Page 38 of A Season for Scandal

Green.

I had never seen such green. I was in the middle of the tumbling landscape, a lush covering of ferns and starry, purple heathers punctuated with rugged trees, the unmoving guardians of centuries. Peaks rose and fell, the scene undulating under the endless blue sky, and I could see for miles. Everywhere I looked was wild, untamed.

I only stood, utterly still, as if I could grow roots myself, as if – if I willed it hard enough – I could become a part of it all.

It was a dream. It wasliterallythe stuff of my dreams, making me feel as though I knew this place, as though I had been here before. I felt my lips part, my eyes filled with unexpected tears.

A presence appeared at my elbow, and I blinked up at Oliver. Without a word, he handed me his handkerchief.

Ruefully, I wiped at my cheeks where the tears spilled over. “I really don’t cry all the time,” I quavered.

He gave a huff of disbelief. “All evidence to the contrary, Bloom.”

I started at the casual use of my last name, without the “Miss” attached. It felt right coming from him – gruff and not quite polite. Not precisely warm but almost … friendly.

“It’s so beautiful,” I managed, steadying my voice and holding out the handkerchief. “I’ve never seen anywhere so beautiful before.”

“Keep it,” Oliver said. “You seem to need one often enough.”

“Thank you,” I said, tucking it into the sleeve of my dress.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

Reluctantly, I nodded, and he helped me back into the carriage. As we drove away, I skimmed my fingers along the end of my sleeve, brushing the edge of his handkerchief, curiously thrilled by the knowledge it was there.

We continued for another hour or so, perhaps longer; I couldn’t tell you exactly, because I was too busy gorging on the scenery. It was a landscape you would never tire of – and it went on formiles.

“We’re almost there,” Oliver said finally, his voice breaking the quiet. Leaning over me, he pointed up to where the road climbed to the right. As we rounded a bend, I gasped again.

“That … that’s yourhouse?” I choked.

Oliver tugged at his collar, eyes flashing. “Yes,” he said shortly.

I lifted my brows at him. “I thought you said it wasn’t a castle?”

“It’s not a castle,” Oliver said stubbornly. “It’s a hall. Lockhart Hall.”

“Lockhart,” I leaned towards him, close enough that I could see the almost black rim around his dark irises, and I pointed out of the window. “Thatis a castle.”

And it was. Perched high on a jutting stone cliff that tumbled dramatically away on one side, it looked like the sort of castle that a demon king might inhabit. There were turrets twisting into the sky, for goodness’ sake! And a thousand windows cut into the dark stone. It looked as though it should have banners flying, men in suits of armour stomping around, perhaps a dragon or two breathing fire to ward off inquisitive villagers.

I had thought Mrs Finch was exaggerating about the drawbridge, but there really was one of those too. It was lowered over a stream that ran a steep drop below the front gate. I supposed that when the drawbridge was raised, the house was an island to itself, completely isolated. From what I knew of Oliver Lockhart’s character, that was probably just how he liked it.

We clattered across the drawbridge, and through the gate in the surrounding high stone wall that led to a small courtyard.

“These walls,” I said, looking up at them. “This place was some sort of fortress?”

Oliver made a hum of agreement. “Those narrow cuts in the stone are arrow slits; archers could stand behind them and shoot at unwanted guests.”

“How often have you used them onyourunwanted guests?” I asked with a smirk.

“I haven’t yet. But I have certainly been tempted.”

“Speaking of whom,” Mrs Finch murmured, and I realized that she was not distracted by the Gothic monstrosity in which we found ourselves – she had her eyes firmly on the three people stepping out of the shadowed doorway instead.

In an instant, I felt myself on edge. I was reminded, forcibly, of the reason we were here.

“Are you ready?” Oliver asked me, his mouth set in a grim line.