. A wild wind slammed the door shut behind her, silencing the pounding rain.

In the new silence, her breath quickened, each gasp taking in the aroma of dust and wet stone. Besides the first few steps of a stairway, darkness shrouded her surroundings. Mae gripped the lantern tighter. Mr. Locke would return any moment. She certainly could not leave. Her fear was cold, but the rain even colder. Her black dress, heavy with moisture, stuck to her skin. When she took off her hat, her braids were sopping wet too. Rather than drip, water streamed down onto the stone floor. She didn’t dare step onto the rug that extended before her.

In fact, she wasn’t sure what to do. She had anticipated a butler or a housekeeper, but in the darkness, she rightly guessed no one would arrive.

Shivering, she tried to reason away her fear. What other horrors could compare to being alone in that forest? In this rain, any shelter would do.

At length, Mr. Locke’s figure emerged from a hallway. He relieved her of the heavy lantern. “I’ve lit a fire in the sitting room and have a kettle on the stove.”

Mae followed him through the dark hall. The parlor, also edged in shadow, was less welcoming. Dust floated thick in the air. Every furnishing was draped in white sheets.

“I see I’ve caught you at an inopportune time.” She stepped closer to the blaze. Amidst the windows that still rattled from wind and rain, she welcomed the waves of scorching heat.

Mr. Locke set the lantern on the mantel, then assuming the role of footman, helped her remove her riding coat and threw it over a sheet-covered chair. “You were expecting some place warm and welcoming, I imagine.”

“I didn’t mean…” Her chin dipped down, her stomach swirling. “I should be thanking you.”

“I suppose you should.” He wrapped a folded blanket over her shoulders. “Rather nice feeling like the hero for a change.”

Mae opened her mouth, prepared to counter what she thought would be modesty, but given his strange reply, knew not what to say.

She stepped closer until the glow of the fire raced across his face, finally illuminating his features. His dark hair was slicked back, drawing her eyes to the scar above his left brow. Was it from fencing? Perhaps first blood drawn in a duel? He couldn’t have been much older than herself—in his late twenties, maybe early thirties.

With a stern jaw too, he seemed just the type of man accustomed to meeting other gentlemen at dawn. The rogue sort of men her father had warned her about. They cared nothing for honor and lived only for adventure .

She could not make sense of his incongruous accent, nor the odd tie of the cravat he promptly tore off. He looked rather like something of the past, his rather austere countenance reminding her of some military officer.

Mae cleared her throat. After that long pause, she desperately needed to revive the conversation. “How long have you been away?”

It seemed a safe enough question.

“Years.” He glanced about the room approvingly. “But everything’s just as I left it.”

“The forest provides good cover, I’m sure.”

“Indeed. Most are too fearful to step foot into my woods, let alone explore.”

Mae stared into the flames.

“But you’re not,” he said. “Tell me, do you often go on rides this late? Alone?”

She wanted to ask him the same. Riding horseback to a home he hadn’t been to in years seemed rather odd. Would not a carriage have been more appropriate? Did he not have belongings?

Mae looked at him again as if somewhere along the glistening skin of his face and throat, the answers might appear. She chewed her lip, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“What about venturing through dark and mysterious forests?”

Mae shrugged. What business is it of his?

“Don’t pretend.” He fixed his gaze on her, leaning ever closer to take her in. “I know what the country folk say about my land… about me .”

“You criminalize yourself. I haven’t heard a word about you and I’ve lived here my whole life.”

“Your ‘whole life’? I might have guessed you hail from elsewhere. Or perhaps one of your parents.” He reached out a finger, nearly hooking a wet strand of her dark hair before snapping his hand back and clearly thinking better of it .

“My mother.”

“From an island is my guess. Someplace tropical.”

“The Philippines, to be exact.”

“I thought so.”

“But I know nothing of the place.”

“No?”

“Like I said…” Mae resisted an urge to sigh dramatically. “I’ve lived here all my life. Just like most of the other villagers.”

“No, no, no.” He shook his head, his eyes bright and glossy. “You’re not like any of the villagers at all.”

Mae huffed, not caring how indignant it came out anymore. He might have been kind enough to offer her shelter, but he was still being rude. The truth was, no matter how hard she tried, she would never be like everyone else. People here would only ever see her as different. This man was no exception.

