Page 94 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

He caught her hand and brought it gently to his lips. “Thank you.”

She squeezed his fingers before withdrawing hers, trying to ignore the sudden skip of her pulse. “Good night, Roman.”

“Good night.”

Tamsin left the study and closed the door quietly behind her. She had gone only a few steps before she slowed. He had not asked her to leave. That was the irritating part. If she had said, I would like to stay, she rather thought Roman would have looked surprised, moved her chair closer to his, and let her remain beside him for as long as she pleased.

She had told him there was nothing else she wanted. That morning, she had told him there was nothing at home requiring his attention.

Both statements had been true.

Neither, Tamsin knew, had been what she meant.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Leopold arrived at Hartwell House shortly before Tamsin had luncheon with Roman, a habit they shared with him when he was home, and asked for Tamsin. That alone was enough to make her suspicious.

Her brother had visited since her marriage, of course, but generally in company with someone else as escort, and he usually sought out the quiet of an unoccupied room. He did not ordinarily present himself at her door in the middle of the day and ask specifically to speak with her. She had not been alone much of late, but her mother-in-law had left for her annual visit to her sister in Leeds before the weather turned too cold. Frances would be away for a month, leaving Tamsin to navigate on her own once again.

When she entered the upstairs drawing room, she found him standing before the windows with his hands clasped behind his back. “Leo?”

He turned. “There you are.”

“Here I am.” She frowned. Of course she was here, she lived here. Yet he spoke with the exasperation of a man who had searched for her everywhere to the point of lost patience.

Her brother crossed the room and kissed her cheek, immediately looking past her. “Are you alone?”

Tamsin glanced behind herself, though she knew perfectly well no one was there. “At present.”

“Good.” He stepped back and went to the long sofa, collapsing upon it before frowning dramatically at the ceiling.

That increased her suspicion considerably. “Is something wrong? Or did you not mean to display such melancholy?”

“No. Not wrong. Not precisely.” Leopold raised up again and tapped the arm of the sofa. “Augusta has returned.”

Tamsin stared at him, not entirely certain why that news merited a visit to her, or his display bordering on the dramatic. “Miss Despencer?”

He heaved a sigh. “Obviously Miss Despencer.”

Her brother clearly meant to take his time with this conversation, so Tamsin sat in a chair near the window. She may as well humor him, but only to a degree. “To hear you speak these past months, one would think an invading army had carried her off to Scotland. I wished to be certain.”

Leopold frowned at her. “I have not exaggerated the circumstances to that extreme, Tamsin.”

“Ah, but you admit there has been an exaggeration of less extremes,” she teased, and quickly followed with a question less likely to upset him. “When did she return?”

“More than a fortnight ago.”

That was surprising. “And you have recently learned of it?”

“I knew immediately.”

“Oh.” That explained absolutely nothing. If she had been in York that long, surely he had visited her, yet no one in the family had said a word of such a thing. How incredibly odd.

Leopold stood abruptly and gave her an irritated look. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, merely that I am uncertain how to react to that news. Sit back down, Leo.” She watched his expression transform from affront to agitation.

He did not sit. Instead he began to pace, reminding Tamsin uncomfortably of Roman of late when he seemed to forget they were in the same room. Roman’s pacing usually gave the impression that he was attempting to puzzle something out.