One Magic Moment

by Lynn Kurland

  She turned and looked at that treasure, sitting there on a chair with a lute in his hands, giving them all a glimpse into another world.

  The thought was so staggering, she lost her breath.

  She jumped a little when she realized Dave Thompson was standing next to her. That she hadn’t noticed him getting up to do so said quite a bit about her mental state. She smiled weakly.

  “Hello.”

  He looked as overwhelmed as she felt. “I don’t suppose you could use your influence on him to convince him to do all that in studio, could you?”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Thompson, what do you think?”

  He laughed quietly. “I think he has us all right where he wants us, you included.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right.”

  Dave studied John for so long in silence, Tess found herself growing a little uncomfortable. She could see the wheels turning and suspected he was genuinely puzzled about where John had learned to play as he did. She was equally convinced it would never in a million years occur to the man that John was anything but what he said he was: a modern guy who knew a couple of songs on a medieval instrument. The only fly in that ointment was that Dave spent an equal amount of time looking from John to Stephen and back, as if he couldn’t quite believe they looked so much alike but apparently didn’t know each other very well.

  That was going to have him asking questions John wasn’t going to want to answer.

  Tess caught Stephen’s eye and tried not to look as uneasy as she suddenly felt. He sauntered over immediately to hopefully help her with a little diversion. He held out his hand to Dave.

  “Stephen de Piaget,” he said easily. “And you need no introduction, Mr. Thompson. Your business adventures are the stuff of legend.”

  “Are you and John related?” Dave asked bluntly, apparently content to ignore the flattery. “You could pass for brothers.”

  “Distant cousins, I believe,” Stephen corrected smoothly. “I’d have to consult the earl’s genealogy to be certain. My father’s very keen on that sort of thing.”

  “I’ve met the Earl of Artane,” Dave mused. “He’s quite the patron of the arts, isn’t he?”

  “He is,” Stephen agreed. “And he’s always eager to see what sorts of productions you’re behind.”

  “Has he heard John play?”

  “I don’t believe so,” Stephen said slowly, as if he were truly trying to remember. “He likely should, though, wouldn’t you say?”

  Dave only looked at Stephen with a frown, then turned that thoughtful frown back on John. Tess didn’t dare look at Stephen for fear some of her panic might show on her face. It was no wonder John didn’t like notoriety. She could hardly stand it for him herself, and she wasn’t the one in the hot seat.

  It was with no small bit of relief that she watched John eventually hand the lute back to Lord Payneswick. He claimed no ability to play any of the recorders there and demurred when faced with the viols.

  “Is your passion music only?” Lord Payneswick asked, locking up the case again and turning to look at him. “Or does it extend to languages?”

  “I believe Dr. Alexander and the Viscount Haulton would be better choices for that,” John said promptly. “I’ve exhausted any pretense of expertise I have already.”

  The liar. Tess wanted to shake her head but she couldn’t, because she was too unnerved to. Something was going to have to give—and soon. She couldn’t pretend forever not to know who—and what—John de Piaget was. She found herself surprisingly torn between things she hadn’t begun to think she might be torn by. The scholar in her didn’t want him running off before she could ravage his mind for eyewitness accounts of things she had only read about in books. Rare books, but still not the real thing.

  The rest of her didn’t want him running off . . . well, because she didn’t want him running off.

  He glanced at her, then blinked in surprise. The next look he shot her was anything but casual.

  Dave Thompson laughed suddenly under his breath and walked away.

  Tess dragged her attention away from John to catch the tail end of an invitation from Lord Payneswick for Stephen to come back at his leisure and look at whatever paltry offerings were to be had. When Tess realized she’d been included in the invitation, she managed to grab for the last shreds of professionalism and thank Lord Payneswick profusely for the favor.

  “And perhaps you’ll prevail upon Mr. de Piaget to come along—”

  Tess listened to Lord Payneswick stop midsentence and turn to look at the door. One of his aides stood there, looking rather unhappy at being the cause of an interruption. Tess was somehow not surprised to find John suddenly at her side, halfway to pulling her behind him.

  She had to admit she was growing accustomed to it.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” the man said, “but it appears as if several of the bedrooms have been broken into. Our own security has investigated, of course, and nothing appears to have been taken.” He paused. “But—”

  “Whose rooms?” Lord Payneswick asked sharply.

  “The Viscount Haulton’s,” the man said grimly. “Dr. Alexander’s and her sister’s. The rooms on either side as well, but those guests have determined that nothing was taken.”

  Tess found herself with her nose pressed to John’s back. She sighed and rested her cheek against his coat. It was going to send him diving into new and heretofore unexplored depths of protectiveness.

  “I’m sleeping with you tonight,” he murmured over his shoulder.

  “When hell freezes over, sport.”

  “I sense a chill wind blowing from the south.”

  Tess imagined he did, but she was equally sure the wind would blow itself out before any scandalous sleepovers became necessary. She didn’t protest, though, when he reached behind himself and fumbled for her hand. She put her hand into his, his warm, strong hand, and thought she might be beginning to understand why Pippa had made the decision she had.

