“Who wouldn’t be excited to explore a treasure chest?” she protested. “If I have to face the world as a viscountess, I’ll have the chance of glittering as I ought.”
He picked up an emerald necklace and studied it. “Good stones, but ugly setting. We’ll have it reset.” He picked up a diamond pin. “This needs cleaning. Probably most of it does. All the same...” He came round the desk and slid it into her hair. “Ice and fire.”
His look was admiring and his touch flowed heat down her spine, making her sway. She put a hand on his chest, hoping he felt as she did. That they could—
“Coffee,” he said.
“Coffee?”
But it was a warning. He must have already ordered it, for it arrived then, again with little cakes, but these were golden and glossy. Kitty sat, reminding herself that the night was not so very far away.
He poured and passed a cup to her. “Have you questions for me?”
He meant about the house, but she chose to take it another way.
“Tell me about your life before you became Lord Dauntry.”
He was surprised. “Including the army?”
She’d be interested, for it didn’t seem his career had been commonplace, but it might be a difficult subject. “No, after you sold out. Was that soon after Waterloo?”
He relaxed back and sipped. “Late in 1815. I didn’t intend to. I liked the life, all in all, and considered it my career, but as it became clear Napoleon was truly done for, the work became less appealing.”
“You enjoyed the fighting?”
“Does that offend?”
“No. I can’t quite understand it, but I know it’s common enough.”
“If I’d wanted armed combat, there are postings around the world where it’s available, but I didn’t fancy a life in Canada or India, and there are even worse places. The West Indies, for example, and the penal colonies of Australia. I’d no mind to be a jailor.”
“I’ve listened to men discuss the same options,” she said, enjoying her own coffee, feeling as relaxed as Sillikin, who was dozing by the fire. “In the same manner. After Waterloo, something seeped away—and left a swamp.”
“A good way of putting it. Most military officers need their profession, but I didn’t. I had a modest inheritance from my father, and then an uncle left me a larger one. When another regiment was sent to keep the peace in Yorkshire, enforcing the Riot Act against desperate Englishmen, I sold out before I was entangled in a similar mess.” He poured himself more coffee. “I couldn’t mend that situation by staying.”
“Of course not. And your concerns were justified. The dragoons were ordered to charge the gathering at Spa Fields last year. People could have been killed. It was outrageous.”
She expected him to share her disapproval, but he said, “You didn’t read the handbills distributed before the meeting. I quote: ‘The whole country awaits the signal from London to fly to arms! Haste, haste to break open gunsmiths and other likely places to find arms! Run through all constables who touch a man of us. No rise of bread! No Regent! No Castlereagh! Off with their heads!’”
“Heavens! You know it by heart?”
“My very retentive memory.”
“It’s horrible that people preached such violence. But the hardships are great.”
“It would be pleasant if life was black or white, but it rarely is. Try some baklava. It’s sticky, but you’re allowed to lick your fingers.”
She took a tiny square and nibbled. Crisp layers of thin pastry with honey, spices, and some sort of nut. “Have you introduced the dowager to this?”
“No.”
Clearly he saw it as sweetmeats before swine.
Kitty took another nibble and drank some coffee. They went together perfectly. “I’ll end up fat.”
“Not if you eat only small pieces.” He’d finished his and sucked honey off his fingers and thumb.
Kitty realized that she’d licked her lips only when she saw the way he was watching her. She ate another nibble of cake; then she put down the remainder and moved her hand up to lick off the honey.
