Much of the time, especially at night, thoughts of him were all that seemed to go round and round in her head—that and the impulse to scold herself for agreeing to his impossible arrangement. But of all the scenarios she had considered, whether to have the tea tray sent up had never occurred. Still, being polite never went amiss.
“Yes, have Mrs. Grove make up a tray,” she said.
Maybe food would prove a useful distraction. Men loved to eat. If she filled him up with enough crumpets and tea, perhaps she could scoot him back out the door before he quite knew what had happened—one of their fourteen days together done.
Two weeks!
Guilt or no guilt, what had she been thinking when she’d agreed to his terms? He had been shot and she had apologized; that should have been enough. What she ought to have done was stand firm and say no, especially when it had come to that last kiss, which should never have happened at all. But as she reminded herself, the allotted two weeks would pass quickly and then she would be able to put him out of her life once and for all. He’d promised to leave her alone once their time together was over, and she planned to hold him to that pledge.
Now she just had to get through it.
She also had to make sure there was no further kissing or touching. She’d been weak, allowing him to take liberties. But she would not be weak again.
“Thank you, Fletcher,” she said, dismissing the butler. “That will be all for now.”
He withdrew quickly for a man of his advanced age. No doubt the entire household would know about Lord Leopold’s impending call within the next ten minutes. But they were bound to know about him regardless once she let him set foot over the threshold.
Luckily her servants gossiped only among themselves and not outside the house. Most of them had come with her from Lord Kemp’s household after the divorce and they were fiercely loyal. She had nothing to worry about on that score.
As for her reputation, it was ironic that the rumor mill would finally be right. For years her detractors had claimed that she entertained men in her house; now she really would be guilty as charged. Although it didn’t seem quite fair to count one man as men. Then again, when it came to London Society, one was all it took to be painted with a brush of shame.
A pair of green eyes stared at her from atop her stack of letters. “What?” she asked the feline. “You weren’t there. He didn’t give me any choice.”
Hera blinked, her expression oddly knowing. Then the cat lifted a paw and began to groom her fur.
* * *
“What is that supposed to be?”
Leo glanced over at his twin from where he stood in the entry hall of their town house. He accepted his greatcoat from a footman before dismissing the man. “What does it look like?” he said to his brother. “It’s a sling.”
Lawrence made a small show of walking around him, his gaze roving over the empty rectangle of black cloth tied with a knot at the back of Leo’s neck. “Yes,” Lawrence said, “but why are you wearing it? It’s not as if you have need of its support.”
“Of course I have need. I was shot, if you will recall.”
Lawrence crossed his arms over his chest. “How could I forget? I leave you to spend a few days at Holland House and you return home amid a flurry of lurid stories about how you went out to take a swim only to return shot, half-naked and slumped over Thalia Lennox on the back of her horse. The betting at the clubs is rampant that she shot you as the result of a lovers’ quarrel, then thought better of it. But, of course, I know the truth.”
Leo grimaced. “Wheedled out the truth, you mean.”
To his immense irritation, Lawrence was the one person on earth to whom he could not successfully lie. Not only did they look alike; they often thought alike too and knew each other’s tells. His twin couldn’t deceive him either, so he supposed they were even. Still, he could have done without the needling he’d endured since revealing the actual sequence of events.
“I’d have had it out of you one way or the other,” Lawrence said. “Just be glad Mama and the rest of the family have no idea what really transpired.”
“And they never shall, shall they?” Leo said in a menacing tone.
Lawrence chuckled, then made a twisting gesture across his lips as if turning a lock and throwing away the key. “You know I always keep your secrets.”
“Only because I keep all of yours.”
Lawrence shrugged with easy agreement. “So why bother with the sling when your arm is only a bit sore?” Suddenly, he held up a hand. “No, wait, I just realized. You’re going to see her, aren’t you?”
“What if I am?” Leo slid his arm inside the cloth so that it was secured against his chest; one sleeve of his greatcoat dangled empty.
“Playing for sympathy, hmm? Just don’t slip up. She won’t like it if she finds out you’re trading on her guilt.”
Leo smiled. “I’m already trading on her guilt. How else do you think I got her to agree to spend the next two weeks with me?”
* * *
Thalia paused in front of the closed drawing room door. She brushed a few stray cat hairs off the skirt of her eggplant merino wool gown, then smoothed quick fingers over her hair to make sure no stray wisps had come unanchored from their pins. Taking a deep inhalation, she opened the door and walked inside.
Lord Leopold turned from where he stood next to the window, late autumn sunlight making the gold strands in his hair shine brighter among the brown. His cheeks were dusted with healthy color and he looked a great deal steadier than he had the last time she had seen him. Of course, he’d been lying flat on his back in bed the last time she’d seen him, but she could tell that the past few days had wrought an improvement.
Her gaze went straight to the black cloth sling he wore around his injured arm. She frowned, wondering if his wound was still hurting a great deal.
“Good afternoon, Lord Leopold,” she said walking farther into the room; she left the door ajar at her back. “I must say I was surprised to receive your note this morning informing me that you would be paying a call. It has only been a few days since you left Holland House. I thought surely you would remain home for a while longer, recuperating from your injury.”
