Diamond buttons, for Zeus’s sake.
He slowed Zampira and surveyed his cousin’s domain. It was impressive and elegant, but Ash didn’t particularly desire its like. What he desired was hearty fields and tenants, and a house without crumbling plaster in damp corners.
He’d spent his life blaming the Mallorens for any problems, but most of his current ones were not their fault. He knew Fitz had brought about some of the change. His friend’s casual observations had shaken Ash’s world until the realization had seeped in that a life of attack and retaliation was not what he wanted.
It had been too late. He’d already taken Molly Carewhome from the Knatchbull masquerade. Was that a Malloren plot? His predicament would be easier if it was, but he’d ridden back here hoping it wasn’t.
He’d returned to the house and breakfasted in his room, having used the bellpull, a modern development that he would like to install in his homes. Then he’d wandered Rothgar Abbey, talking casually to servants when he could, but for the most part simply absorbing history and present truths from the walls.
He wasn’t sure he’d learned anything of use, though he’d spent some time amid Rothgar’s collection of clockworks. He’d known of the interest. He’d been present at court when Rothgar and the Chevalier D’Eon had conducted a duel of sorts with automata.
The acting French ambassador had presented the king with a showy dove of peace, all silver, pearl, and jewels, but with a very simple mechanism that picked up an olive branch and spread its wings.
Rothgar’s automaton could be seen by the foolish as simple, since it consisted of a shepherd and shepherdess kissing beneath a tree, but it was exquisitely made. The movements were smooth and complex as the two lovers turned, looked, and kissed, the shepherd’s hand rising to touch his beloved’s cheek. At the same time, birds in the tree above broke into song, heads moving, wings spreading.
It had been easy to see the mechanical room as sign of Rothgar the great manipulator, but Ash had recognized taste, and also interests that could mesh with his own. Clocks were part of astronomy, after all, and telescopes needed complex mechanisms.
Such subjects were also excellent antidotes to inconvenient passion, but he couldn’t say they were working now. He was sharply aware of Genova Smith’s soft hand in his, of her generous body moving gracefully beside him, of the delicate perfume she wore, and of a deeper, spicier one that had stirred in the library.
Her hair had not come down, which was a shame. His dreams had been haunted by her hair. She’d been right to stop him, though, and thank the gods for herwillpower. Anyone could have come in, and if they’d been caught it would have sealed their fate.
How had passion slipped loose when he’d only meant to see how far she would go to distract him?
If that was her purpose.
If she was Rothgar’s tool.
If she didn’t drive him as crazy as poor Aunt Augusta. Perhaps the very air here was toxic to Trayces.
He and Miss Smith entered the dining room to find the table increased to seat thirty or so. All seats were filled except two at Rothgar’s right hand.
Ash recognized that his cousin had little choice. Everyone here would know of the family strife, and any lower honor could be seen as a slight. They were almost exactly equal in status, though the marquessate of Rothgar had been created a few years before the Ashart one.
As he led Miss Smith to pride of place, he noted a slight nervous clutch of her fingers. For the first time it occurred to him that if she was involved in his affairs by accident, this must all be very difficult for her.
As they sat, he assessed those nearby. Sir Rolo and Lady Knightsholme sat opposite. He was bluff and honest, and she bold, as the smile she flashed Ashart showed. She was the Malloren connection, though distantly.
On his right, Miss Charlotte Malloren, middle-aged spinster and gossip, her eyes bright, her ears doubtless perked for juicy tidbits.
Rothgar offered bisque from the tureen before him, indicating what others were available down the table. Footmen stood ready to ferry dishes around.
Miss Smith took bisque in the way of one who doesn’t want to draw attention to herself. Ash declined, annoyed that her boldness had been so easily tamed.
Rothgar said, “I understand you have been enjoying my library, Miss Smith.”
Ash saw her almost drop her spoon into her soup, and braced to intervene, but she collected herself. “Yes, my lord.”
“Did you enjoy anything in particular?”
Ash had to fight to hide amusement.
“I found the open books intriguing, my lord,” she said and he silently applauded.
“I try to choose pages to stimulate thought.”
“You!” It escaped and she blushed, but it seemed to bring her to life. What had been in those open books? Ash wondered.
“I was surprised to see a biblical selection preaching against the rich and mighty, my lord.”
