“Who would not? She is as beautiful as she is charming.”
“Isn’t she? And delightfully accomplished.”
His gaze came back to Lady Whitmore. “Accomplished? Meaning she is a lady and not a professional performer? I had gathered as much.”
She nodded. “Then I know I may count on you to act accordingly as a gentleman.”
He allowed a hint of haughtiness into his expression. “I trust you have never heard I acted in any other way.”
To his surprise, his rebuke only softened her eyes. “Why, how like your father you are.”
He blinked. “You knew my father?”
“In a different age, a different life.”
“Then it is for his sake you give me permission to dig?”
“Oh, no. Merely my own curiosity.”
Exactly what kind of digging she referred to could be taken one of two ways at the moment—dig into the details of her past and find what kind of relationship she had with his father or the archaeological type. He smiled warmly at her, liking her more each time he talked with her.
In fact, his whole experience at Whitmore had been rather pleasant. And not just because of his hostess or even the beautiful Sarah—there was something charming, almost magical about this place. Maybe the salt air and sea settled him more than he knew. Or perhaps he had visited this part of the country as a boy and simply did not recall it. Regardless, a comforting familiarity had settled about him since his arrival—even his sleep had improved.
“Where did your thoughts wander to just now?” she asked.
“Excuse me?” He snapped back to the present.
“You seemed preoccupied with something of importance, Your Grace,” Lady Whitmore observed. “I must apologize, I am an overly curious type.”
“There is no need for apology. I feel as if I have been here before, perhaps met you or even Miss Sarah.”
Once again, his hostess’s expression softened, sadness in her eyes. “You would not be the first to claim such a thing. Whitmore is a special place to all who visit, I think.”
He nodded. “The air is superb, and the women…” He glanced toward Sarah, then back to Lady Whitmore. “Beautiful.”
“You are flattering us, Your Grace.”
“No, I am not the sort to pay a compliment where it is not deserved. I can honestly say, I almost envy your informal life here. It appeals to me more than you know.”
She placed her right hand over her heart. “Please know, you are welcome to stay here as long as you wish.”
“I deeply appreciate your hospitality, Lady Whitmore. And I may very well accept your offer until I can find a suitable place to purchase in the area.”
She looked surprised by his declaration. “You wish to buy land here?”
“I wish to buy a small estate if there is one to be had.”
She cleared her throat, almost struggling to find words. “I own most of the land and cottages around Whitmore, even the village. But there are farms and several minor estates to the west and north of the village.”
“Perhaps once the exhibition is over, we could find the time to discuss the possibility of you selling some of that land to me?”
Before Lady Whitmore could answer, the double doors to the drawing room were rudely thrown open, and Signor Arcadi swept into the room, followed by several servants looking horrified.
“Forgive me, Madam…” the butler began, but his mistress patted his arm affectionately.
“It is not your fault—no one can control Arcadi, no one.”
“Do I require a leash, Lady Whitmore?” the arrogant man asked, staring at her. “I find my schedule has been completely undone. How can I possibly train a future…” He halted and his eyes narrowed on Leonard. “There…the very cause of my fury!”
Leonard took a deep breath, knowing he must handle the celebrated artist with care. However, he would not tolerate disrespect of any kind, not toward himself or Lady Whitmore. “Signor Arcadi, how may I assist you?”
“That is a dangerous question, sir!”
Leonard chuckled lightly. “It is a simple question that you are free to answer without reprisal.”
The man smirked. “Leave this house. In fact, leave Whitmore. That would satisfy me and return balance to my life.” He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for the duke’s reply.
“Signor Arcadi,” Lady Whitmore sat up, her shoulders suddenly tense. “The Duke of Vexen is an honored guest and will be going nowhere. I insist you learn to get along with my guests or perhaps I will have to…”
The artist threw his hands up, turned his attention to Miss Sarah and Mr. James, and then stalked over to where they sat together. “It seems I cannot take my eyes off of you!”
“Whatever do you mean?” Sarah asked, obviously upset by the tone Arcadi had taken with her.
“First the duke, and now this man. Are you here to sing, Miss Sarah, or to snare a husband?”
Leonard gritted his teeth, moving closer to the edge of the settee.
“No.” Lady Whitmore squeezed his hand. “Let this play out naturally, please.”
With a nod of compliance, he tried to relax again.
“That is an impertinent question,” Sarah said. “After all the weeks I have spent with you preparing for tomorrow, I would think…”
Arcadi clapped his hands loudly, interrupting her. “Then you shall sing!” he commanded.
“Yes, I know, tomorrow evening.”
“No.” He pointed at the pianoforte in the corner of the well-appointed drawing room. “Now.” He stormed over to it, pulled the bench out, and dropped onto the cushioned seat, cracking his knuckles and positioning his fingers over the keys.
The moment his fingertips made contact with the instrument, the heavy mood in the room lifted, and poetry of sound, soothing and hauntingly beautiful, tamed the beast inside Leonard. He looked about the room, noticing the same effect it had on everyone. That was why such an ill-tempered man would be tolerated in any setting, his talent overshadowed his poor manners.
Even Sarah had seemed to be transformed, her features serene as she approached the pianoforte, though Leonard swore her hands were trembling as she clasped them in front of her.
“What will she sing for us?” he whispered to Lady Whitmore.
“I am sure one of the pieces selected for her performance tomorrow.”
“One would think her master would wish her to rest the night before such an important event.”
“One would think,” she agreed as she gazed in the direction of Sarah.
The music lightened, and Sarah opened her delectable mouth, and the first line of Robin Adair lit the duke on fire with admiration and lust. Miss Sarah could charm the paper off the walls if she so chose.
Upon singing the second chorus of the beloved song, something swift and painful slammed Leonard in the chest. Realization… What a fool he had been, blinded by feminine beauty, outwitted by a girl who had once thrown apples at him, smacking not only his carriage, but his head—several times. This time, he could not control himself and shot up from the settee, suddenly an empowered predator, lurking along the perimeter of the room.
Miss Sarah could not hide her true identity from him any longer! And Lady Whitmore must know it, for she had gasped when he left his seat with such force. Yes, that hoyden could dress herself up in silk gowns and walk with grace as any fine lady would, but those eyes, that almost crooked smile that made her more tempting than any woman he had ever seen before, gave her away.