suggestively to the front of her blouse.
She was so shocked, she didn’t know how to answer. But his gaze created a lovely pool of heat in her center. She liked it. Liked all of the sensations, even though some of them might be risky. Nevertheless, when Christopher brought his eyes up along her throat to her face, she met and held them with her own.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’d really like to get to know you, too. But I’m working for as long as I’m in England, and I’ll have to leave soon.”
“Yes,” he said. It was the only time she remembered hearing a single word sound wistful. He lifted his glass to her. “Here’s to missed chances, luv.”
Two
Jennifer decided to take her breakfast alone the next morning. Room service was a small luxury she felt justified allowing herself. She needed time, a telephone and no interruptions to complete her plans for the remaining days of the trip. Just as the tray with her breakfast arrived, the telephone rang. She tipped the waiter and dashed across the room to answer.
“Good morning! I was hoping I’d catch you before you left for the day.”
“Christopher?” Her heart raced at the rich timbre of his voice. Her fingers threaded through the coils of the telephone cord, twisting them tighter. She’d lain awake all night wondering if she’d done the right thing by brushing him off.
“Did you sleep well last night?”
“Absolutely,” she lied energetically. “Was the drive back to Donan very bad in the rain?” It had started to pour at ten o’clock, just after he had left her.
“I ended up staying in the city at a friend’s place.”
She couldn’t help wondering about the gender of that friend, but immediately told herself it was none of her business. A man like the earl undoubtedly had social connections in most every city in Europe. Some were bound to be with attractive and wealthy women—a good match for him.
“My business is going to keep me in Edinburgh longer than I’d expected,” he continued. “But I won’t be able to accomplish much of anything until the afternoon. I wondered if you’d mind my tagging along this morning. I’d make myself useful, help out with the driving if you like, give a running narration as we move around the city.”
“That would be nice,” she admitted as calmly as possible, while her heart hammered out a wild tattoo in her chest.
“That isn’t to say you didn’t do a beautiful job at Donan.” His voice slid lower, became subtly intimate. “You are a remarkably insightful woman, for one so young.”
She looked down at her fingers, which were hopelessly snarled in the cord, and decided she must be imagining the change in tone. “You can only get so much out of books,” she said quietly. “A person has to live in a country to really understand it. You have that advantage over me.”
For a moment neither of them spoke. Then he seemed to rouse himself at the other end of the line.
“What time shall we meet?” he asked.
“Nine o’clock in front of the hotel. If you like, you can arrange for the valet to bring the van around.”
“That I’ll do, lass,” he said, in a fine imitation of a Scottish brogue that set her grinning.
Jennifer hung up the phone. Her hand was trembling, and the nape of her neck felt damp with perspiration. Why did he affect her so strongly?
She had met plenty of interesting men, but she wasn’t prone to being swept away by the mere touch of a hand or flash of blue eyes. Was she afraid of that dark inner core of him? No, she answered herself. Christopher seemed to be a man with principles. If he’d been truly dangerous, the gossip columns would have had even more ruthless comments on his flamboyant lifestyle.
So, yes, he was flirtatious, but she was certain he would never attempt to force her to do anything against her will. Was he the sort of man who got his kicks seducing female tourists? She’d run into that type before—identified, cataloged and dismissed them without hesitation.
No, she decided, Christopher Smythe was different. But what made him different and what he wanted from her—those were the real questions.
Despite her preoccupation with the earl, by nine o’clock Jennifer had finished drafting her plans for the day, selected the appropriate maps and guide notes she’d written up before leaving Maryland and called each of her clients’ rooms to make sure they were ready to set out. True to his word, Christopher was waiting beside the rental van when she stepped outside, followed by most of her group.
“Oh, it’s that handsome young groundskeeper from the castle!” one of the women twittered.
“Dashing, dear. Here in Britain, all the young men are dashing,” another woman corrected her. “You know he looks an awful lot like that young lord we saw in that newspaper in the hotel lobby.”
“I wonder what he’s doing trailing after us to Edinburgh,” Mr. Pegorski commented, waggling his eyebrows in Jennifer’s direction.
She pretended not to see or hear any of them. “Everyone, this is Christopher Smythe from the castle yesterday. You remember him, of course. He’s agreed to give us a local’s view of the city.”
Jennifer could feel the estrogen level rise in her group as the females ogled Christopher. The rest of their party arrived then, so they all piled happily into the van and started out for an overview of the city.
While Christopher drove, she sat beside him in the passenger seat and studied his profile—elegant, but purely masculine, she decided. His features were powerfully drawn; his blue eyes made the more vivid by the dark lashes outlining them. A very faint scar ran close to the hairline along one temple, and she wondered if it had been caused by a polo injury. The article she’d seen mentioned his aggressiveness on the polo field. From the little she knew of the game, it was a rough sport requiring strength and daring. His hair was a dark, glistening brown that verged on black when out of direct sunlight.
She admired his speaking style, which combined a touch of dry humor with crisp intelligence, all wrapped up in an English accent she found irresistible. But over all of this was a veneer of a darker emotion—like mahogany laid over paler oak—disappointment or sadness, or something fragile she couldn’t yet define.
“Do you have family around here?” she asked between stops along their route.
He seemed startled by her question, then glanced sideways at her, still keeping an eye to the road as they sped along. “My father still lives in Sussex. I have two brothers.” His voice was clipped, to the point.
I’ll wager they’re both as devilishly handsome as you, she thought. Were they as terse and secretive, too?
“Then your brothers live in Sussex as well?” she asked.
“In Sussex? With my father?” He choked on an involuntary laugh. The taut muscles in his face relaxed enough to allow a thin smile. “My father isn’t the kind of man who encourages his family to remain close to home. As soon as we were old enough to be away from our nanny, he shipped us off to boarding school. None of us have gone back for more than the occasional holiday.”
