by Lynn Kurland
Whether he liked it or not, the man had been born to wear hose.
She continued on her way, trying to decide what to do first. Peaches had left an hour earlier full of her own plans. Her sister could make friends out of potted plants, a talent Tess admired but had long ago resigned herself to never having. A fortuitous meeting with a London client, a gaggle of bosom friends made the night before, and a very long list of mesmerized men would keep Peaches busy far into the evening. That was wonderful for her sister, but it left Tess a bit at loose ends. She was quite sure Stephen would be well into Day Two of the assault on Lord Payneswick’s reticence. That left her either pursuing her own flatteries of the man, or looking for John. Since she didn’t imagine he would be far given his actions of the night before, she supposed she could just roam for a bit and eventually wind up with both.
She passed on a rowdy game of billiards, dismissed a serene roomful of stitchers, and settled for the library. There were women inside, so she supposed she wasn’t breaking any taboos. She didn’t dare hope that Lord Payneswick would keep anything of true interest out for public consumption, but she’d been surprised before. No sense in not having a good look on the off chance she was pleasantly surprised again.
She chose a random shelf and clasped her hands behind her back to study the titles there.
“Looking for anything in particular?”
Tess closed her eyes at the sound of that voice approximately three inches from her ear.
“Year Five and still no joy,” she managed. “Hope springs eternal, though, when it comes to original manuscripts.”
“Have you thought about just asking him?” John asked, leaning his shoulder against one of the bookcases and smiling gravely down at her. “Your credentials ought to at least get you a look at what he hides behind glass.”
“Stephen’s been trying for a decade without success.”
“You’re much prettier than he is.”
“You would think that would count for something, wouldn’t you?”
He wrapped one of the tendrils hanging down her neck very carefully around his finger, then let it slide away. “I’m convinced, even if Lord Payneswick isn’t.”
She laughed uncomfortably. “You’re daft.”
“Besotted, rather.”
“Sleep-deprived,” she countered, “especially since I imagine you didn’t sleep any last night.”
“Oh, I did,” he conceded. “When Lord Haulton threatened me with bodily harm.”
She looked into his lovely gray eyes and thought she just might have to find somewhere to sit down soon. something she should worry about. “I think you and Stephen have overactive imaginations.”
“More than likely,” he agreed, “and since that is the case, why don’t you allow me to be your escort for the day out of pity, not unease?”
“Are you going to watch me look for books all morning?” she asked politely.
“I can imagine much worse things,” he said seriously, “but I thought that since we are in this lovely little cottage with nothing but time on our hands, you might be interested in a little explore. If your shoes are up to the challenge, there is a very well-tended path through lovely gardens. Or,” he said casually, “I understand Lord Payneswick keeps several private chambers dedicated to particular time periods.”
She caught her breath. “Really?”
“Aye,” he said, his eyes beginning to twinkle. “I believe he’s out this morning on a pheasant hunt. We might have the morning at our disposal if we hurry.”
She was horribly torn. “We shouldn’t.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes, that I’ll be banned forever from his estate if we’re caught.”
He leaned closer to her. “I imagine he’ll be gone at least three hours. You could thumb through quite a few texts in three hours, don’t you think?”
She took a deep breath, then shoved the book she was holding back into its slot. If Pippa could brave the wilds of medieval England, she could venture a peek into Lord Payneswick’s private books. “Let’s go.”
John offered his arm and wasted no time escorting her from the library and down the hallway. She wasn’t sure she dared ask how he knew where he was going, but her curiosity got the better of her.
“Whom did you pay for the information?” she asked.
“I managed it all myself,” he said easily. “I pulled up his website on my mobile and looked to see if there might be anything he was particularly proud of. Imagine my surprise at finding that that was indeed the case. It would appear that an entire floor of one wing of his lovely country house is a veritable treasure trove of history.”
Considering how much history John had no doubt been gobsmacked by, she imagined his surprise was fairly extensive.
She also admired his technique of getting them past inquisitive staff and other guests. He might have been masquerading as a normal modern guy most of the time, but he could definitely pull out the lord’s son stops when necessary. After he looked down his autocratic nose at a final pair of lads dressed in regimentals and sent them on their way, curiosity unsatisfied, she had to laugh a little.
“You are as autocratic as Stephen.”
“It’s the cravat,” he said, sticking his finger between it and his neck and tugging uncomfortably. “Keeps me nose in the air, lassie, don’t ye see?”
She smiled, because the man was utterly charming. She didn’t even protest when he almost pulled her off her feet and hid with her behind a heavy curtain. He put his finger to his lips, then peeked around after the footsteps had passed.
“You’re going to get us thrown out,” she breathed.
“He has a harpsichord,” he whispered back, “and I daresay it isn’t a reproduction.”
“You’re going to get us thrown in jail.”
“Not today,” he said cheerfully, pulling aside the curtain and letting her duck under his arm.
