“And I must away to Aphrodite.” Sir Farren sighed. “May we all get some uninterrupted sleep.” He nodded to the Earl and Paul as he followed Ambrose from the room.
The Earl sat back in his chair, sipping the last of his brandy. One he’d nursed carefully for the last few hours.
“’Tis late, Paul. You should be abed.”
Paul knelt by the hearth and added logs, making sure the embers would have fuel for the night. “I might say the same, my Lord.”
“You might,” answered the Earl. “But you won’t. Far too good-mannered for that.” He grinned. “I wish I knew what story lies behind your masquerade, lad.”
Paul’s senses sounded a very loud alarm. “I can’t imagine what you mean, my Lord.” He rose and drew the screen in front of the fire.
“Well, I’ll leave it for tonight. But you’re a puzzle. Your wife is an even greater puzzle.” He rose, stretched and turned for the door. “Did I ever mention that I have a positive obsession with puzzles?” He shot a tired grin at Paul and left him standing in the center of the room.
“Dammit to hell and back.” Since when had Fate decreed that a sharply observant Earl was just what Paul needed right at this moment?
He blew out the candles and tidied the last of the cards. He was tired, by God, and all he wanted was his bed and Harry, with or without mountain ranges. She was his peace, his anchor. With her at his side, he could sleep.
But he had one more errand to complete before finally retiring.
And with that thought in his mind, he repaired to his small office and reached for pen and paper.
