“Just make sure you bring stout boots—you’ll need them.”
George’s eyes gleamed. “I can manage stout boots.”
“And since we’re riding all the way there, bear in mind that you’ll only have what you can carry in your saddlebags. You’ll be limited as to what clothing you can take.”
George grinned. “I’m sure I can manage for a week. And if we’re going to your estate after, I can have some more suitable clothing sent up separately.”
Theo grinned at him. “That sounds like an excellent plan,” he agreed. “We’ll be quite disreputable-looking after a week on the road, and we wouldn’t want anyone taking you for a highwayman on your way back to Wiltshire.”
George grinned back. He looked boyishly excited now, his wariness gone. “What time do you plan to set off tomorrow?”
“After breakfast,” Theo said. “I’ll call here at around ten o’clock. I warn you, though, I intend to set a swift pace. I think we can make it to Llanberis in a week, but we’ll be pushing hard every day, so make sure you breakfast well before we leave.”
“I will. A dozen eggs at least.” George's dark eyes were bright with excitement, a wide smile gracing his beautiful mouth.
Theo’s heart briefly stuttered as he eyed George’s mouth, and just for a moment, he felt a pang of worry for himself. He was so careful, always, not to want more than he could have. But there was something about George. There always had been. Perhaps that was why Theo had kept him at arm’s length when they were boys, pushing him away with his curt advice on how to be more assertive, more masculine, more demanding of respect.
Perhaps Theo was making a mistake, arranging to spend so much time with him?
Well, if he was, it was too late. There was no question of reneging his offer now, not when George was looking lighter and happier than he had all day, just at the thought of going on this modest trip.
Shaking off that thought, Theo raised a hand in an awkward farewell. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.”
“Ten o’clock,” George agreed. “I’ll be ready and waiting.”
12
GEORGE
When George awoke the next morning, after the best night’s sleep he'd had in some time, his first thought was to wonder what he would do today.
Then he remembered Theo Caldwell’s invitation of the evening before.
He was going to Wales. With Theo.
A strange, queasy thrill went through him at the thought, part pleasure and part horror. What had he agreed to?
He could change his mind, of course. Dash off a quick note of apology and send an errand boy to Theo’s house with it. For several long minutes he lay in bed, pondering what he might write in such a note. At last, still undecided, he got up and rang the bell for hot water.
After washing and shaving, he dressed in his most comfortable riding clothes, then pulled out more clothes to take on the journey. If he went. When he was done, he eyed the surprisingly large pile of garments doubtfully. There was no way on earth it would all fit into a pair of saddlebags. George had never wanted a valet—he was no fashionable dandy who needed a servant to polish his boots with champagne—but at times like this, he had to allow one would be useful. With a sigh, he rang the bell again, asking the footman who answered his summons to send the housekeeper up.
Mrs. Graves didn’t so much as blink at George’s garbled explanation of needing his clothes to be packed for a trip he may or may not be embarking on. She merely suggested he go downstairs to take his breakfast, assuring him that she’d sort out the saddlebags and arrange for several trunks of additional clothing to be sent up to Mr. Caldwell’s house in Wales. And if it all had to be unpacked again after breakfast, that would not be a difficulty.
Her calm assurances didn’t settle him though. Even as George descended the stairs to the breakfast room, he was composing his note of apology to Theo in his head. Or rather, failing to compose it. The trouble was, he didn’t want to lie, but it was difficult to think of any good reason for changing his mind that would not be hopelessly rude.
Despite his uncertain frame of mind, his stomach was growling when he sat down to eat, and he was in the middle of his second helping of eggs and ham when a footman entered, saying, “Excuse me, my lord, there's a gentleman asking to see you.”
George glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was not quite half-past nine. Damn it all, Theo was early, and George still hadn’t decided what to do!
“Thank you, Piggott,” he said, pushing his plate aside and trying to ignore the sudden churning in his belly. “I’m expecting him. Please, show him in.”
“Very good, my lord.” The footman withdrew, but moments later he was back—and it was not Theo Caldwell who he ushered into the room.
It was Ollie.
Slowly, George got to his feet. “Fletch,” he said stupidly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning.”
Ollie’s smile was tight. Nervous. “I’m sorry to call so early, but Cecily and I are departing on our wedding trip this morning, and I wanted to see you before I left town.”
