What is this?
As she halted before him, he blinked, trying to break her spell, but not entirely succeeding.
He forced himself to focus on her eyes—blue-gray, changeable and mysterious—and discovered that she was regarding him with outright suspicion.
Surreptitiously clearing his suddenly dry throat, he arched a brow. “Miss Locke?”
Her fascinatingly mutable eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid, sir, that you have the advantage of me.”
The words were delivered with a hint of steel.So… not just a striking face.He hid an instinctive, appreciative smile and simply stated, “Toby Cynster. Winchelsea sent me.”
Her lips tightened. “Ah. I see.”
Irritation tinged with resignation underlaid the words. The same emotions etched her expression. Neither were reactions he’d expected.
He saw her glance not at the children but at the dog, taking note of the animal’s wagging tail and ready acceptance of him.
No, indeed. Miss Locke is no one’s fool.
Deciding it behooved him to take charge, he ventured, “I had hoped to meet your father and was surprised to learn of his death. I take it his illness was sudden?”
Her eyes met his briefly, too briefly for him to be sure of their expression. “It was unexpected, yes.”
He inclined his head. “You have my condolences.”
“Thank you.” She gestured to the children, who had been listening to the exchange with innocent interest. “You will excuse us, I’m sure. We need to get back.”
He made no reply and waited while she herded the children into the care of the maid and urged the group toward the street. Before she set out in their wake, he said, “We need to talk.”
She flung him a glance. “Now is not a good time.” She stepped out, following the children. “I’ll contact you later?—”
“That’s not how this works.” He fell in beside her.
She frowned. “This what?”
“This sort of situation.” He strolled beside her, entirely amenable to moving out of the public gaze. “You recognized Winchelsea’s name, so you know of your father’s arrangements.”
“Yes, but?—”
“What you might not appreciate is that others also have an interest in the documents your father acquired, and I’ve been informed that at least one group of those others is in Vienna and actively hunting. I don’t believe they’ve traced the documents to your father as yet, but they will.” Calmly, he met her gaze. “It took me a little over five hours to find you. Once they realize your father might have had the documents, they’ll search and find you, too.”
Her expression stated she didn’t know what to make of that.
They’d reached the edge of the park, and the children were waiting, ready to cross the street.
The boys looked at him hopefully. “Can you stay and play ball with us?”
Sliding into his favorite-uncle persona, he smiled commiseratingly. “It’s too late today. It’s already getting dark. We’ll have to see what happens tomorrow.”
The little girl moved to his side and slid her tiny hand into his. She looked up, into his face. “Do you have children of your own?”
“No, but I have lots and lots of nephews and nieces the same age as the three of you.”
The poppet nodded sagely. “That explains it, then.” She tugged on his hand. “Come on. It’s nearly time for our supper.”
Unsurprisingly, the mention of food got her brothers moving, and in a group, they all crossed the street.
Diana moved with the others, feeling very much as if matters were unfolding entirely beyond her control. That was not a feeling she liked, but just being near Toby Cynster—just looking into his hazel eyes, let alone the ridiculousawarenessof him that had streaked through her, racing like lightning along her nerves and seizing her senses—made the simple act of thinking sensibly suddenly exceedingly difficult.
