grinned and a dimple appeared in his cheek. “I love puppies. ’Specially little black fuzzy ones.”
Tory smiled. “Come on, then.” Still holding on to his hand, she started leading him through the garden. “Why don’t we have a look?”
They were just walking into the shadowy interior of the carriage house, Teddy clinging to her hand, when she spotted Lord Brant on his way out.
He paused just in front of them. “Well, I see you two have become acquainted.”
Mrs. Rathbone’s words came rushing back, sending hot color into her cheeks. She wanted to shout at him, tell him the gossip was entirely his fault, but in truth it was her fault as much as his, since she never should have accepted the housekeeping job in the first place.
She kept her features bland. “Yes, we met out in the garden.” The words came out a bit sharply. She wished she had the nerve to quit. She couldn’t possibly do that. She had to think of Claire and what would happen to them if she did. “Teddy and I have come to look at the puppies. If you will excuse us, my lord.”
But he made no effort to move, just stood exactly where he was, tall and broad-shouldered enough to easily block their way.
“I heard the coachman’s mongrel had a litter. If you don’t mind the company, I would enjoy seeing them myself.”
Oh, she minded. She minded a very great deal. The servants were already gossiping about them. Seeing them together would only fuel the wagging tongues.
Still, she could scarcely order him out of his own carriage house. She and Teddy started forward and the earl fell in beside her. She stiffened at the feel of his warm hand settling at her waist, guiding her through the shadowy interior, past a shiny black carriage parked at the far end of the building.
She could hear the faint rustle of her skirt against his leg and her heart kicked up. When his arm lightly brushed her breast as he helped her through the doorway into another, smaller room filled with harnesses and hay, a rush of heat slid into her stomach.
They reached the enclosure where the puppies lay sleeping next to their mother, a thin, black-and-white-spotted hound, but the earl didn’t move away. She tried to widen the distance between them, but there simply wasn’t room.
“They’re only a few days old,” he said softly, his warm breath fanning her cheek. Embarrassingly, she trembled.
“Could I hold one?” Teddy asked, staring down at the mongrel pups as if they were purebred.
“They’re too little yet,” Brant said, reaching down to affectionately ruffle the little boy’s dark hair. “Perhaps the next time you visit.”
“Do you think I could have one?”
The earl chuckled softly, and Tory felt an odd lift in her stomach. “If your mother says it’s all right. Why don’t you go in and ask her?”
Teddy grinned up at him, turned and tore out of the carriage house, running pell-mell back inside and leaving her alone in the shadows with the earl.
“I—it is time I went back in. I have a great deal of work yet to do.”
“You’re looking a little flushed,” he said, his golden eyes fixed on her face. “Are you feeling all right, Mrs. Temple?”
He was standing so near she could measure the beats of his heart, study the sensual curve of his bottom lip, see the way his mouth faintly lifted in one corner.
“It’s…it’s a bit close in here. I believe I could use a breath of air.”
His lips curved even more. “Of course.” He stepped away from her so quickly she nearly lost her balance. The earl’s hand shot out to steady her. “You seem a little faint. Here, let me help you.”
“No! I mean…I’m fine. Really I am.”
“At least let me help you outside.”
Sweet Lord, Brant’s help was the last thing she needed. Mostly, she just wanted to get as far away from him as she possibly could. Why did that seem such a difficult task?
She tried to ignore his nearness, the strength of the hand at her waist, guiding her out of the mews, into the sunlight behind the fountain in the garden, but she couldn’t dismiss the flush in her cheeks or the soft heat in her stomach.
She felt a little better outside, a little more in control. The earl very politely stepped away.
“Feeling better?”
“Yes, much, thank you.”
“Then I shall leave you to your work. Good afternoon, Mrs. Temple.”
Tory watched him walk away, her heart still pounding, her knees weak beneath her skirt. The man had played the perfect gentleman and yet she could barely catch her breath. Dear God, if he did, indeed, have intentions toward Claire—
Tory walked back to the house, more worried about her sister than she had ever been before.
A summer storm rolled over the city, thick black clouds blocking the thin slice of moon. Thunder rumbled outside the mullioned windows as Tory made her way through the shadowy darkness to the earl’s study. The grandfather clock in the entry began the twelve chimes of midnight.
It was the Season in London. Lady Aimes was attending a house party with friends and, as was his custom, the earl had gone out for the evening.
Earlier, most of the servants had retired to their rooms, Tory among them. As she had lain in bed, she told herself to stay exactly where she was, to ignore the earl’s latest chess move. But the challenge was simply too great.
As soon as the house fell silent, she pulled her quilted wrapper over her night rail, picked up the whale-oil lamp in her sitting room and headed for the stairs.
Now as she entered the study, she could see the chessboard, the glow of her lamp casting the tall ebony and ivory pieces into shadow. She ignored the cold wooden floor beneath her bare feet, quietly made her way to the board and seated herself in one of the high-backed chairs.
Setting the lamp down on the table, Tory studied the board, barely aware of the rustle of branches against the brick walls outside, the glimpse of moonlight between passing clouds. Gazing at the pieces, she knew a moment of satisfaction. The earl had taken the bait. The trap she had laid had won her his castle.
She picked up a pawn to capture the piece, then realized that in doing so she was leaving an opening that could net him her queen. Tory grinned. The man was no fool. She would have to be more careful. She was deep in thought, planning the strategy that would win her the game, when a husky voice rumbled into her awareness.
“Perhaps you should take the castle after all. There is always the chance your opponent will fail to see the danger in which you’ve left your queen.”
Tory’s hand froze above the chessboard. Turning very slowly in her seat, she looked up into the face of the earl. “I don’t…I don’t think that he will. I think that he—you—are a very good player.”
“Do