“John,” she began, prepared to make one last stab at reason and caution, “I think—”
“Payneswick will be gone for the whole of the morning?” he finished. “I’m not convinced of that, but I think we’ll manage a couple of hours, at least.” He smiled. “If we’re caught, you dazzle them with your beauty and I’ll plead insanity. We’ll manage well enough.”
She wasn’t at all sure either would be enough, but John was already picking the lock with tools he had produced from somewhere upon his person. He made very quick work of it, which left her wondering just where he’d learned such a thing. He pocketed his tools, glanced at her, then froze.
“What?” he asked.
“You picked that lock,” she managed.
“I’ve a bad habit of locking my keys in the car,” he said as he opened the door. “Ah, Georgian from top to bottom.” He glanced at her. “Lovely, isn’t it?”
It was, which was just the distraction she needed from questions she probably didn’t want to have answered. She was tempted to ask him which of the eras he liked the best, but she was afraid she wouldn’t have been able to sound as casual about the question as she probably should have. She simply watched him hop over the rope that separated the room from the little vestibule where gawkers were no doubt contained, unsatisfied and tethered. He unhooked the velvet rope for her, then hooked it back into its brass stand. He looked around the chamber, then rubbed his hands together.
“What first?” he asked, his eyes bright with unwholesome excitement. “Books or music?”
“Whichever will be worth the humiliation of getting caught,” she said darkly.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Have you never done anything dangerous, my lady?”
“I’ve kept library books past their due dates,” she said defensively. “I’ve walked on the wild side.”
He laughed at her, then reached out and pulled her into his arms. He held her close for a moment, then took her face in his hands and kissed her on both cheeks.
“I won’t let him send you to jail. Go look around with your hands behind yo
ur back if you don’t want to leave any fingerprints.”
“And you?”
He flexed his fingers. “I’ll entertain you whilst you’re about your looking.”
She would have said she didn’t imagine that would calm the butterflies in her stomach, but she found she was wrong. He was only partway into a fugue before she found herself standing at the side of the quite lovely harpsichord, listening to him with her mouth hanging open. Apparently his unwholesome musical skills weren’t limited to guitar-like instruments. Tess found herself torn between looking at his unwholesomely handsome face and listening in astonishment to his remarkably fine Bach. She found that with enough effort, she could do both.
He looked up at her as he finished what he’d been dancing through, then froze. “Not good?”
“Is there anything you can’t play?” she asked.
“Things that blow, especially the pipes,” he said with a small smile. “The rest?” He shrugged. “It’s all rubbish, but I generally only torment myself with it, so I keep at it.”
It was almost out of her mouth to ask him why he didn’t play professionally—in any number of arenas, apparently—but she stopped herself just in time. He didn’t, because he didn’t want any more notoriety than he already likely had thanks to his studio work.
“What other eras do you specialize in?” she managed.
“I draw the line after Rachmaninoff,” he said, toying with snatches of other things. “It has to sound like music.” He looked up at her. “And you?”
“The same.” She listened to him a bit longer. “John?”
“Aye, love?”
“What would you do if you could do anything?” she asked, before she gave the question too much thought and didn’t dare ask it.
He shot her a look from under ridiculously long eyelashes. “I’m not sure you want to know the answer to that.”
“Is it illegal?”
He smiled, a little smile that left her smiling in return. “Nay, but it is decadent and involves you.”
“Cad.”
He only winked at her, then turned back to concentrating on what he was doing. Tess watched him until she thought she might rather like to have somewhere to sit. She looked around, then found she couldn’t move.
Lord Payneswick was standing just inside the door, watching them.
“John,” she managed faintly.
He looked up, then stopped. “Ah—”
Lord Payneswick waved him on, then stepped over his velvet rope and sat down gingerly in a chair. He beckoned for Tess to come sit across from him.
She went, because she thought humoring him might be a good idea.
She listened to John, who seemed to have dredged up a new level of commitment to his playing, and watched Lord Payneswick, who didn’t seem to be reaching for a phone to call the cops. Though she was tempted to make a few inroads into a relationship with him, she didn’t suppose the time was right to be asking him for any favors. Better that he continue enjoying hearing Bach on the appropriate instrument and hopefully forget that she and John had ventured where they shouldn’t have.
John played another pair of pieces, then stopped, dropped his hands in his lap, and turned to look at Lord Payneswick.
“My most abject apologies for trespassing.”
Lord Payneswick pursed his lips. “I might believe that, Mr. de Piaget, if I didn’t strongly suspect you were the sort who would pick the lock on any number of my other private salons to try your hand at whatever you might find there.”
John smiled a self-deprecating sort of smile that Tess found was inspiring her to forgive him for things he hadn’t done yet. She could only hope it would work on Lord Payneswick as well.
“Your instrument here is magnificent,” John said sincerely. “The temptation was too strong.”
Lord Payneswick looked at him sternly. “And the only reason you’re still sitting at it, old chum, is because Dave Thompson convinced me not to call the authorities.”
John took a deep breath. “Good of him.”
Tess found herself suddenly the object of Lord Payneswick’s scrutiny.
“I understand you’re a colleague of the Viscount Haulton,” he said sternly. “And the lady of Sedgwick.”