She opened her mouth, set on telling him how different, he, himself, seemed, like someone from another world altogether with a strange way of talking and an even stranger way of dress. Then something red caught her eye. She gasped. Along his left knuckles, a streak of blood glistened.

“You’re bleeding, sir.” She reached out.

Mr. Locke snapped his hand back. “A stray branch must have caught me.”

“You should tend to it at once.”

“Nonsense.”

“Don’t you fear infection?”

He stared at her, considering. “Wait here.”

With that, he strode off into the hall. How terse and typical , Mae grumbled inwardly. But she immediately chided herself for the thought. She should be grateful for his hospitality.

“Some tea should warm you.” He reappeared, tray in hand.

He set the service down on a low table and handed her a cup. His knuckles were now wrapped with cloth. Poor man. A wound on such a spot would take weeks to heal.

“Thank you.” She took up the cup in both hands. A sip warmed her on the spot.

“I must say your riding skills astounded me earlier,” he said after some time, sounding genuine, as far as she could tell. “That horse is rather impressive too…for a governess.”

“It isn’t mine, not really,” Mae corrected him. “He needed some exercise is all.”

“Ah.”

Just when she thought he could shock her no more, he pulled his sopping-wet shirt free from the waistband of his pants. Then, in one swift movement, he was topless. Mae could not help scrutinizing him.

The man was tattooed! The black lines of a fearsome, teeth-baring tiger stretched up his ribs. Across his chest were two words in loops of cursive: Hell’s Teeth . What kind of man would mark such a curse across his body? It wasn’t proper, to say the least.

Decency demanded she look away, but she could not. Rather, her eyes inched upward. Around his neck hung a small, bluish-green bottle from a silver chain. She wondered what it contained. It was a strange sort of jewelry for a man.

In stunned silence, Mae pressed her lips together. The man must have lived a perilous life, just as she had imagined. He was likely not a gentleman, after all. That fact did not frighten her, though—only stirred her curiosity.

“Where are you from—Mr. Locke, is it?”

“Everywhere.” Twisting away to poke the fire, he revealed another tattooed design along the curves of his back. Although this time, it was not words or an object, just an unfamiliar pattern of swirls, maybe even a vine. She might even call it art .

“Why do you ask?” He turned back at her. “Do I seem foreign to you? ”

“Your accent, perhaps. I can’t quite place it. But seeing that we’ve just met, it’s only natural to wonder.”

“Perhaps, one day, I shall tell you all.” He laughed, though she wasn’t sure why. “At which household did you say you are employed, miss?”

Mae paled at the question. It seemed to give way to all sorts of possibilities, and Mrs. Rosewood had been clear. Liaisons of any kind would not be tolerated. Mae had to stop this now.

She cleared her throat and moved toward the window. If she had to risk a cold or her position, it would be the former. She had already let this go far longer than she ought to have.

“The rain has slowed,” she lied. “Perhaps I should move on.”

“Don’t be ridiculous…” He stepped forward as if to bar her exit. “You’ll catch your death… Surely—”

“Please.” Her tone was firm. “I must insist.”

Mr. Locke’s jaw tensed, but after a moment, he conceded. “As you wish.”

He relinquished the blanket from her shoulders and held open her still-wet riding coat and floppy hat. Heavy with rain, they both weighed her down.

“My employer would not be pleased if I returned past midnight.”

“Yes, well, meet me out front.” He put his coat on over his bare chest. “I’ll bring you your horse.” He sounded slightly affronted. Though Mae could not fathom why. He should understand someone in her position could not take such risks. She’d had no right accepting his offer of shelter in the first place. She had merely been desperate to stay dry. She couldn’t help wondering what kind of house was out here in the woods too—and what kind of man lived there.

Outside, the rain still poured and strong winds surged from every direction. In the complete darkness and this time without a lantern, Mr. Locke brought Thomas forward. Her foot nearly slipped off the soaked straps, but Mr. Locke held her firm .

“Perhaps, one day, we shall meet again.”

“I think we’ll have to leave that to fate.” Mae lifted her chin. She was glad to have met him. But he had to know meeting again was out of the question.

Betraying the slightest of frowns, he finally seemed to realize this. He slapped the rear of her horse. “Ride swiftly, Miss…?”

She stared ahead, glad she had kept her surname. If nothing else, it would save her ears from itching when he asked about her. Better yet, it would rob her neighbors of the gossip they took far too much pleasure in.