She took a seat, then gestured for him to do the same.
Rather than taking the chair she indicated, he sank down onto the cushions beside her on the sofa. “I probably should still be resting, but I feared that if I put off a visit much longer, it would invite you to change your mind about our arrangement.”
She met his eyes, noticing the twinkle in their green-gold depths. “Believe me, the thought did cross my mind,” she said. “But men are not the only ones who can be honorable. I gave you my word and I will abide by it. Why else do you imagine you are sitting here in my drawing room?”
He smiled slowly. “Why else indeed?”
A quiet tap came at the open door; then Fletcher shouldered his way inside, bearing a laden silver tea tray.
Thank heavens for Fletcher and his forethought in suggesting that Mrs. Grove prepare something for her and Lord Leopold, Thalia mused. The repast would make an excellent diversion.
“Here, let me help you,” Lord Leo said to the elderly servant, rising automatically to his feet and walking forward.
“But your arm, Lord Leopold,” Thalia said. “You mustn’t strain your injury.”
Lord Leo stopped, looking curiously nonplussed. “Ah, yes, my injury.” He frowned.
“Not to worry, milord,” Fletcher croaked in his thready voice. “I’ve been carrying tea trays for nigh on fifty years. I can manage this one just fine.”
And although he was visibly slow and the china cups rattled in their saucers, the old man completed his task without spilling so much as a drop of tea or leaving a splash of cream on the tray.
“Shall I serve, milady?” the butler asked with great dignity after he’d straightened as much as his old back would allow.
“No, I shall take over from here. And please thank Mr
s. Grove. This all looks most excellent.”
Fletcher bowed, casting a long, appraising glance at Lord Leopold before he withdrew.
Lord Leo waited until the servant was gone before reclaiming his seat. “Should he still be working? He looks as if he ought to be pensioned out.”
Thalia busied herself arranging a selection of sandwiches and sweets on a plate. “He may not be young, but Fletcher is an excellent butler and serves me admirably. If he wished to retire, I would support his decision, of course, but he is a proud man and insists on earning his keep.”
She handed him the filled plate and a fork. “His sister and her family live in the countryside. They have offered to take him in, but he says he would rather be put on a spit and roasted alive than spend his last years with them.”
Leo gave a brief laugh. “That makes quite an image.”
“It does rather, doesn’t it? Personally, I believe he stays for me.”
“Oh? How so?”
Reaching for the urn, she poured the tea. “He was my butler when I was Lady Kemp. In spite of his many long years of service with his lordship’s family, which go back to the late Lord Kemp’s time, Fletcher did not take my ex-husband’s side in the divorce. When I was asked to leave my former home, Fletcher came with me and has been in my employ ever since. He has become as dear to me as family and will always have a home here, if that is his wish. I feel the same about the rest of my staff. They are all very kind and loyal and I could not do without them.”
She looked at Lord Leo for a long moment, then stared down at her cup. Why had she had told him all those things? she wondered. It wasn’t like her to be so forthcoming, especially to a stranger.
Except Lord Leo wasn’t a stranger, she realized, not anymore.
She scowled and drank her tea.
“I am glad you are in such good hands,” he said. He bit into one of the small, crustless sandwiches she had put on his plate. “And talented ones as well,” he remarked once he’d swallowed. “This is delicious. My compliments to Mrs. Grove.”
Thalia smiled. “I shall tell her you approve. Just wait until you taste her shortbread. It is quite the best I have ever eaten.”
Finished with his sandwich, he picked up a narrow rectangle of sugar-sprinkled pastry and bit in, his teeth white and even. “Hmm, you are right again,” he told her. “My own cook is quite adept but not as good as yours, though don’t tell mine that I said so. Mrs. Grove’s cooking gives me even more reason to look forward to our coming weeks together.”
He smiled, his eyes sparkling like gemstones.
Her heart fluttered in her chest in an annoyingly girlish way. But she wasn’t a girl, she reminded herself. She was a mature woman with far too much experience to let herself be swayed by a handsome face and a winning smile.
But oh, what a smile it is.
Two weeks of this—of him—how was she going to manage?
Irritated, she bit into her own piece of shortbread and slowly chewed.
“Tattersall’s is selling off Lord Drovner’s stables tomorrow morning,” Lord Leo said after a short silence. “I was wondering if you might enjoy accompanying me. He had acquired some prime horseflesh before his bankruptcy, so there might be some good buys to be had.”
“Drovner has gone bankrupt? How?” She set down her plate.
“Gambling, I believe. I heard he recouped his lost fortune by way of some highly lucrative shipping ventures only to turn around and lose it all again at the card tables. Rather imprudent of him, I would say.”
“Well, he never did have a lot in the way of brains. Too much hair and not enough sense.”
“How apt, particularly given the considerable amount of pride he actually does take in his hair.”
“Lud, you’re right.” She leaned closer. “Does he still wear that horrible pomade?”
“The one that smells like a pine bough?”
