Sarah raised one hand to forestall him. “Have you seen Mr. Eston?”
“Not this morning, Lady Sarah.”
“Thank you, Thomas,” she said, leaving him.
Douglas must be making his diamonds. She left Chavensworth, beginning to walk toward the observatory. The day was a breezy one, but the air felt heavy, as if rain was imminent. Sarah hadn’t been back to the observatory since the day her mother had died, and she was shocked at the changes.
Empty crates were scattered about on the grassoutside the observatory, and a huge hole had been gouged out of the knoll. Four stacks of bricks were placed on the side of the lane.
What on earth was Douglas building?
She knocked on the closed door of the observatory and, for a moment, wondered if he were inside. Finally, the door opened, so quickly that she was startled by it. Sarah pressed her hand her throat and subdued her gasp only by force of will.
“I don’t need anything, thank you,” he said, his tone sharp.
He wasn’t even looking at her when he spoke, but at the doorframe. When his gaze finally did settle on her, his look of annoyance faded to surprise.
“Who were you talking to?” she asked, curious.
“Your staff,” he said, once again annoyed. “You have a very diligent staff, Sarah. They call upon me three or four times a day to ensure I don’t need anything. Cook sends luncheon and tea, and once a tankard of ale. I think they’re afraid I’ll waste away out here.”
“But I do hope that you don’t scare the poor things with that tone of voice. It isn’t the least bit friendly.”
“I didn’t know that one was supposed to be friendly to the staff.”
“Well,” she said, amending her comment, “if not friendly, then at least civil. You weren’t at all civil, Douglas.”
“My apologies,” he said.
“I haven’t come with any offerings,” she said. “Does that mean I cannot come inside?”
She peered around his arm to see a selection of beakers and vials and curious round glass objects sitting on the work surface.
“It isn’t safe,” he said, placing his arm across the door like a barrier. “Or I would invite you inside.”
“Not safe? If it’s not safe for me, why is it safe for you?”
“I never said it was safe for me,” Douglas said.
Her eyes widened as she stared at him. “You never said anything about it being a hazardous process, Douglas.”
“We actually didn’t discuss the process in detail, Sarah.”
Well, that was certainly true. She’d barely discovered what it was her father was willing to bargain her for, let alone discussed the matter. Still, she was a little annoyed by his reticence. Was she supposed simply to ignore the fact that he might be in danger?
“Is there a reason why you’re here, Sarah?” he asked.
She should definitely resent that tone of voice. Or the careful look in his eyes. And she should most assuredly not take notice that his white shirt was open at the throat, and his hair just a little bit mussed as if he’d threaded his fingers through it.
However many times Sarah saw him, however many times she told herself he was her husband—nothing prepared her for the shock she felt in the presence of his sheer physical perfection.
“Sarah?”
Startled, she stared up at him. What did she want? She blurted out the news.
“I have to go to Scotland,” she said.
The words seemed to hang in the air between them until she wanted to prompt him to speak. For the longest time, he didn’t say anything, merely propped hishand against the frame of the open door and regarded her the way he might one of the components of his dangerous process: with a great deal of care.
