‘I’ve asked Mrs Ferguson to save a bone for her,’ she continued. ‘She will have it in the kitchens, so you may be left in peace, Lord Treyford.’
As if summoned by the mention of her name, the housekeeper appeared in the parlour door. Without ceremony she snapped her fingers at the dog. ‘Come, you hell-spawned hound. Bone!’
Evidently the dog was familiar with the word. She rose, gave herself a good jaw-flapping shake, then trotted off after the housekeeper, casting a coquettish glance back over her shoulder at Trey.
The damned dog was flirting with him.
He looked up. The girl gazed back, expectation clear in those haunting eyes.
Trey faltered at the sudden, strange hitch of his breath. Something sharp moved in his stomach. This was, suddenly, all too much for him. Too much clutter, too many people. Hell, even the dog seemed to want something of him. Trey knew himself for a hard man, surviving in a harsh world. He lived his life unencumbered, with relationships kept to a minimum and always kept clearly defined. Servant and master, buyer and seller, associate or rival. It was simpler that way. Safer. Neither of those attributes, he was sure, could be applied to this family, and that made him uncommonly nervous.
The intense stare that young Will was directing at him only increased his discomfort. Suddenly the boy opened his mouth and a barrage of questions came out of him, like the raking fire of a cannonade.
‘How long did it take to sail back to England? How hot is it in Egypt? Did you see any crocodiles? Have you brought back any mummies? Did you climb the pyramids? Were you afraid?’ Red-faced, the boy paused to draw breath. ‘Will you tell us over dinner? Please?’
Trey’s breath began to come faster. He cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well,’ he said, trying to keep the harshness from his voice, ‘actually, I’ve come to your home with a purpose, not on a social visit.’ The boy looked mutinous, and Trey rushed on. ‘I need a private moment with your sister, lad. I’ve a sort of…message, from Richard for her.’
The boy’s expression cleared of its clouds. ‘My sister?’ he scoffed. ‘She don’t know enough words to have a proper conversation, my lord. Did you mean Chione?’ He shot a devilish glance at the young lady, then turned to Trey, eyes sparkling as if sharing a great joke. ‘Chione’s my niece, not my sister!’
Now Trey was flustered, something that did not happen often. Niece? What sort of tangled mess had Richard dropped him into? He knew with certainty that there was only one answer to that: exactly the sort he had spent a lifetime avoiding.
Will was staring at him now. ‘Didn’t Richard tell you anything? He wrote us all about you. You see, my papa is Chione’s grandpapa, so I get to be her uncle. And Olivia gets to be her aunt! Isn’t that funny?’
It wasn’t funny. It had been a long time since Trey had felt this awkward. But there was no way he could tell the boy how he had discouraged Richard’s tendency to talk of his family, of anything other than their work. Trey didn’t like chitchat. He liked focus, and determination, and hard work. He liked travel. Distance. Adventure. There was nothing wrong with that. So why was his stomach churning now?
He breathed deeply. It was too damned late to avoid this fiasco, but he’d be damned if he didn’t extricate himself in record time.
Miss Latimer helped him take the first step. ‘Will, why don’t you run along and help Mrs Ferguson with dinner? Lord Treyford and I will take a stroll in the gardens. If that is acceptable, my lord?’
Trey nodded and watched as the boy started to protest, then hung his head. ‘A pleasure to meet you, my lord,’ he said, and turned towards the door.
The boy’s dejected profile was impossible for Trey to ignore. He let loose a silent string of curses. But he was all too familiar with the heavy weight of childish disappointment. ‘Hold, lad,’ he said roughly, and the boy turned. ‘Egypt is as hot as blazes. Yes, I climbed the pyramids, and, no, it was not the least bit frightening. I’ve been uncomfortably close to some crocodiles, too. Egypt is full of wondrous things.’
Trey closed his eyes. Just the thought of Egypt calmed him. He hadn’t expected it, but the country had beguiled him. Time flowed differently there; he’d had a sense that the secrets of the past were just out of his reach, hidden only by a thin veil of mist.
‘And the mummies? Did you bring any back?’ The boy’s eyes were shining.
‘No, although I encountered plenty, both whole and in pieces.’ He glanced over at the girl. ‘Perhaps I will have time to tell you about it before I must go.’
‘Thank you, my lord!’
Miss Latimer wore a frown as she rose to her feet. ‘Just allow me to stop in the front hall to fetch my wrap, and we can be on our way,’ she said.
Good. Perhaps she was as eager to be done with this as he.
Chione wrapped herself well against the chill and led their guest outside, once again restored to her habitual poise. She should be grateful that he had made it easy for her to slip back into her normal, contained role, she told herself firmly, for she had been acting a fool since her first glimpse of Lord Treyford.
She had scarcely been able to help herself. All of that overt masculinity and absolute self-assurance touched something inside of her, stirred to life a part of her that she would rather be left slumbering.
And then she had heard it in his voice. That all-too-familiar longing when he had spoken of the wonders of Egypt. She knew that tone and exactly what it meant. He was one of them.
Like her grandfather, her brother, and even her father. Never happy where they were, always pining for something more exotic, more adventuresome, more dangerous. Or perhaps, just more.
That tiny wistful note that had crept into the earl’s voice; that was all it took to effectively quench all of the flutterings and tinglings and ridiculously rapid heartbeats that had plagued her every time their eyes met.
An adventurer—just like the others. With that realisation she reached for calm, breathed deep and let the veneer of her assumed identity fall back into place. They stepped down into the formal garden and he grudgingly offered her his arm. She took it, then had to school herself not to gasp as a slow, warm burn started in her fingertips, flowed like honey through her, and settled in a rich puddle in the pit of her belly.
Perhaps she wasn’t rid of all of those stirrings. Yet.
‘You are very quiet, Miss Latimer.’ Though his voice was rough, there was a hint of irony hidden in it. ‘Not at all like your brother.’
Chione had to smile at that. ‘No, indeed. Richard was many things, but quiet was not a label he was often burdened with.’ She swept aside a low hanging branch and held it back invitingly. ‘He was too full of life to keep quiet for long.’
He did not answer and they walked in silence for several moments. Despite her disillusionment, Chione could not but acknowledge her heightened awareness of his looming presence. It was more than the sheer size of him, too. The air fairly crackled around him, as if the force of his personality stamped itself on the surrounding atmosphere.
She wondered just what it was that brought him here. Not a happy errand, judging by his nearly constant
