He studied her over his teacup, and she found the room was growing rather warm.
‘They match your eyes.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The violets—they are the same colour as your eyes.’
It was impossible to pull her gaze from his—that was until the Dowager gave a discreet cough.
‘Miss Vandenberg, would you care to see our library?’ she asked. ‘With your fondness for books, I am certain you will find something of interest to borrow.’ She turned to Lyonsdale. ‘With your permission, of course.’
‘That is a fine idea. Please, by all means, Miss Vandenberg. My library is at your disposal.’ He sat back in his chair and took a sip of his tea.
Katrina now had an excuse to remove herself from his presence. Maybe it would relieve her of the restless feeling that hadn’t gone away since the moment she’d laid eyes on him.
‘That’s very kind of you.’
‘Capital,’ the Dowager replied with a broad smile. ‘I shall wait here while you escort her.’
‘Me?’ he spluttered, and appeared to be thinking up an excuse as to why he wasn’t available.
‘It is your library,’ his grandmother explained. ‘You know it far better than anyone else in this house. Besides, I’ve had a dull ache in my legs all day. I do not expect you will take long.’
If Katrina hadn’t been paying such close attention to him she might have missed his hesitation before he turned back to her.
‘Shall we, Miss Vandenberg?’
They entered the hallway in silence, walking side by side. After a few moments she turned to him. ‘You do not need to remain with me while I make my selection. I am certain I will be able to find my way back to the drawing room.’
‘Are you attempting to remove yourself from my company?’
‘Not at all. I simply assume you have pressing matters that require your attention.’
‘I find I can think of nothing at the moment that is more pressing than helping you obtain something for your enjoyment.’
This time when he spoke his voice was warm and friendly.
She had provided him with an excuse. If he chose not to take it, it was no longer her concern.
‘Your grandmother called on me recently,’ she said, as a way to explain her presence in his home.
‘I assumed she must have.’
‘She is a lovely woman.’
‘That’s debatable.’
‘Come, now—she is quite affable.’
He shook his head. ‘That is one word to describe her. I can think of others.’
‘You are very fortunate to have her.’
Their arms inadvertently brushed against one another, and he placed some distance between them. After a few more steps he moved his hands behind his back as they continued down the long hall.
‘If you had a grandmother like mine you might have a different opinion on the matter.’
‘I did not know either of my grandmothers. They passed away before I was born.’
He lowered his head and looked at her with regret. ‘Please forgive me. I should have thought before I spoke.’
He might not appreciate his grandmother, but she did. She gave him a reassuring smile. ‘No apology is necessary.’
They strolled through an ornately carved archway and entered a long wood-panelled extension of the hall. To their right, tall windows with blue damask silk draperies brought muted light into the room. The opposite wall was covered with life-size portraits of men in various poses and attire.
Katrina paused and looked over the portraits of the men who were staring down at them. She advanced further and their superior gazes followed her.
‘Who are they?’
He appeared to stand taller, if that was even possible. ‘May I introduce you to the Dukes of Lyonsdale?’
Her eyes widened as she spun around. ‘All of them?’
He let out a soft laugh at her obvious amazement. ‘We are missing one. However, every man in this room has held my title at one time. My ducal title is one of the oldest in England.’
In Katrina’s dining room at their country home in Tarrytown her mother’s portrait hung on the wall behind the chair where she had sat. Her father said it reminded him that she was still somehow with them. He also carried a miniature of her mother on his person. The only other portraits of her family were one of her father and one of his parents. Lyonsdale had many, many more.
Near the doorway they had walked through hung the portrait of a man with dark curly hair, wearing armour. His sword was raised in the air as he sat upon his steed. From his expression she gathered he would be happy to use that sword on her if she moved the wrong way. He was an intimidating sight.
Lyonsdale approached her. ‘That is Edward Carlisle, the First Duke of Lyonsdale. He was awarded the title by King Henry the Seventh for service to the crown in battle.’
‘Which battle?’
‘The Battle of Bosworth.’
Well, that explained nothing. She continued to study the designs on the man’s armour.
‘The Battle of Bosworth took place during the War of the Roses.’
He might just as well have been speaking Italian.
‘You have heard of the War of the Roses, haven’t you?’
She shook her head while she looked up at the superior expression of the First Duke. ‘Do you know when he was given the title?’
‘Of course—in the year 1485, not long after Henry was crowned King.’ He placed his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels.
Lyonsdale knew what his ancestor had been doing in 1485. She knew little of her family’s history past her grandparents. A bubble of laughter escaped her lips.
He appeared affronted. ‘What have I said that you find so amusing?’
‘All I know of my family is that my great-grandfather came to America from Holland and was proficient in building ships. That is how my father came to inherit our shipyard in New York.’
There was no telling if his shocked expression was at the lack of information she possessed or her ancestor’s occupation.
‘Surely you know more than that?’
‘No.