  There was something profoundly attractive about medieval sensibilities.

  Though she supposed she would have to deal with the reality of having had her room broken into soon enough—along with the fact that maybe John wasn’t imagining things—which she wasn’t sure any amount of herding could make any more palatable.

  Chapter 16

  John shoved the last of his gear into the top of his backpack, then stood, supremely happy to be back in jeans and boots instead of high heels.

  He wasn’t sure how any woman ever chased after thugs with any success at all.

  He left his pack at the foot of his bed, made certain all the costume paraphernalia was where it should be, then turned and walked toward the door, intending to go relieve Stephen and make certain Tess didn’t run afoul of any trouble before he could get her safely back to her keep.

  He was unpleasantly surprised to find his way blocked by none other than the dapper and perky Viscount Haulton, who most definitely should have been somewhere else.

  He’d done his damndest to never be in a position to have lengthy conversations with the man, or to stand too near him lest someone find the courage to remark on the similarities in their features. He’d already had more than one person mistake him for his nephew. But none of that had anything to do with why he was so unhappy to see him standing there now.

  “You’re supposed to be guarding the girls,” he growled.

  “They’re women, my dear John, with minds of their own. I delivered Tess safely to breakfast, then escorted Peaches—against her will, mind you—to her ride to London.”

  “My lord, I’m not sure you realize—”

  “It was only breakfast, John,” Stephen interrupted with a faint smile. “I’m sure Tess can manage that on her own. I must admit to being rather curious, however, as to why you’ve got your wee knickers in such a twist over this.”

  John could hardly believe his ears. “Ransacked chambers?” he said pointedly. “Falling curtain rods?”

  “Th
e second was a fluke and the first not limited to us,” Stephen said, no doubt quite reasonably to his own mind. He studied John for a moment. “Is someone after you, lad?”

  “I can take care of myself if they are,” John said, trying not to snarl. “It’s Tess I’m worried over.”

  “I think you’re fond of her.”

  “Thank you for that, my lord,” John said, gritting his teeth. “And please excuse me now before I say or do something I’ll regret later. To you, as it happens.”

  Stephen only smiled as he stepped aside and allowed him to pass. John suppressed the urge to punch him on his way by. If something had happened to Tess, he knew exactly whom he was going to kill first, and it wouldn’t be whomever had hurt her.

  He strode swiftly down the hallway, then turned the corner and came to an abrupt halt. He wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but he also didn’t particularly care to intrude on women’s conversations. At present, though, he thought a bit of the former just might serve him. Tess was standing on the edge of a window, apparently talking to someone—or two feminine someones if his ears hadn’t failed him—who didn’t sound particularly friendly. He looked up, just to make sure things were properly attached to the wall above her head, then took a step or two toward the little tête-à-tête. He stopped just behind an enormous vase on a table where he was fairly sure he wouldn’t be noticed.

  “So,” some posh-accented woman was saying in a way that immediately set John’s teeth on edge, “you’re the party planner, aren’t you, dear?”

  “Well, yes,” Tess said, sounding as if she might be at a loss for words. “I do hold events—”

  “Events,” the second woman laughed, her voice dripping with scorn. “Yes, I suppose one could term them that, couldn’t one? Do you know anything about the history of your castle, or is it just a pretty backdrop for your little costume dramas?”

  John felt his mouth fall open. He had to admit he’d never been at his best when faced with a solar full of catty ladies’ maids. He far preferred a battlefield where a lad’s intentions were as clear as the sunlight shining on his sword. That business of words and double meanings and cutting remarks was just not for him.

  But this was Tess out in the open, and he couldn’t allow her to be harmed. He cast about for a useful—a peaceful, rather—resolution to his current quandary but found nothing coming to hand. It wasn’t as if he could draw a sword and convince those harpies vexing her to behave better.

  “I think, Alice, that you have to be fairly bright to actually represent the history of our country and its properties properly. I’m sure Miss Alexander is just the tour guide. After all, she certainly didn’t ingratiate herself here at Payneswick without aid from Haulton—”

  “Or from that luscious man she’s with,” agreed the second, “though I don’t imagine she’s more than a weekend dalliance for him.”

  John had heard enough. He emerged from behind the vase and walked over to Tess without hesitation. He hadn’t a bloody clue what he intended to do, but perhaps a few cutting words would serve where swords could not.

  He stopped next to Tess and smiled politely at her companions, a pair of middle-aged women who he didn’t recognize but could tell by their very smart clothes were either rich or titled—or both.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said with chilly civility. He turned and made Tess a low bow, but he didn’t dare look at her. No sense in looking away from the peril.

  “Ah, the man we’ve been admiring,” the woman on the left said with something of a purr. “Sadly out of your Regency garb, however.”

  “Who are you?” the second woman asked with great interest. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “We haven’t,” he said, offering no remedy for that. “And if you’ll excuse us, Dr. Alexander and I must go pay our respects one last time to Lord Payneswick. We’ll need to thank him for the enjoyable after-dinner hour in his private collections, won’t we, my lady?” he said, looking at Tess with his best smile.