“Guilty on both accounts,” Tess admitted, holding out her hand and feeling quite grateful it wasn’t trembling. “Tess Alexander. My specialty is the Middle Ages.”
Lord Payneswick shook her hand with a gentleness that belied his fierce frowns. “I suppose you’ll now tell me that you share Lord Stephen’s interest in my medieval artifacts.”
Tess smiled. “I can’t deny that. Your collection is rumored to be extensive.”
Lord Payneswick pursed his lips. “I’m beginning to feel a bit like a fox in a thicket.” He looked at John. “I understand from Dave that you play the lute.”
Tess forced herself to maintain a neutral expression. If John admitted to that skill, she might actually get a look at what she’d been trying to drool over for years. But she wasn’t about to ask him to.
John met her eyes briefly, took a deep breath, then nodded at Lord Payneswick.
“If it means Dr. Alexander will have her look, I would be more than happy to play anything you like.”
Tess didn’t dare say anything. She imagined, however, that she was going to be humoring John in all sorts of herding activities as repayment.
Payneswick stood up and rubbed his hands together. “I’ll look forward, then, to a little concert after supper. If you two can keep yourselves out of trouble this afternoon. Let me start you on that path now, shall I?”
Tess thought it might be best to agree quickly, before he changed his mind. It occurred to her that it might have been better to get inside on her own merits, but she shoved that thought out of her mind as quickly as it had come. Not even Stephen, with his impressive academic credentials and a couple of titles to augment them, had managed to convince Payneswick to let him in. If they both had to hang on to John’s coattails to have what they wanted, so be it—and gratefully so.
Lord Payneswick showed them the door to the garden and advised them to use it. He looked at John before he walked away.
“Give her your jacket, lad, and show some chivalry.”
John shrugged out of his coat immediately and draped it around Tess’s shoulders. “Thank you, Your Lordship.”
Payneswick looked at them both, then pursed his lips as if he strove not to smile. “Incorrigible.”
Tess watched him walk off, shaking his head, then looked up at John. “That was close.”
He blew his hair out of his eyes. “Too close, I’d say.” He reached for her hand and smiled weakly. “Let’s go have our turn about the garden, though I’m not entirely sure you won’t be carrying me back to the house.”
She stopped him before he started off. “Thank you.”
He looked at her in surprise. “For what?”
“For playing the lute tonight so I can look in his private books.” She paused. “I know it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Tonight, the prize is worth it,” he said seriously. “Consider it my pleasure.” He looked at her with an eyebrow raised. “Are you already making plans for your assault on the inner sanctum?”
“That will all depend on how long you intend to distract him.”
“You tell me how long you need.”
She smiled in spite of herself. “You’re a good man, John de Piaget, to make that sort of sacrifice for me.”
“I am,” he agreed dryly, “and you can thank my father for any chivalrous tendencies I have.” He tugged on her hand. “Let’s go, so Payneswick can see us making good use of his garden. We don’t want him to change his mind.”
Tess was relieved, several hours later, to find that Lord Payneswick hadn’t changed his mind. She stood at the edge of a room that reminded her so sharply of her own solar—well, Montgomery de Piaget’s solar, actually—at Sedgwick, she could hardly catch her breath. It was as if she’d stepped bac
k in time hundreds of years.
There were a couple of bookcases, of course, tucked discreetly in a corner and filled with all manner of things that looked as if they were hundreds of years old. Tapestries lined the walls and were spread out over the floors. A modest fire burned in the hearth—just hot enough to keep them warm but not hot enough to disturb the delicate tempering of the amazing collection of period instruments residing inside what she was certain were climate-controlled glass cases.
She was joined by Lord Payneswick, of course, as well as Stephen and their earlier savior, the relentless Dave Thompson. Tess watched as John was allowed to remove what she could see from across the room was indeed an amazingly preserved medieval lute. If she hadn’t known better, she might have suspected some plucky time traveler had brought it with him and plopped it down in Payneswick’s private office.
“This ought to be interesting,” Stephen murmured from where he stood next to her.
“Wait until you hear him play,” Tess murmured back.
Stephen took her hand and pulled it into the crook of his elbow. “Well, since you’ve already heard him, maybe you should discreetly take a turn about the room and see what you come up with. We’ll both make lists of what we’ll want further looks at.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “Always the scholar.”
“Darling, it flatters my enormous ego to be an expert in something,” he said with an answering smile. “It’s for damned sure that will never be swordplay—as Kendrick would tell you without being asked. I suppose that leaves me no choice but to pursue books.”
“I’d be careful what you say,” she warned. “Karma has big ears.”
He patted her hand. “Go start at the other end of the room. We’ll meet in the middle and compare notes.”
She tried to, truly, but she kept finding herself distracted by the music. John shot her more than one look that said she should be keeping her nose to the grindstone, as it were, but that didn’t help her much. She did managed to look over a good chunk of the titles in the bookcases and she did identify a few goodies locked in glass cases, but it occurred to her as she looked at them that she had been overlooking the true treasure.