Who Will Take This Man?

stairs, heading toward his bedchamber.

Philip escorted Miss Chilton-Grizedale to his waiting carriage, then settled himself on the velvet squabs directly across from her.

The instant the door clicked shut, Meredith questioned the wisdom of allowing Lord Greybourne to escort her home. Only hours earlier, this coach had seemed spacious. Now it felt as if the interior did not contain enough air to breathe. She had only to reach out her hand to touch him. Looking down, she noted that the bronze skirt of her gown brushed his breeches. It was difficult to see his features in the dim interior, but she felt the weight of his regard. The intimacy of this dark, close space sped up her heart in a way she found most disturbing. She closed her eyes, hoping to erase the image of him sitting just across from her, but there was no escaping the knowledge he was there. His masculine scent invaded her senses, that lovely aroma of freshly laundered clothing and sandalwood, mixed with a musky fragrance she couldn’t identify. He smelled like no other man, and she knew that even blind she could pick him out of a crowd of thousands.

“I thank you for your assistance this evening,” he said, his deep voice rising out of the dark shadows.

Opening her eyes, she forced a smile, hoping that the dim interior would keep him from noting just how forced it was. “You’re welcome; however, your sister deserves much of the credit. With my reputation in disfavor, the successful outcome of this dinner party would be dubious indeed. However, I am hopeful that we shall find you another bride as well suited to you as Lady Sarah was.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, Miss Chilton-Grizedale, but it is obvious that Lady Sarah and I were not well suited at all-at least she did not find me at all suitable. Or attractive in any way.”

“Lady Sarah was clearly daft.” Dear God, she had not meant to speak that thought out loud. Forcing her hands to remain folded on her lap as opposed to clamping them over her runaway lips, she stammered, “S-socially, you were suited in every way.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose we were. But when one’s heart is otherwise engaged, as Lady Sarah’s clearly was with Lord Weycroft, that muddies the waters.”

Relieved that he did not pursue her comment, Meredith raised her chin. “Actually, it does not muddy the waters at all, my lord. Lady Sarah’s affection for the baron would have faded with time once you and she were wed. It is simply a matter of mind over heart. The heart is willful and capricious. It does not know what is best, and, if listened to, will more often than not lead one toward an unwise path. The mind, however, is methodical and precise. Practical and sensible. When the heart and mind are at odds, one should always listen to the mind.”

“Such a pragmatic, unromantic statement from a woman whose occupation it is to arrange marriages.”

“The successful arrangement of marriages has nothing to do with romance, my lord, as I’d think a man in your position would know. My understanding of that concept is what has enabled me to be successful in my matchmaking endeavors. The advantageous combining of estates, political aspirations, families, and titles is what is important. Couples can develop a fondness for each other over time.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then they should strive for civility, with each pursuing their own interests.”

“My interests lie in studying antiquities. In learning about people and civilizations from other corners of the world. I plan to be very involved with displays at the British Museum, and it is my intention to found a museum of my own. For me to pursue those interests alone sounds very… isolated. Lonely. As was much of my work abroad. I would much prefer a partner with whom I could share all things.”

His deep voice wrapped around her like a cloak, seducing her with its warmth. She moistened her dry lips, and noted that his gaze flickered briefly down to her mouth. “Are you saying that you wish for me to make a love match for you? Because you must remember that due to your father’s illness, our time is limited.”

“According to Andrew, it does not take long to fall in love.”

She raised her brows. “He is an expert in such matters?”

“I don’t know that I would call him that, but he is in love with someone.”

They passed under a gas lamp, and Meredith saw he regarded her with a speculative expression. “You look disappointed at that news, Miss Chilton-Grizedale.”

“I am, Lord Greybourne.”

“May I inquire why?”

She raised her chin a notch. “I’d hoped to offer Mr. Stanton my services to find him a bride.”

For the space of half a dozen heartbeats, the only sound was the squeak of the carriage making its way slowly down the street. Then, to her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. Whatever she’d expected his reaction to be, it certainly hadn’t been amusement.

Annoyance flooded her, an emotion that actually pleased her. Good. Certainly I cannot find an annoying man attractive.

“I fail to see what is so amusing, my lord. Although it may not seem so to you, I assure you that prior to the debacle caused by your curse, my services as a matchmaker were highly sought after. Last year alone I arranged seven successful unions. The most notable of those, Miss Lydia Weymouth and Sir Percy Carmenster, was what convinced your father to seek out my services on your behalf.”

His laughter tapered off, and shaking his head, he said, “Forgive me. I was not laughing at you, dear lady. Indeed, I was laughing at myself. Laughing because your words made me happy.”

Meredith frowned. Happy? What had she said that could have possibly made him happy? She cast her mind back, but before she could reach an answer, he said, “With Andrew’s affections already spoken for, I’d say that means that you’ll simply have to devote all your attention to me.”

Unfortunately, Meredith did not think that devoting all her attention to Lord Greybourne would prove difficult.

And that scared her to death.

When Philip arrived back home, he was greeted by an empty foyer. “Hello?” he said, removing his hat.

A harrumph sounded behind him, startling him. Turning swiftly, he found himself facing Bakari. Damn, the man moved like a cat-silent and stealthy. It was a talent that had stood them in good stead during numerous adventures over the years-such as the time Bakari had furtively rescued Philip from that band of artifact thieves-but one that was quite disconcerting in the foyer.

Philip noted the man seemed a bit out of breath. “Is all well?”

Bakari grunted. “Dog.”

“Ah. I see.” Philip hid a smile. Apparently, under Bakari’s tutelage, the puppy, whom he’d yet to name, was recovering. Excellent.

The sound of footfalls upon the stairs drew Philip’s attention. Andrew, who still wore the same garments he’d worn to dinner, and whose face bore a slight sheen of perspiration as if he’d been exerting himself, joined them in the foyer.

Philip raised his brows. “I thought you’d retired-or are breeches, boots, and cutaway jackets a sleeping-wear fashion trend I’ve missed?”

“Not at all,” Andrew said. “I decided to wait until you arrived home, to see how your carriage ride with Miss Chilton-Grizedale went.” Tilting his head left, then right, he made a great show of studying Philip’s face. Then he shook his head. “Just as I suspected.”

“What?”

“Your time alone with her did not go as you wanted.”

“Meaning?”

“You did not kiss her.”

Bakari harrumphed.

Annoyance slithered down Philip’s spine. “First of all, how could you possibly know that, and secondly, why would you think I would do such a thing? Allow me to remind you that we are now in England-staid, proper, and all that. One simply does not go about kissing ladies. There are rules. Propriety.”

Andrew’s face was the picture of skepticism. “Since when are you such a stickler for rules and propriety? Need I remind you what happened the last time you strictly adhered to the rules?”