Nathaniel was frankly rather grateful he was accustomed enough to surprise that he didn’t immediately turn and gape at the man in question. “You noticed?”
“I always notice. You?”
“Hadn’t a clue,” he said honestly. “But my father didn’t have an under-chauffeur with interesting skills.”
She smiled. “You’re distracted.”
“Hungry, rather, and I’ll likely pay for that someday,” he said grimly. “Recognize him?”
“Nope,” she said. “Want me to stand on your other side so you can have a look?”
“Very sporting of you.”
She looked at him and smiled a very small smile. “This is very odd.”
“You, darling, have spent too much time watching spy programs on telly. I’m just trying to avoid having my pockets picked. But you can come stand over here if you like. I’ll be—”
He stopped speaking, mostly because he had gotten a robust view of the man who was looking at him, aye, as if he had indeed just seen a ghost.
Actually, ghosts were what they reputedly had in that great whacking castle that found itself residing a ways down the coast. That man now walking toward them would know, given that he was lord of that particular fortress.
Nathaniel bid a fond farewell to any hopes of avoiding anything untoward for the rest of the day.
“Who is that?” Emma murmured.
“The owner of Artane, actually.”
She looked at him in shock. “He’s nobility?”
“He puts his trousers on one leg at a time, just like the rest of us,” Nathaniel muttered, “but aye, he is.” He took a deep breath, then found himself preparing to nod deferentially to the earl of Artane as surely as if he’d spent the past five years dealing with all kinds of medieval nobility.
Lord Stephen came to a rather ungainly halt in front of them, gaped for a moment or two, then seemed to get hold of himself. “So sorry,” he said with a posh bit of something he’d likely picked up at Cambridge, “I thought you were someone else.”
“I get that a lot,” Nathaniel said, striving for Brooklyn and settling for Eton. He was too off balance to come up with anything better. “My lord.”
Lord Stephen held out his hand. “Stephen de Piaget.”
“A pleasure, my lord.”
To his credit, the man only laughed a little. “Ah, deference. Delightful. And you are?”
“Nathaniel MacLeod, my lord. Just a humble Scot taking in the sights.”
“Again, you look a great deal like someone I know,” Lord Stephen said politely, “though it would be a startling coincidence to discover that you know him as well.”
Nathaniel suppressed the urge to sigh. “Patrick MacLeod?”
“As a matter of fact,” Lord Stephen said, not looking all that startled, “yes.”
Nathaniel suppressed the urge to bolt before Stephen started asking questions he wasn’t going to want to answer.
“Related, are you?” Lord Stephen continued, studying him.
“Not that I know about,” Nathaniel said. “I’ve only encountered the man once in passing. Just a couple of words, but no time to investigate our genealogies.” No sense in spewing out that what he’d encountered had been the driver’s door of Patrick MacLeod’s car, where he’d more than likely left a dent.
His ability to keep his mouth shut was truly something to be envied.
“I imagine there’s some common ancestor somewhere,” Lord Stephen said. He smiled, then turned to Emma and held out his hand. “Stephen de Piaget.”
