She took out her recorder and began to play. It was a perfect morning. With each tune she played, her heart seemed lighter. The round notes of the recorder echoed against the vastness of the countryside, floating up, carrying away her troubles and fears.
Valen heard Elizabeth long before he saw her, knowing the flute song must belong to her rather than a shepherd. There was a complexity to the melody that spoke of her, a frivolous string of notes followed by a melancholy turn that caused his own heart to ache in response. But as soon as the music touched him with despair, she altered the chords, replaying an airy, childlike cadence.
From the hilltop he spotted her and nudged Hercules down the rise. “Come on, boy. Care to have a look at the most bothersome female in all of Christendom?”
The big chestnut snorted and picked up his gait.
Izzie didn’t seem to notice their approach. The scattered trees and bushes lining the little stream must have obscured her view. Valen guided Hercules to an opening in the growth across the creek from her and sat listening as she played. Her toes dangled naked over the edge of a boulder, waggling in rhythm to her convoluted tune, a tune which ended abruptly when she finally spotted him.
Elizabeth glanced up from fingering her flute and nearly fell off the rock, startled. Across the creek, astride a huge red horse, Valen looked like an ancient raiding warlord. She realized, in that moment, what she had secretly known in her heart all along. He was quite possibly the most magnificent man on earth.
Small wonder he hid himself behind such ridiculous clothing. With his title and prospects, if he’d come to town dressed properly, every female in London would have lined up to bat their eyelashes at him. And it was only a matter of time before they all discovered what now seemed so abundantly evident to Elizabeth.
What a blind fool she’d been. Lord St. Evert would have his choice of females while she would be left with either a very rich mincing poet or a wealthy cherubic coxcomb. If only her situation were different.
She wondered if St. Evert might have a large allowance granted from his father. Not large, she amended, an enormous allowance. Or perhaps there was a chance the income from his inheritance might suffice. A very small chance. Even so, how would she convince him that she suited? Little hope of either. He thought of her as a troublesome marmot. Elizabeth let the recorder drop into her pocket, the music in her soul evaporated.
Valen prodded his mount forward, splashed into the brook, picking the way carefully across the water and up the bank to her rock. He dismounted and stood beside her. “A fine morning, my lady.” He wore no hat and had on a rough cambric shirt with the sleeves rolled up over the muscles of his arms as if he were a tenant farmer just come in from the fields.
She nodded and tried to smile, but it wouldn’t work. She fought back an overpowering sense of loss. Must he stand so close? So wretchedly near and yet completely out of reach.
He jibed her. “Another of your bracing morning walks, I take it?”
She refused to take the bait and glanced over her shoulder toward the old keep. “I had thought I might climb up to the ruins. But I…”
“Got waylaid by the brook.”
“So it would seem.”
“Catching trout with your toes?” He ran his finger along the arch of her foot, sending a burst of sensation up into her belly and an embarrassing heat into her cheeks.
She tucked her feet up under the hem of her gown. “I saw a few, but I’m afraid they were far too swift for my toes.”
“Very wily trout in this brook. I used to fish at this very spot when I was a boy.” A lock of his hair had fallen loose and hung by his cheek, shining like amber in the sunlight. She ought not look at him.
She pressed her fingers against the granite, using the sharp little protrusions on the stone to distract her senses. “It must have been wonderful growing up in a place so beautiful as this.”
He glanced off into the distance and frowned. “It was quiet.”
“No brothers or sisters to make noise?”
He sat down on the rock beside her, propping his boots against the rough surface. Arms crossed, he still held the reins. “I didn’t realize you were a musician.”
“I expect there are a great many things you do not know about me, my lord. But you have not answered my question.”
“No. No brothers. No sisters.”
“A pity. The manor is so large. I can almost imagine the stone walls echoing with the sound of children playing at sword fights and hide-and-seek.”
“You have a vivid imagination. Aside from that, I did not live in the manor until I was much older.”
“Oh? In St. Evert village, then?”
“Hardly.” He chuckled, but not happily, almost as though she had made an annoying comment. “St. Evert, is, as you observed before, a lesser title. My grandfather portioned off the estate and sold it to local farmers. There remains a small independent village, the title, and a very meager income from one small farm. Nothing so generous as the thousand or two you had speculated on, my dear lady.”
Elizabeth said nothing but stared down at her hands folded in her lap. He had nothing in pocket. Which meant, of course, an alliance between them was impossible. She held back the telling sigh that fought to escape her throat. She would not think of it.
Valen slapped the ends of his reins against
