Harlow ran to the fence and looked, then came back with a dismissive look on his face. “I only saw a groom carrying a bucket of oats to the carriage horses, Clara,” he said, gripping the back of Lilian’s chair.
Lilian was propelled into the house with her hands in her lap but her head in the clouds. She was unsure what had just happened, except that she had agreed to put her heart at risk. Her heart was bursting with more hope than she had felt in a year.
A few minutes later, a short, moustached man stepped out from behind the mews of Avalon House and walked back towards the road where his dappled grey horse waited.
Chapter 10
Guilt assailed him as he rode home. Harlow suspected Lilian could be in danger, but it was only an instinctive sense. He had no evidence. There had been no threats, but he trusted his gut. Staying near her was not an obligation; he wanted to stay near her. She made him laugh and she challenged him with her wit and interest in any topic, and her willingness to listen and hear past the spoken word. Then there was that kiss… Harlow touched his lips and could have sworn the feel of her still lingered on his lips. Her lips were soft, and her rose-water scent had imprinted itself in his mind.
Aware he could not share his commission with anyone, Harlow tried to think of every way he could keep his activities secret and still protect Lady Lilian and her family. He thought of her father. Lord Avalon should be informed of any progress. He would provide that when they arrived in Tintagel. Harlow wanted to believe that Tintagel was a safe distance, but the smugglers he was after had proven their hearts to be black and he would not leave Lilian’s safety to chance.
Harlow arrived at his town house and handed his horse’s reins to his groom. Intent on getting to his study, he ran to the front door, nearly knocking down Fitz, his butler.
“My lord,” Fitz pronounced in stringent tones as he stepped aside, “I trust your afternoon was tolerable.”
“It was pleasant enough.” Fitz must be losing his hearing. His tone was more like a bellow than a calm remark. The corpulent retainer had been with the family as long as Harlow could remember.
“Very good, my lord. Lord Worsley awaits you in the study,” the stout, balding man piercingly declared to his back.
“Thank you, Fitz.” Harlow handed his hat, gloves and cane to the butler and headed down the dark-panelled hall to the open doorway of his study, which was still filled with the early morning sunshine.
The servant accompanied Harlow to his sanctum. “That will be all, Fitz.”
“Of course, my lord.” The older man bowed and closed the doors to the study behind him.
“I had just gotten in the door when I heard you arrive, riding like the hounds of hell were upon you.” Max discarded his waistcoat to the chair beside him and made himself more comfortable. “You still seem out of sorts. I took the liberty of pouring you a whisky. Your cook waited upon me soon after I arrived and said she has orders to serve a nuncheon in here. It seems convenient because I believe we have a great deal to discuss.”
“I need do nothing; my household functions without me,” Harlow mused aloud. “You make an exceeding efficient housekeeper, my friend.” He downed the brandy in a single gulp and threw himself into a chair. “In case you are wondering, I did it,” he said, putting down the glass which, by some miracle, had survived intact.
“Did it? I do not understand the significance of ‘it’.” Max emphasized the last word. “You would rather I not have a brandy awaiting your arrival?” He gave a sardonic smile and took another sip from his own glass.
“Of course, I want a brandy waiting for me.” Harlow laughed nervously. “I told her about my dreams.” He rose and poured himself another brandy.
“Did she leave the room and hide?” Max chuckled caustically.
“It is hard to comprehend. However, she did not leave. I almost ran. I have feelings for her, yet I am not sure I can marry. The worst about all of this, is I believe our initial inquiries made in her community may have accidentally rendered her the target for a bullet meant for one of us. Her whole life was destroyed that day.” Harlow choked on the pain and fear that flooded his being as he spoke.
“That is something I had not considered before. It is a lot of guilt you are carrying on your shoulders, my friend,” Max remarked soberly.
Harlow nodded and walked to the fireplace, which stood between two ceiling-high spans of shelving and dominated the wall. Leaning his head against the wooden mantel, he looked down at his feet.
“It has weighed on me all year. Now, to see her confined to a wheel-chair…it renewed the burden—brought back all that happened.”
“Are you seeing her because of the guilt?” Max’s tone was harsh.
“No! Of course not.” A flash of temper hit his eyes. “There is something special about her. She has no guile. Lilian ushers light into what is a very dark world, especially given the amount of death we have seen.” He kept his head down this time and nursed his whisky, unwilling to allow Max to read his face again—because he had lied…a little. The truth was, at least at first, he had wanted to meet her out of guilt. The rest, however, was honest. I have feelings. I just did not understand them. It is like nothing I have experienced before; a lightness of the heart.
“Do you feel Lord Avalon holds you responsible? He knows of our commission.” Max’s tone was critical.
“No.
