She smiled gratefully at him. “Such works of art require more than one viewing.”
Miss Groton was giggling flirtatiously at something Charlie had said. His brother’s flushed face betrayed his fascination as Mrs. Groton looked on with a fond expression.
Jason groaned inwardly.
The evening passed without incident. When the front door closed on their guests, Lizzie paused at the foot of the stairs before retiring.
Something was required of him. “The baron has a great deal of charm, Lizzie,” Jason said as they made their way upstairs. After dinner, over port, Bianchi had spoken effusively of his ancient villa and gardens, which he hoped Jason and Lizzie would visit one day. “I am keen to view what promises to be a superb collection.”
“There is more to him than charm and his artworks, Jas,” she said, sounding exasperated.
“You’ve only just met the baron, my dear. But by all means, take the time to get to know him.”
With an affectionate smile, she took his arm. “Do you fear that if we should marry he’ll whisk me off to Italy?”
That seemed so final it chilled him. Lizzie at her new husband’s mercy in some foreign country didn’t bear thinking about. Had he become too protective? He was determined not to let his own desire to keep her close and safe motivate him. “Of course, I would miss you. Very much. But it’s early days, Lizzie.”
Reaching her door, he turned to her. “Apart from the fellow’s obvious good looks, what is it about him that so captivates you?”
She paused for a moment, one hand on the doorknob. Her eyes were sad when she looked at him. “His warmth, I suppose. I adored Greywood, as you know. I wanted to die after he was shot. But he was brutalized by his years away at war. It was not always easy to get as close as I would have liked.”
She was right of course. Jason bowed his head in agreement. The war changed men. A captain in the Foot Guards, Robert Greywood had lost most of his men at the advance of the French cavalry and artillery. He only talked about it when he and Jason had imbibed a good deal of brandy. And Jason knew Robert would never speak of it to Lizzie. The horror of battle was etched forever in his and Jason’s soul. How Greywood described wave upon wave of the French cuirassiers advancing, shouting,“Vive l’Empereur.”How his men had knelt, their bayonets raised, like a line of impassable steel, to thwart them. And then to watch so many of them fall. A man doesn’t forget that.
“I only ask you to take your time, Lizzie. Don’t be swept off your feet.” He kissed her cheek and continued along the passage.
In his sitting room, Charlie sprawled in a chair. “Well, what do you think of Amelia, Jas?”
Jason buried a sigh. He longed for a few moments of uncomplicated peace, and he had that letter to write. “I thought her exceedingly pretty.”
“She’s a beauty. Sweet natured too.” Charlie jumped up and followed Jason into his dressing room, where Hicks waited. “You will help her, won’t you, Jas?”
“I promise I’ll try. But I refuse to discuss it now while I undress. As charming as Miss Groton is, she does not equal my need for sleep.”
Charlie chuckled and slapped him on the back. “It’s barely one o’clock. Shall I begin to call you ‘old fellow’?”
“Only if you desire to be sent to Coventry,” Jason said with a grin.
An idea had come to him. The best way to deal with Miss Groton was to solve her immediate problem and banish the scoundrel who threatened her. Once she no longer required Charlie’s help, a young man such as he, with no means to support her for years, would fade into the background while London discovered a new beauty in their midst. As far as Jason could tell, although Charlie was captivated, he had not fallen deeply in love with Amelia Groton. Not yet at least.
Late the next morning, Jason woke to the sound of church bells ringing out over London. Russell delivered a note with his morning coffee.
“This just came, my lord. I thought it prudent to bring it to you immediately.”
Jason stretched and yawned. “Can’t a fellow have some peace on a Sunday? Thank you, Russell, you are, as always, correct to have done so.” He examined the letter and, as the butler withdrew, opened it.
I apologize for disturbing you on the Sabbath, my lord, but an urgent matter has arisen. I consider it imprudent to wait for my husband to return or to put the reason for this missive in writing. I wonder if you could visit me this afternoon? I would be most grateful.
The note was signed Grace Kinsey.
Jason tossed the blankets back and leaped from the bed, more than a little intrigued and hopeful that he might be about to learn what lay behind this mysterious so-called wild-goose chase Parnell had sent him on. With any luck, he could report back to Parnell and put the whole damned business behind him by the end of the week. Then he could concentrate on other pressing matters, like sorting out Miss Groton’s problem and delve, albeit subtly, into the baron’s past. He needed to discover if the man was decent, for Lizzie’s sake, before their relationship deepened.
After washing and dressing, he made his way downstairs. In the breakfast room, as he scooped ham and eggs onto his plate from the heated dishes on the sideboard, he was hit by an unpleasant thought. What if his findings did crush Charlie’s and Lizzie’s plans for their futures? He would become persona non grata in his own house. It would require him removing himself to Peyton Grove, a place he usually found appealing, but just now, the prospect of returning alone to his country seat was not so captivating. Self-examination was not something Jason normally indulged in. He wasn’t sure why he’d begun to question his life, but he refused to give the credit to Parnell.
Chapter Six
A black armband on his sleeve, Fiske opened the door to Jason. “Lady Kinsey will see you in the library, my lord. Please follow me?”
Jason crossed the expanse of exotic Eastern carpet as Lady Kinsey rose from a maroon leather chesterfield to greet him.