“Exactly,” she said. “I always thought it a wonder that a bird didn’t land in it and try to build a nest.”
“Or a squirrel, perhaps, in need of a place to hide acorns.”
He grinned and she grinned back, and for a moment she forgot all the reasons it would be foolish to let herself like him.
Unless it was already too late.
Do I like him?
The question danced along the edges of her mind.
“So are we in agreement?” he asked. “Shall I come round tomorrow morning and pick you up?”
She stared, forcing herself out of her reverie. “Oh, for the sale, you mean?”
“Yes. The sale,” he repeated, looking faintly amused. “Would you care to accompany me? It would count, of course, toward our two weeks together.”
When he put it that way, she supposed it would be foolish to refuse. And she had to admit that a chance to see the horses from Drovner’s stable sounded quite exciting. Not that she could afford to purchase any of them, but still, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy viewing some excellent horseflesh.
As for being seen publicly with Lord Leopold, well, she supposed it made no difference at this point. Anyone who cared to notice had probably already seen his coach parked outside her town house and knew he was even now inside her home. So what did it really matter? Then too there was all the gossip from their adventures at Holland House. . . .
“Yes, all right,” she said. “What time?”
“Eight thirty, if that’s not too early. The sale starts at ten, but I thought it would give us a chance to inspect the stock first without feeling rushed.”
“I am an early riser. Eight thirty is most acceptable.”
He settled back against the sofa. “Excellent. And how interesting that you are not given to sleeping late. I wake up with the sunrise most days myself. We’re even more compatible than I thought.”
“Many people awaken early. It hardly signifies.”
“Perhaps not at present,” he drawled in his smooth baritone. “But later, I have every confidence, it will signify a very great deal.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand his barely veiled innuendo. “Then you suffer from an overabundance of confidence, Lord Leopold.”
A laugh came from his throat. “One can never be too self-assured. It’s rather like having money, I have found. And it is ‘Leo,’ remember? No more ‘lords,’ not when we are alone.”
“Hmm, so you’ve said. More tea, Lord Leopold?”
He reached down and placed his hand over hers where it lay in her lap. When she tried to slip free, he captured it firmly inside his own. “I’m going to hear you say my name again, often and of your own volition. I look forward to those sunrises when you will whisper it in my ears, over and over again.”
She yanked her hand loose. “I thought you understood that our arrangement does not include any bedroom activities.”
“I do. Still, you can’t expect me not to at least try to change your mind.” He held up his good hand before she could say anything in response. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave for now. So what shall we do for the rest of the afternoon?”
“Who says ‘we’ are doing anything further this afternoon?”
“You promised to spend time with me.”
“I am. I’ve fed you tea and biscuits. You may leave whenever you like.”
Instead he remained seated and smiled. “Do you play chess? If so, we could have a game.”
“You want to play chess?” she said, unconvinced.
“Well, I can think of other things to do.” He paused, his gaze drifting briefly upward toward the ceiling before returning to hers. “But since you’ve ruled that out, I thought chess would suffice. I considered cards instead, but there’s this arm of mine. One hand and all, makes it a bit difficult to draw and discard.”
She frowned, once again eyeing the black cloth sling he wore. He must still be in pain. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth in an old gesture of guilt, then let it go the moment she realized what she’d done. “I have a set here somewhere. In the library, I th
ink. It’s been a long time since I played.”
“Good. You’ll be easier to beat.”
She studied him for a time; then, to her surprise, she laughed.
Chapter 13
“Congratulations, Lord Leopold, on a splendid acquisition,” Thalia told Leo the following morning as they stood among the crowd gathered in the auction yard at Tattersall’s. “That is one of the most beautiful pair of matched grays I have ever seen. Well done. Well done, indeed.”
Leo grinned down into her caramel eyes, not sure which pleased him more —the fact that he’d just won the bid for the grays or that Thalia was smiling at him, more at ease and happier than he had ever seen her look. He gazed at her and decided it was Thalia.
She’d been ready and waiting when he’d called on her promptly at eight thirty. Much to his approval, she was dressed in a dark green kerseymere day dress and a sensible pair of brown leather half boots. She’d donned a warm brown pelisse and hooked a small reticule over her wrist before accompanying him to his waiting coach.
Despite their early arrival, the sales yard had been filled with prospective buyers and curiosity seekers all there to inspect and banter noisily about the horses on view. Thalia had lit up from the moment her feet touched the ground, clearly delighted to be part of the action.
She’d surprised him, as she had done repeatedly since their very first encounter. He knew she rode well and enjoyed horses, but once they began considering individual animals, he quickly realized that she had a keen understanding of all things equine.
“Oh, my father was horse mad,” she explained when he inquired further. “Really, it was the only thing the two of us could talk comfortably about when I was growing up. We used to drive my mother crazy, discussing breeding lines and conformation and which horse had the best chance of winning the derby in a particular year.
“I never really thought about all the things I was learning—I just took it in like children do and didn’t question. I was sixteen and on the verge of womanhood when Papa died. I still miss those talks with him.”
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