within the boundary of a deep bed. He stopped beside and a little behind her. Watched as she put out a hand, with her fingertips traced the engraving in the bronze face.
“Thank you for not mentioning my presence in Number 12 last night.” Her voice was low but clear; she kept her gaze on the sundial. “Or what happened on the path.”
She drew breath, lifted her head.
Before she could say more—tell him the kiss hadn’t meant anything, had been a silly mistake, or some similar nonsense he’d feel forced to prove wrong—he raised his hand, set one fingertip to her nape, and traced slowly, deliberately, down her spine, all the way down to below her waist.
Her breath caught, then she swung to face him, periwinkle blue eyes wide.
He trapped her gaze. “What happened last night, especially those moments on the path, is between you and me.”
When she continued to stare at him, searching his eyes, he elaborated, “Kissing you and telling anyone is not within my code, and definitely not my style.”
He saw the flash of reaction in her eyes, saw her consider asking, waspishly, just what his style was, but caution caught her tongue; she raised her head, haughtily inclined it as she looked away.
The moment was going to turn awkward, and he still hadn’t thought of any approach likely to deflect her from the burglaries. Casting about in his mind, he looked past her. And saw the house beyond the garden wall, the house next door, which also, like Number 12, shared a wall with Number 14.
“Who lives there?”
She glanced up, followed his gaze. “Old Miss Timmins.”
“She lives alone?”
“With a maid.”
He looked down into Leonora’s eyes; they were already filled with speculation. “I’d like to call on Miss Timmins. Will you introduce me?”
She was only too happy to do so. To leave the disconcerting moment in the garden—her thudding heart had yet to slow to its normal rhythm—and plunge instead into further investigations. By Trentham’s side.
Quite why she found his company so stimulating Leonora didn’t know. She wasn’t even sure she approved, or that her Aunt Mildred, let alone her Aunt Gertie, would either, if they knew. He was, after all, a military man. Young girls might have their heads turned by broad shoulders and a magnificent uniform, but ladies such as she were supposed to be too wise to fall victim to such gentlemen’s wiles. They were invariably second sons, or sons of second sons, looking to make their way in the world through an advantageous marriage…except Trentham was now an earl.
Inwardly, she frowned. Presumably that excused him from the general prohibition.
Regardless, as she walked briskly down the street beside him, her gloved hand on his sleeve, the sense of his strength engulfing her, the excitement of the hunt simmering in her veins, there was no question in her mind but that she felt immeasurably more alive when with him.
When she’d heard he’d called, she’d panicked. She’d felt sure he had come to complain of her infraction in going into Number 12 last night. And possibly, even worse, to mention—in whatever manner—their indiscretion on the path. Instead, he’d made not the slightest allusion to her part in the night’s activities; even though she was sure he’d sensed her agitation, he’d said and done nothing to tease her.
She’d expected a lot worse from a military man.
Reaching the gate of Number 16, Trentham swung it wide, and they went through, walking up the path and climbing the steps to the small front porch side by side. She pulled the bell, heard it ring deep within the house, smaller than Number 14, a terrace similar in style to Number 12.
Footsteps pattered, approaching, then came the sound of bolts being drawn back. The door opened a little way; a sweet-faced maid peeped out.
Leonora smiled. “Good morning, Daisy. I know it’s a trifle early, but if Miss Timmins can spare a few minutes, we have a new neighbor, the Earl of Trentham, who’d like to make her acquaintance.”
Daisy’s eyes had grown round as she took in Trentham, standing blocking the sunlight at Leonora’s side. “Oh, yes, miss. I’m sure she’ll see you—she always likes to know what’s going on.” Opening the door fully, Daisy waved them in. “If you’ll wait in the morning room, I’ll tell her you’re here.”
Leonora led the way into the morning room and sat on the chaise.
Trentham didn’t sit. He paced. Prowled. Looking at the windows.
Examining the locks.
She frowned. “What—”
She broke off as Daisy hurried back in. “She says as she’ll be delighted to receive you.” She bobbed to Trentham. “If you’ll come this way, I’ll take you up to her.”
They climbed the stairs, following Daisy; Leonora was aware of the glances Trentham directed this way and that. If she didn’t know better, she’d think
“Oh.” Halting at the top of the stairs, she swung to face him. Whispered, “Do you think the burglar might try here next?”
He frowned, waved her on. With Daisy sailing ahead, she had to turn and hurry to catch up. Trentham merely lengthened his stride. With him on her heels, she glided into Miss Timmins’s drawing room.
“Leonora, my dear.” Miss Timmins’s voice quavered. “How sweet of you to call.”
Miss Timmins was old and frail and rarely ventured outside. Leonora often called; over the past year, she’d noticed the brightness in Miss Timmins’s soft blue eyes fading, as if a flame were burning low.
Smiling in return, she pressed Miss Timmins’s claw-like hand, then stepped back. “I’ve brought the Earl of Trentham to call. He and some friends have bought the house beyond ours, Number 12.”
Gently vague, her prim grey curls neatly brushed and dressed, her pearls looped about her throat, Miss Timmins shyly gave Trentham her hand. Nervously murmured a greeting.
Trentham bowed. “How do you do, Miss Timmins. I hope you’ve been keeping well through these cold months?”
Miss Timmins flustered, but still clung to Trentham’s hand. “Yes, indeed.” She seemed caught by his eyes. After a moment, she ventured, “It’s been such a shocking winter.”
“More sleet than usual, certainly.” Trentham smiled, all charm. “May we sit?”
“Oh! Yes, of course. Please do.” Miss Timmins leaned forward. “I heard you’re a military man, my lord. Tell me, were you at Waterloo?”
Leonora sank into a chair and watched, amazed, as Trentham—a self-confessed military man—charmed old Miss Timmins, who wasn’t, generally, comfortable with men. Yet Trentham seemed to know just what to say, just what an old lady thought appropriate to talk about. Just what snippets of gossip she’d like to hear.
Daisy brought tea; as she sipped, Leonora cynically wondered just what goal Trentham was pursuing.
Her answer came when he set down his cup and assumed a more serious mien. “Actually, I had a purpose in calling beyond the pleasure of meeting you, ma’am.” He caught Miss Timmins’s gaze. “There have been a number of incidents in the street lately, of burglars trying to gain entry.”
“Oh, dear me!” Miss Timmins rattled her cup onto its saucer. “I must tell Daisy to be doubly sure she locks every door.”
“As to that, I wonder if you would mind if I look around the ground floor and belowstairs, to make sure there’s no easy way inside? I would sleep much more soundly if I knew your house, with only you and Daisy here, was secure.”
Miss Timmins blinked, then beamed at him. “Why, of course, dear. So thoughtful of you.”
After a few more comments of a more general nature, Trentham rose. Leonora rose, too. They took their leave, with Miss Timmins instructing Daisy that his-lordship-the-earl would be looking around the house to make sure all was safe.
Daisy beamed, too.
In parting, Trentham assured Miss Timmins that should he discover any less than adequate lock, he would take care of its replacement—she wasn’t to bother her head.
From the look in Miss Timmins’s old eyes as she pressed his hand in farewell, his-lordship-the-earl had made a conquest.
