Duke of Bransford’s fortune.”
Sherry sipped his drink, pondering the notion. “It couldn’t hurt, I don’t suppose. And you never know, you might discover something interesting.”
Royal shoved back his chair and came to his feet. “The money is gone. There isn’t much I can do about it now. Still …”
“Still … it never hurts to find out what happened in the past. As they say, it is often the key to the future.”
Sheridan walked over to warm his hands at the fire and Royal followed. “So where are you headed from here?” he asked.
“Back to Wellesley, I imagine. Though I rode over mostly to escape the house.”
“I am feeling a bit closed in, myself.” Royal clamped a hand on his friend’s wide shoulder. “How about some company?”
“I daresay, I’d like that. I take it your Miss Caulfield hasn’t arrived.”
“I’m sure she is still in London, waiting out the storm.”
Sherry set his brandy glass down on the sideboard and the men walked into the hall. As they did, the door at the opposite end leading to the kitchen downstairs swung open and Lily Moran stepped into the passage. Her russet velvet skirt was covered with white streaks of flour, and as she approached, her mind clearly elsewhere, Royal glimpsed a spot of flour on her nose. He grinned at the charming sight she made.
Her light eyes widened at the sight of the two men. “Your Grace,” she said, her hands shooting up to smooth a loose strand of pale blond hair. “Oh, dear, I must look a fright.”
“You look …” Lovely, he wanted to say but didn’t. “Only a bit worse for wear.” He smiled and turned to introduce Sherry. “This is my good friend, Sheridan Knowles, Viscount Wellesley. “Sheridan, may I present my houseguest, Miss Lily Moran.”
Sherry’s green eyes ran over her, taking in the gleaming hair, feminine features and lush, full lips. His gaze lowered to the curve of her breasts and the tiny waist beneath, and Royal felt an unexpected surge of jealousy.
“A pleasure, Miss Moran.”
“It is good to meet you, my lord.” Nervously, she brushed at her sleeve, also dusted with flour. “I hope you’ll excuse my appearance. There was an incident in the kitchen—” She glanced up, her gaze shooting toward Royal as if she’d said something wrong and was worried he would scold the servants. “Nothing untoward, Your Grace, just an overturned flour tin—but somehow I managed to wind up in the middle of it.”
Royal found himself smiling. “Just be careful you don’t get too near the oven. You might turn into a loaf of bread.”
Her laugher, like crystal prisms in the afternoon breeze, was so sweet his chest contracted.
“I shall heed your advice, Your Grace.”
Sherry gave her a long, assessing look. “Should you wind up toast, I would like nothing better than to eat you up, my dear. You’re even prettier than Royal said, Miss Moran.”
Lily blushed and Royal wanted to throw a punch at Sherry.
“I really should go up and make myself presentable. If you gentlemen will excuse me …”
“Of course.” Sheridan made a modest bow.
“I shall see you at supper,” Royal said, though seeing Lily Moran was the last thing he should be wanting.
Lily slipped by them and continued down the hall, her velvet skirts swaying enticingly. Turning, she started up the stairs.
“You were right. The girl is quite lovely.” Sheridan’s gaze followed Lily’s slender figure, his eyes remaining on the staircase even after she disappeared. Royal wanted to grab him by his starched cravat and shake him till his teeth rattled.
Sheridan smiled. “Then again, as I said, perhaps the cousin will be even more luscious.” He grinned, exposing a pair of crooked bottom teeth that should have detracted from his appearance but did not. “Then you can leave Miss Moran to me.”
Royal said nothing, but his jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He had no claim on Lily Moran and never would. If Sheridan wanted her—to hell with Sherry, he thought for no explicable reason, and started for the door.
“I thought we were going for a ride,” he said darkly, pausing in the entry to allow Greaves to drape his cloak round his shoulders.
Sheridan still gazed up the stairs. “Of a sudden, I would rather stay here.”
Royal ground his jaw, jerked open the door and strode out into the falling snow. Behind him, he heard Sheridan chuckle then the sound of his boots coming down the wide stone stairs.
The following day at the end of an afternoon ride to check on one of his tenants, Royal returned to the house, his stomach pleasantly filled with the mutton stew and tankard of ale he had enjoyed at the Boar and Thistle Tavern in the village. Handing his cloak to Greaves, he looked up at the sound of a commotion going on in the corridor upstairs. Recognizing the sweetly feminine voice of his houseguest, he climbed the staircase and headed down the hall to find Lily, a pair of footmen and two chambermaids rearranging the furniture in one of the bedrooms.
She looked up at his appearance and a hint of color washed into her cheeks. Her silvery hair was tied back with a kerchief and she wore an apron over her dress. Still, she looked beautiful.
“I—I hope you don’t mind, Your Grace. I moved my things into one of the other bedrooms. I thought Jocelyn should have the one that was meant to be hers.”
He didn’t say that he liked having Lily in the room adjoining his, where he could imagine her lying on the big bed in nothing but a soft white cotton nightgown, embroidered, perhaps, with tiny roses. He didn’t say that last night he had imagined unbuttoning the row of pearl buttons at her throat and nibbling his way down to her breasts.
Instead he said, “As you wish.”
“Also … your housekeeper, Mrs. McBride, suggested a very nice room for Mrs. Caulfield that also overlooks the garden. If you don’t mind… I’d … um … like to exchange a few pieces of furniture with those from one of the other bedrooms.”
Meaning the furniture in the room was worn or in need of repair. He knew Mrs. McBride had done her best, but until the house was refurbished, it would never exhibit the grandeur of the place he had lived in as a boy.
“As I said, you are free to make whatever changes you wish.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” She returned to her task, ordering the servants about and pitching in herself to help with whatever needed to be done. It was clear she took her duties seriously, but Royal thought it a little unfair that the Caulfields should treat her more like an employee than a member of the family.
One of the footmen reappeared, carrying an ornate writing desk Lily had procured from a room on the opposite side of the hall. She directed the man where to place it in the room, then, realizing Royal still stood in the corridor watching her activities, a nervous smile appeared.
“Mrs. Caulfield will enjoy the desk,” she explained. “She likes
