Page 1 of The Masked Baron
Chapter 1
Corbridge, England, 1813
Andalin stared at the sketchof the Dark Rider. Papa had bought it for five pence on one of his trips and pinned it to the shelf of their small lending library. All those who frequented their shop stopped and commented on the crude image of the infamous baron turned highwayman. Andalin memorized all the tidbits they shared. Then the customers left like always, on to exciting places Andalin could only dream about.
She picked up her duster, knowing work still needed to be done, and trailed it along the few ribbons and things purchased from a haberdashery at the nearby market town only to be resold here. Various sizes of salt-glazed vases lined one wall, opposite the odds and ends. Instead of giving her pride in Papa’s trade, they seemed to press against her, trapping her in the small room for yet another day.
Andalin’s senses dulled, and her mind wandered to the stories of the Dark Rider. The man terrorized the villages of Northumberland, so she should certainly be grateful Corbridge had been spared thus far. She imagined the Dark Rider storming Papa’s shop and stealing her away, only for a rich duke to swoop in and rescue her. Of course, love would spiral from the heroic act, but the greater good would surely be in saving Papa from insolvency.
A heavy sigh escaped her lungs, only to catch on her lips when a shadow passed outside the door. It was silly for her to jump to conclusions, but suddenly she wished Mr. Young, Papa’s elderly assistant, was not absent—especially with Papa out peddling his wares in a nearby town.
The door swung open, and Mr. Crow sauntered in. He was not as intimidating as the Dark Rider was presumed to be, but Mr. Crow carried an air of domineering importance. Andalin was never easy in his presence.
“Good afternoon,” Mr. Crow said, dipping his head as if she were some great lady. He wore his new suit, she noticed—one of several he’d gone all the way to London to have made and fitted. He looked the part of a real gentleman, and despite what others whispered about him, he acted the part too.
She released her pent-up breath, but her muscles remained tense. “Is there anything in particular you came to purchase, sir?”
“I’m here for a pleasure call,” Mr. Crow said, oblivious to Andalin’s wary posture.
In the back of her mind she heard the voices of her neighbors contradicting Papa’s opinions and urging her to encourage Mr. Crow’s attentions. “Oh?”
“You must have heard I’ve a second carriage now, Miss Durante. My pub here and my new inn in Tyndale are thriving.”
“Yes, I heard.” Andalin busied herself with dusting again, intrigued despite her better judgment. Mr. Crow was tall, broad, and generally considered handsome. He wore his wavy curls combed forward, with long sideburns, in the Titus fashion he said was all the rage amongst high Society.
Mr. Crow cleared his throat and checked the door again to ensure they were alone. “I’m looking to buy an estate, and I need a wife to help me maneuver through the social circles. I could have anyone, anyone at all. Do you take my meaning?”
Andalin’s heart pounded both from nerves and disbelief, but she kept her face impassive. “You require a wife.”
“Yes.” Mr. Crow’s lips curled with pleasure. “I am a generous man, willing to condescend for the right woman. Miss Durante, I’d like to offer for your hand.”
Andalin lowered her gaze and fingered the handle on her feather duster. She did not love Mr. Crow, but he was the most important man she knew, and he flattered her vanity. Marrying him meant a life outside the store and a new world of possibilities. If she wanted to leave the store, marriage seemed the only solution. “My father would not like it.”
“Your father is an imbecile.”
Andalin could not hold back her annoyance. “My father is nothing of the sort.” Papa always cautioned her to hold her tongue, but surely she must defend his name. “He doesn’t care for you, and that is all.”
“Forget him. I will speak to him. I only wanted you to adjust to the idea before our wedding.”
She did not like how he assumed there would be a wedding. At the same time, she could hardly believe he would choose her for his wife. Indeed, if the thought did not turn her stomach, she might consider it. “You don’t want me. I am a lowly tradesman’s daughter, a nothing in this world.”
“That may be true now, but Ishallhave you.” His tone changed from persuasive to forceful. “You are too refined for this life, and I shall show you off as the prize you were meant to be. I will buy you gowns and jewels, and every man will look at me with envy.”
Andalin took a step back against several bolts of cloth. Mr. Crow’s eyes gleamed with insatiable hunger. Entertaining any thought of accepting such a proposal now seemed ludicrous. She remembered Mr. Young saying he would return from his deliveries before dinner, but that was a few hours away yet. Mrs. Young usually looked in on Andalin, but the woman was feeling poorly today. To be alone with Mr. Crow now seemed as formidable as any highwayman.
Mr. Crow closed the gap between them and then lifted his large hand to her face. She held her breath as he ran his thick fingers against her cheek. “Soon, my little dove, I will take you away from all of this.”
***
Greenhead Village, Northumberland, England
Ellison watched from his place on the main floor through an open window smeared with dust as Hezekiah Durante rode up to Thirlwall Castle. The middle-aged man wore plain clothes rumpled from travel, and the hair beneath his hat was peppered with gray. He tied up his horse and lifted his hand to knock when the rotting door of Thirlwall swung in on its own. Ellison’s lips twitched in humor.
Lord Kerrigan’s generosity in temporarily extending the use of his castle did not include the upkeep of the place. Apparently, his friend possessed too many holdings to oversee all of them with equal attention. Traces of vermin and decaying masonry testified that a vacant house never fared well. Even Ellison’s own neglected home, Braitwood Hall, had not fallen into such extensive disrepair. However, he would not complain about the conditions of Thirlwall Castle when it provided the ideal secluded meeting place.
Ellison closed the glass pane and made his way to his guest. He’d spent many years tracking down Mr. Durante, and finally he would have answers. He noiselessly stepped into the foyer, startling the poor tradesman when he turned and saw Ellison.
Mr. Durante’s eyes widened. “The Dark Rider,” he said breathlessly.
