Sea of Secrets: A Novel of Victorian Romantic Suspense by Amanda DeWees Page B

unheard, all the way down the path.
    Nettled at the intrusion, I pushed my vagrant hair out of my eyes and glared at him. “Perhaps I would fare better without meddlesome bystanders dogging my footsteps.”
    This received a thin, humorless smile. “Believe me, I had no intention of courting your company. Nothing would give me more pleasure at this moment than your absence.”
    “Are you always so gracious to the duchess’s guests?”
    “A guest of my mother?” He surveyed me, lifting an eyebrow at my windblown skirts—or their undistinguished cut. “I took you for a maid.”
    My shock at discovering his identity was almost conquered by indignation. “I am your cousin,” I snapped. “I have come for a visit, Your Grace.”
    “In that case, I retract my advice, and encourage you to put yourself out of your misery as swiftly as you can. Tumbling off a cliff would be a pleasant alternative to living at Ellsmere.” He seemed to look beyond me, but his eyes were still pools of darkness and I could not read them. “You may be sure that I’ve considered the idea myself, and have not yet discarded it.” With that, he pushed roughly past me and vaulted the rocky barrier to the beach.
    Startled, I stared after him. He seemed to know his way, for he strode down the shore with a sure foot, never glancing at his path. I watched him for several minutes as he moved farther and farther away, until a renewed gust reminded me that I, too, had come out without a cloak. It must be nearing time for breakfast, in any case, and I would need to make considerable repairs in my appearance before joining the others.
    I turned and unceremoniously clambered back up to the cliff top, the roar of the tide pushing me all the way, and then I actually picked up my skirts and ran back to the warm, sheltering rooms of Ellsmere.

Chapter Five
    This, then, was Herron.
    The impression I had formed of him from that abrupt encounter was to serve me for several days, since it became clear that his preference for solitude extended not only to dinner but to all other hours of the day. He might as well have been invisible. Occasionally one of us would see him vanish around a doorway on entering a room, but he was as impossible to pin down as a ghost, and far more scanty of his presence than most haunts are purported to be. His mother despaired of him. It was painful to see her look around the table hopefully at every meal, as if believing he would surprise her with his presence, and to see her inevitable dismay at his absence. If his morbid tendencies were characteristic of his behavior lately, I could well understand her anxiety about him. Detaining her after breakfast that morning, I told her of my meeting with him and his startling explanation for his walks on the cliffs. I had feared to alarm her, but her response was calm: “Oh, my dear, I know it. He has spoken of such things ever since the death of his father.”
    “But can you be sure he won’t do an injury to himself?” I ventured. “Should not someone stay with him?”
    “No, he chafes so at company.” Then, reading my expression, she patted my shoulder. “You are good to think of him, but truly, there is no danger. Those who talk of doing themselves harm never actually execute their threats. It is nothing but words, a way to win our notice. Probably he feels I have been neglecting him for Claude, and this is his revenge on me.”
    “I hope that is all it is, ma’am.” I was far from convinced that the duke was safe from himself, but as I was unable to set eyes on him most of the time, let alone stand guard over his wanderings, there seemed to be little point in continuing to worry. After all, the duchess was his mother, I told myself; she should know her own son’s heart.
    “Now, that is enough of that,” she said briskly, pulling on her gloves. “Such a glorious day is not meant for so serious a subject. We must find something diverting for you. Will you come riding with Claude