Page 566 of Flirting with Darkness

Did the old man truly intend to acknowledge him as a son?

Did he expect Ghost to embrace his offer with gratitude and slavish devotion?

Or had he perhaps similar designs as Ghost? Would the Count draw him into his spider’s web for the purpose of killing him? Perhaps en route, brigands would jump the carriage, slaughtering himandthe servant before Ghost could cross his castle threshold.

The question sparked his curiosity, most certainly.

Fingering the end of the ivory-handled cane, and glancing back over his shoulder where two porters had already begun lugging his trunk out the narrow door of the first-class carriage, Ghost pretended to think about the servant’s words.

There really was only one answer to the posed question, however.

He was in this for resolution.

He would not back down now.

He was all the way in.

“Well, then.” Ghost cleared his throat. “That does change things, I suppose.”

He turned away from the porters carrying his luggage.

He casually faced the servant who still gripped the hand-lettered sign with white-knuckled hands. Ghost smiled at the man and his furred hat. He noted the shock still swimming through those wide, dark eyes.

“…I suppose we mustn’t keep the old man waiting,” Ghost finished, his voice light. “Not if he is brimming with affection at the thought of my arrival.” He paused, glancing around. “Is your carriage near here? How shall I instruct the porters?”

Relief flushed comically over that broad, ruddy face.

Turning, the Count’s servant whistled to the train’s porters. He lowered the sign at last as he indicated for them to follow him. Once the two porters got near enough, he also spoke to them rapidly in Russian.

Ghost strolled along beside the little man with the long, dark beard.

They didn’t exchange another word until they reached the carriage.

“Your sister is in the back, m’lord,” the man blurted then.

That stopped Ghost for real.

“Sister?”

The bearded man hesitated. “Your father thought you might prefer the company for the ride. He was, unfortunately, unable to get away himself.”

“I have a sister here? With you? In this carriage?”

The man nodded once, even as he began to help the porters load Ghost’s luggage onto the top rack of their transport.

“She volunteered,” the servant added. “She wished to meet you, m’lord.”

“But not enough to walk all the way to the platform, apparently,” Ghost muttered to himself.

Perhaps she was some wilting flower who might succumb to exposure in the elements.

Or perhaps she would be his assassin on the ride to the estate.

Ghost was quite sure it wouldn’t be this strange little man with the pot belly and the carefully oiled beard and mustache.

Without another word, with scarcely a glance at the thickly curtained windows, Ghost unhooked the small, brass latch of the carriage door…

…and climbed nimbly inside.

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