He bowed.
She inclined her head.
Since the porter was not present, he opened the front door for her.
She sailed past him, murmuring, “My thanks, sir. Good afternoon.”
“How fortunate that we leave together,” he observed. “I may now escort you to your destination.”
She glanced at him, and found her way. “But it does not appear to be fortunate at all, sir. You forgot your hat.”
“No, I didn’t. I chose to abandon it in favor of your company,”
“Then it was a foolish choice, sir, for I do not need to be escorted the few steps to my lodging.”
“I was not thinking of need but of pleasure.”
She allowed a hint of amusement into her eyes. “What pleasure could a lady take in the escort of an improperly dressed gentleman?”
His lips quirked. “Perhaps it depends on the gentleman. Do you know, you seem strangely familiar? I believe we have met before.”
“Really?” she said with polite boredom.
“My name is Vexen.”
“How do you do?”
“And you?” he prompted.
She stopped at the garden gate of the cottage she shared with Hammy, and smiled. “My name? Since you claim to know me, sir, you must know that, too. I thank you for your escort. Good day.”
As she turned away, she caught the gleam of appreciative laughter in his eyes, and knew with elation that she had at least caught his interest. But as she fumbled with the latch of the gate, he reached out and opened it for her. For an instant, his hand trapped hers, and it was she who could not breathe, for he stood too close.
He was taller than she remembered, more overwhelmingly physical. And when she cast a determinedly cool glance up at him, his smile was not boyish at all. If she had grown up, so had he.
He freed her hand and pushed open the gate.
“Thank you,” she murmured and walked up the path in some confusion. But I will win. I will bring you to your knees, even if only for a day.
***
There was something oddly familiar about the beautiful woman with the voice of an angel. Her eyes were the most compelling feature she possessed, a mix of sincerity and mischievousness, confidence and innocence. He watched her cross the threshold of the cottage, an older woman standing in the archway stared out at him. So, she was a proper lady—though it did not dissuade him from wanting to find out who she was, it did make it a bit inconvenient.
Undoubtedly, she would be singing at the musicale tomorrow evening. And for his part, he’d be seated in the front row next to his gracious hostess, Lady Whitmore.
Smiling to himself, he set off for the castle with a renewed vigor to discover the mysteries of the ancient structure and its mistress.
To his surprise, Mr. James met him halfway home.
“Is everything all right, Mr. James?”
“Yes, sir. But the news I carry is too exciting to keep from you another moment.”
The reason Mr. James and he got on so well was that the man had as much exuberance for history as he did, and it showed now in his disheveled appearance, sweat on his brow from rushing to find him.
“What news?”
“There is a burial ground—more precisely a mound, along the east side of the property, by the water.”
“How did you find out this information, Mr. James?”
“Lady Whitmore invited me for tea, and we discussed your interest in the arts and history. She seemed rather pleased about it and opened up her library to me, to us, Your Grace.”
“What else did you discover?”
“That the lady has given us her blessings to not only excavate the area as we see fit, but has offered to sell you whatever artifacts we recover at a flat rate.”
“Flat rate?” He would never take advantage of a lady. She obviously didn’t have any idea how much artifacts could be worth to the right collector or even the museums in London. “I do hope you thanked her for the generous offer but declined.”
“Declined which part, sir?”
“The fee.”
“Well…” Mr. James gazed at the ground and kicked at the dirt with the tip of his boot. “When I started to reject the offer…”
“She is a keen woman, is she not, Mr. James?”
“Incredibly so, Your Grace. Collected and calm, seems to rule this village with little effort, so much so, wherever I go, no one has an ill word for her. She seems to be the perfect mistress.”
“Indeed.” Leonard rubbed his chin. Everyone had a story to tell, secrets to hide. Especially those who appeared too perfect. “In any case, we will accept her offer to dig, but will settle a fair price once we find something of value, if we do at all.”
Mr. James smiled. “A Viking burial mound, Your Grace. Imagine what we shall find there.”
“I do not wish to disturb any bodies, for you know how I feel about that.”
“Yes, sir. I am well aware that Lord Ainsworth’s untimely death while investigating native burial grounds in America has left you a bit superstitious about curses.” The secretary tried to supress a grin but failed miserably.
“You find it amusing?”
“I find it rather endearing, Your Grace.”
“Endearing?” he uttered, revolted.
The secretary cleared his throat. “Allow me to correct my poor choice of word. Admirable.”
Admirable was an acceptable alternative to endearing. By God, he still had a pair of bollocks—leave endearing qualities to old women and children.
Mr. James reached into his jacket and produced a crudely, hand-drawn map. “This will direct us to the area where the burial mound is located.”
Leonard took the paper from him and looked it over, excitement firing his blood as it always did whenever opportunity presented itself. “Let us go, then, Mr. James.”
***
“What is it, Sarah?” Lady Whitmore called to her as she stared out the window, watching the gray waves crash over the boulders along the shoreline. That is how she felt at the moment, nervous and turmoil-stricken. The duke had turned her plan upside down. Just one wicked smile from the man had sent her running home like a frightened school girl.
Considering she usually had plenty to say, when she faced Lady Whitmore and couldn’t find the right words…
“The duke is a striking man, is he not?”
She nodded.
“I take it your reunion was lively?”
“He is a rake.”
Lady Whitmore arched a brow. “That is a rather serious accusation. You have not had a lot of exposure to the world of men, Sarah. Perhaps you mean arrogant or a notorious flirt but not a rake.”
“He invaded the practice room at the assembly rooms and caused Arcadi to get into quite a bad mood.”
Her hostess chuckled. “The wind could blow the wrong direction and that man would become agitated.”
Sarah smiled. Her teacher was the epitome of any successful artist—overly sensitive, demanding, and brilliant. “Yes, I suppose you are correct on all counts. But the duke not only ended my practice once Arcadi stormed out and left me alone, as I went to leave, I discovered His Grace waiting for me without his hat!”
“There is nothing worse than finding an improperly dressed duke waiting for you!”
Had she heard her hostess properly? Or was her mind playing tricks on her. Surely such a refined woman as Lady Whitmore would never refer to a man in any state of undress, especially to an unmarried girl. “Did you…”