  Tess looked as if she’d just been slapped.

  “Doctor?” one of the wenches said with another disdainful laugh. “Of what? Interior decorating?”

  John lifted an eyebrow. “Hardly,” he said calmly, “but I won’t bore you with details you aren’t clever enough to understand, though I will point out that she is also the Countess of Sedgwick. I would say that makes her something of an authority on her own home, wouldn’t you agree?”

  He didn’t give them a chance to decide if they agreed or not before he walked away. Tess came with him because he didn’t give her any choice. She was wheezing.

  “Do you have any idea who those two were?” she gasped.

  “Don’t know, don’t care.”

  “Wives of politicians, and potential clients.”

  “They’ll go off and lick their wounds soon enough. Forget them.”

  Her hand that he’d taken was absolutely frigid. He would have stopped to blow on it, but he didn’t want to draw any attention to any weakness on her part. He continued to tow her along with him, indulged in the humming of a cheerful melody he’d once heard one of Queen Eleanor’s bards play, and kept a sharp eye out for ruffians and Lord Payneswick both, intending to address whichever of the two he found first.

  “What is that song?” Tess said very quietly.

  He looked at her. “Something I heard once. I’ll do it justice for you—and only for you—later, if you like.”

  She let out her breath slowly. “I’m not sure what I would like right now. A stiff drink, perhaps.”

  “If only you weren’t so puritanical about your liquor consumption, I might be able to provide you with the like.”

  “I haven’t seen you knocking back much either, buster.”

  He smiled. “I like my wits about me and my liver intact, thank you just the same. I think eggs on cold toast might serve fairly well now, though. Unless you’d rather find something on the road.”

  “On the road, please,” she said quietly.

  He couldn’t blame her. He also didn’t fight her when she pulled her hand away from his and put it in her jacket pocket. She probably thought it hid the trembling better that way.

  He would have turned around and headed back to fetch their gear, but he spotted Lord Payneswick standing at the far end of the hallway. There was no sense in not flattering the man a bit more whilst he had the chance, for Tess’s sake.

  And for his own, truth be told. Holding an amazingly preserved original instrument in his hands the night before had been a bit more overwhelming than he’d anticipated it might be. The chance to do that again was worth a bit of fawning deference. Perhaps the next time he was allowed the pleasure of playing it, he would ask just where Payneswick had come by it.

  Lord Payneswick turned to them with a smile. “Ah, John and Dr. Alexander. Still recovering from your adventures yesterday?”

  John smiled. “Near brushes with the authorities always leave a lingering something behind, don’t they?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Lord Payneswick said, with an eyebrow raised, “and I’m assuming you’re merely speculating. I can also assume you’ll avoid dragging your lovely companion into anything untoward in the future, yes?”

  He could only hope. John managed a smile. “I’ll do my best, my lord.”

  “I’m afraid, Dr. Alexander,” Lord Payneswick said, turning to Tess, “that you didn’t have a proper look in my little solar last night. Perhaps you and our young rogue there might make a return visit after the new year. We’ll discuss what rumors you’ve heard and if they might be true.”

  “That is very generous, Lord Payneswick,” Tess said quietly. “The Viscount Haulton will be exceptionally jealous of my good fortune.”

  “Oh, I’ll invite him, as well. Perhaps you two can restrain each other from fighting over my relics whilst I sit back and enjoy our good John’s playing. John, I don’t suppose your interest in all things medieval extends past music, does it?”

  “Dr. Alexander is the ex
pert in that field,” John said without hesitation. “I just attend her lectures and admire the depth and breadth of her knowledge.”

  “She’s free to add to that anytime she likes—as long as she brings you along to entertain me.” He smiled and inclined his head. “A pleasure to have you both. I’ll expect you sooner rather than later.”

  John made him a low bow out of habit, wondered if His Lordship thought it odd, then decided that there was nothing to be done about it. He waited until the man walked away, then looked at Tess.

  Her stillness was tangible, and not a good thing. He fished her hand out of her pocket and tucked it under his arm.

  “Let’s fetch our gear,” he said pleasantly. “I’ll be polite to Lord Haulton if we see him instead of bloodying his nose as I should for leaving you alone.”

  “I told him to go.”

  “And more the fool was he for obeying you.”

  She sighed lightly. “The house is full of people, John.”

  “Exactly,” he said distinctly, but he decided not to push her any further. He could see that she was thinking far too hard about something, and he suspected that something had to do with what those ridiculous wenches had said to her.

  “Shall we be for home, then, my lady?”

  She only nodded, unsmiling.

  He supposed the sooner he got her there, the happier they would both be.

  Several hours later, he shut off the Range Rover in Tess’s car park, grateful to be off the road and close to having Tess back behind sturdy walls. He glanced at her to find her watching Sedgwick, as if she weren’t sure she wanted to be there or not.

  She’d been quiet the entire way home. He’d overseen a late breakfast for her, then an attempt at lunch, which she’d barely touched. He’d taken her apologies for her weariness with a grain of salt. He wasn’t sure quite what had bothered her so, but he once again had the feeling it had all to do with the two women who had insulted her.