“In time for what?” Valeria asked, hurrying to meet her friend.
Lionel stood beside his wife in the surprisingly airy entrance hall, dipping his head politely in greeting. But as he raised his head again, his expression made Valeria pause. There was an odd look on Lionel’s face, a slight smirk on his lips, a slight glintof mischief in his eyes, which was not at all usual for the man. Indeed, it was rare enough that Lionel stared at anything other than his wife and child.
Valeria frowned at him, and he looked away sharply, giving confirmation enough that something strange was going on.What was that about?
“We are to have luncheon in the gardens,” Amelia chirped, oblivious to her husband’s odd behavior. “They were just calling us to sit down. I was so worried you would not arrive in time.”
“You should have allowed her to make a grand entrance,” another voice chimed in, heralding the moment that Valeria had been dreading. “Nothing draws the eye as keenly as a last-minute arrival.”
Swallowing thickly, steeling herself, Valeria turned and flashed a tight smile at Duncan, who had appeared from the adjoining hallway: a thoroughfare thatdidhave the hunting-lodge gloom that old houses nurtured.
“Ah, but I would not want to be considered rude for being late,” she replied stiffly. “I saw no mention of a luncheon on the invitation. Had I known, I would have ushered my father and Beatrice out of the door with greater haste.”
Beatrice elbowed Valeria lightly in the ribs, chuckling. “You might havetriedto.”
“It was an impromptu idea,” Duncan replied, gesturing to the long, low-ceilinged hallway ahead of them. “If you would take your places, the staff will begin serving shortly. And please, do adhere to your assigned chairs.”
He cast a pointed glance at Valeria, an infuriating smile warming his expression, before he stepped out onto the porch to greet the rest of the stragglers.
Eager for something to eat to distract herself from the memory of that wounding almost-kiss and the giddy dance that had felt so like flying, she was about to head off in the direction he had instructed, when she caught Lionel looking at her again. He seemed… pleased, a boyish glee in his eyes.
“Do I have something on my face, Lionel?” Valeria asked, tempering her tone.
He blinked, shaking his head effusively. “No… no, not at all. I… um… I was just thinking about luncheon. Come on, let us take our seats.”
Taking hold of Amelia’s hand, he led her away down the hallway, while Valeria stared after him, wondering what on earth had gotten into him.
Dabbing his mouth with a napkin, barely listening to what the gentleman at his side was chattering about, Duncan observedValeria. He had done the honorable thing and seated her between Roger and William, figuring it was the least he could do, but she did not seem to be saying much.
Come now, you must see that I am doing this for you.He brought his glass of lemonade to his lips, the sourness making his mouth water. On a feverish summer afternoon, it was far better refreshment than any glass of wine.
He willed her to ignite her beautiful spark, waiting for her to dazzle the two gentlemen seated beside her. Not merely because he wanted to see that rare glimmer for himself, too, so that he could assure himself that he had not wounded her too badly.
I wanted to, Valeria…The lemonade stuck in his throat.I wanted to kiss you. I doubt I have ever wanted to do anything more. But… it is for the best that I did not, though it took everything I had not to.
He had gone over the night again and again in his mind and in his dreams, where the outcome had been rather different, torturing him with what could have been. For five days, he had driven himself to madness with the unknowns he would never get to discover: how soft her lips were; how fiercely she might have kissed him back; how glorious it might have felt to hold her in his arms and kiss her for hours; how happy it might have made him.
It was the very thing that had forced him away from London, and the townhouse, where there was not enough land to escape his thoughts of her. At Thornhill Grange, he had been able to walkor ride for as long as it took to exhaust himself, so he became too tired to think about her. Of course, then, the dreams slipped in to haunt him, but they were preferable to the endless tussle in his waking mind.
“Did Henry the Eighth ever visit this house?” a voice said to his left. “It looks old enough.”
Duncan glanced at the speaker, forgetting he had placed the rude, dark-haired young lady there. “I believe he did. He enjoyed hunting on these grounds.”
“And what do you enjoy for sport, Your Grace?” Beatrice asked, with a cold look and a wry smile. “What is your prey of preference? Foxes? Pheasants? Other helpless creatures?”
Her gaze wandered fleetingly down the long table that had been erected out on the lawns, the white lace tablecloths flapping in the tepid breeze. A deliberate glance toward Valeria, as if Beatrice knew something. Her dry smile as she looked back at Duncan spoke surprising volumes.
“I do not hunt often,” he said, refusing to take the bait. “I prefer to ride for the pleasure of riding, instead of chasing something.”
She canted her head, her eyebrow raised. “That is not what I have heard, Your Grace.”
“Oh? And what is it that you have heard?” he replied coolly.
“That yourelishthe chase, more than anything.” Beatrice skewered a morsel of fish. “What happens afterward is of no interest to you.”
He frowned down at her, as intrigued as he was annoyed by the young woman. He knew very little about her, other than her relation to Valeria, but perhaps she was exactly what he had been searching for. Someone who did not care at all about marriage, or him, and would take her freedom and run wild with it.
He swerved her barbed remark, seeing an opportunity. “How long have you been out in society, Miss Johnson?”
