to draw back as propriety demanded, but to pull him close, to feel for herself the warm skin, the crisply curling hair, the cord-like muscles and sinew. She had never had such lustful thoughts before. Now was certainly not the time to have them again. Looking up, she became aware of his close scrutiny.
Giving herself a mental shake, Serena sat up straight and licked her lips nervously. A raised brow encouraged her to speak. ‘Your father’s death makes my errand more problematic, but it does not make it any the less urgent. I believe I must enlist your help.’
‘Must? I sense a reluctance to confide, Miss Cachet. Don’t you trust me?’
He was toying with her. ‘Why? Would I be unwise to do so?’
‘That you must decide for yourself, when you are better acquainted with me.’
‘Sadly, I do not intend to spend long enough in your company to become so,’ Serena replied tartly. ‘I am come to reclaim some papers, which my papa entrusted to yours. They are personal documents that he did not want to risk losing on the Continent. You must know that we led a—well, an itinerant life there.’
‘You’ve just recently arrived in England then?’
‘Yes, from France. This is my first visit.’
‘Allow me to compliment you on your command of our language.’
‘I am, in fact, English, Mr Lytton,’Serena said stiffly. ‘My father was English, we always spoke that language at home. I can understand your being suspicious—my turning up here unannounced must give a strange appearance—but I assure you I am no fraud. Nor am I a French spy, if that is what you are worried about.’
‘Touché, mademoiselle. I’m afraid you’re doomed to disappointment, though, as I know nothing about your papers. I’ve been through all my father’s effects long since. If they were here, I think they’d have turned up by now.’
‘But they must be here! Are you sure he said nothing before he died—could he have perhaps lodged them with his lawyer?’
Nicholas frowned, puzzled by the earnest note in her voice. ‘No, I would have been informed if he had.’
‘You must remember something. Surely your father mentioned Papa’s name at some point?’
Her desperation aroused Nicholas’s curiosity. Whatever her tale, she had quite obviously not told him the whole of it. Her lovely face was fixed on him with such a look of entreaty as would melt all but the hardest of hearts. He could not but wonder what effect gratitude would have on her. ‘Perhaps if you could tell me a little more, it may prompt my memory.’
‘They are private papers, of no value to anyone else. My father’s name is on them.’
Her very reluctance to expand was intriguing. ‘Cachet?’
Serena bit her lip, more aware than ever of his too-penetrating grey eyes. Though he maintained his relaxed posture, she was under no illusions. Nicholas Lytton distrusted her, and she could not really blame him. ‘Not Cachet, Stamppe.’
‘Stamppe? Then Cachet is your married name? My apologies, I must have misread your card, madame.’
‘I’m not married. My name is also Stamppe.’
‘Yet your card says Cachet.’
‘Yes, because—oh dear, this is most awkward.’ Serena risked a fleeting glance up, caught her host’s sardonic expression, and looked quickly down again. Nicholas Lytton was smiling sceptically. In her lap, her fingers twined and intertwined, weaving a complex pattern of their own devising, which all too clearly betrayed her discomfort. She clasped them together and forced herself to meet Nicholas’s gaze properly. ‘Cachet means seal. My real name is Stamppe, though I did not find that out until my father informed me of it on his deathbed. He had a whimsical sense of humour.’
At this, Nicholas gave a twisted smile. ‘Amazing what facing mortality will do to a parent.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I sympathise, mademoiselle, that is all, having had a similar experience. It must have come as a surprise.’
‘A shock. Papa died very suddenly; he was the victim of a violent robbery. I find it difficult—I still find it hard to accept.’ She paused to dab her eyes with a handkerchief plucked from her reticule.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,’Nicholas said more sympathetically. ‘Do you have other family?’
‘No. No one. At least—no. Maman died when I was ten, and since then it has always been just me and Papa. Now it is just me.’
‘I find it hard to believe that someone so very lovely as you is wholly unencumbered. Are Frenchmen quite blind?’
‘Perhaps it is just that I am quite choosy, Mr Lytton. We seem to have strayed some way from the point.’
‘Ah, yes, the point. Your papers, which have lain unclaimed with my father for—how long?’
‘Over twenty years.’
‘And you have known about them all this time?’
Serena inspected her gloves. ‘No. Only since…’
‘Don’t tell me, Papa told you about them on his deathbed.’
She laughed nervously. ‘I know, it sounds like a fairy story.’
‘Exactly like one.’
‘I see you don’t believe me.’ And no wonder, she thought, rising to leave. She would just have to face the lawyer without her documents. ‘I won’t waste any more of your time.’
Though he did not doubt that her papers, if they ever existed, were lost, Nicholas was not ready to allow Serena to leave just yet. He was bored beyond measure and she was quite the most beautiful creature he had clapped eyes on in a long time. With her air of assurance and her cultured voice she could pass for quality, but he was not fooled. No gently bred young woman came calling on a single gentleman unaccompanied. Of a certainty, none allowed themselves to be diverted from their call into watching a mill. The more he saw of her, the more certain he became that her gratitude would be worth earning.
‘Don’t be so hasty, mademoiselle, give me a moment to reflect. Your father’s name—his real name—does sound familiar. Is there nothing else you can tell me that would help?’ He was simply teasing her, drawing out her visit in order to while away the time, so her reply surprised him.
‘The last rose of summer left blooming alone. I was to say those words so that your father would not doubt my identity.’ She smiled in reluctant response to Nicholas’s crack of laughter. ‘I know, it sounds even more like a fairy tale now.’
‘Perhaps it’s a clue,’ Nicholas said, pointing to the panelling. He meant it as a joke, having no faith at all in his visitor’s story, but Serena’s reaction gave him pause.
‘Of course,’ she said excitedly, clapping her hands together. ‘A hiding place. How clever of you to think of that.’
A
