midnight can lecture me on propriety.”
“I wasna lecturing ye on propriety, but safety.”
“Then what about the foyer?”
“A man o’ honor pays his debts.”
“And . . .” Something seemed to be caught in her throat. “The crimes?”
His horse scraped a hoof. A carriage rattled by. The sun tried to peek out from a cloud then lost courage and inched behind it again.
“I killed a man,” he finally said.
This had not been part of Teresa’s fantasy of the handsome Highlander.
“Was it a duel?”
“No.”
“An accident?”
“Cold bluid.” He seemed to study her. “Nou will ye cancel the wager, lass?”
“Why did you kill him?”
“Does it matter?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“I admire yer honesty.”
“You admire one thing about me and it is my
“’Tis no the anly thing aboot ye I admire.”
A hesitant smile shaped her pretty lips that Duncan hadn’t stopped thinking about in a sennight since he’d had them at his command.
“What else do you admire?” she asked.
“That ye dinna tolerate the unkindnesses others show ma sisters.”
Her eyes widened.
“An I admire yer courage.”
“Courage?”
“An yer brazen cheek.”
“
“An hou ye pretend yer doing this all for yerself when ’tis clear ye thrive on helping others.”
“I am doing it for myself.”
“An I already told ye I admire the lips I kissed in that foyer.”
Her eyes took on a slightly confused, sultry luster. “And I already told you that you may kiss them again if you wish. But despite your pretty words I don’t think you do.”
“Aye, I do.”
For a moment she did not speak. Then: “I don’t trust you.”
A weight seemed to press upon his chest. “Years ago a blackguard enticed ma sister Miranda from home wi’ fine promises, forced her into foul service in Lunnon, then left her on the street to die. That was the man I killed.”
Her throat jerked. “I am sorry,” she said softly. “More sorry for you than I can express.” Then with an air of firm decision, she stepped away from him.
“Come to the picnic tomorrow, my lord. If you are very well behaved I will let you again kiss these lips that you so admire.” She set off, striding down the walkway alone, her coppery locks shimmering beneath her bonnet, leaving him bemused and wanting more.
He put his horse into a lad’s keeping and went after her. Her eyes were wide when he took her hand and laid it upon his arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Escorting ye to wherever it is yer going.”
“Is this only about your concern over my safety?”
“Aye,” he lied. “’Tis anly that.”
8
Friday dawned bright and clear, ideal for the picnic. Four carriages were loaded with Eads ladies, servants, and baskets of savories and sweets prepared by Diantha’s cook. The gentleman rode alongside.
Ascot Manor, the estate of retired naval commander George Finch-Ascot, sat at the end of a spectacularly long drive miles outside of London. Its extensive grounds included a collection of Greek and Roman sculptures, vast gardens, and several famous hothouses.
Admiral and Mrs. Finch-Ascot were not in residence, the housekeeper informed them. But in his absence the admiral extended a warm welcome to his cousin and her friends, and begged them to enjoy the park at their leisure.
A suitable spot for a picnic was agreed upon and the ladies set to laying out blankets and baskets.
Teresa chatted with everyone, and she studied Una for signs of interest in Toby’s friends from the War Office. But she could not eat a morsel. Since the earl had escorted her to her brother’s apartment building the previous day her stomach had been tied in knots. They had spoken nothing more of his violent and tragic past, instead mostly of Harrows Court Crossing and his sisters.
She knew so little of him, all of it confusing, yet when he bid her adieu with a proper bow she only wanted to ask him to remain with her, to stretch the moments into hours and make it last.
He laughed at her quips and tales as though he understood them. He said he thought she was mad but he never actually treated her as though she were a curiosity merely to be tolerated. Except for his regular offers to end the wager prematurely, he gave her no sign of disliking her company.
She was more than halfway to falling in love with a man with a dark past who would never marry her.
Admiral Finch-Ascot’s gardener appeared and offered a tour of the park’s cultivated beds and impressive statuary. Teresa went gladly; she needed a moment away from the earl to order her feelings.
Her brother and Lady Una walked together. As the gardener led them about, every so often Una would lift her face and speak quietly to Tobias. For an hour he did not leave her side.
Teresa was standing at the back of the group, brow furrowed as she stared at Una and Tobias and considered what it might take in the next two hours to lead them to a secluded place and abandon them there, when a man’s large hand covered her behind.
She gasped. But she knew whose hand it was, and she did not move.
“What are you doing?” she whispered nonsensically because she knew perfectly well what he was doing.
His hand slipped away. “Stroll wi’ me,” he said in that deep, slightly rough brogue that made her liquid inside.
They left the group and followed a path that meandered toward a hothouse. When they were well away from the group she could bear the suspense no longer. She snatched open the hothouse door, poked her head in, and beckoned to him. He followed her inside and closed the door in an oddly pensive manner. Then he walked to her amidst exotic blooms and broad-fingered fig leaves.
“Did you do that because of our wager or because you especially wanted to?” she said.
He offered her a roguish grin.
“Who is betrothed?” she asked.
“It seems ma sister Lily has a fancy to bake cakes.”
“Wishing to bake cakes does not make her betrothed to be married, my lord.”
“Her bridegroom says otherwise. This morn he signed a contract to purchase a bakery for her.”
