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“Oh! Viola — there you are.” Hannah’s brows shot up at Lord Carrington’s presence, but she came to Viola, her eyes searching. “What happened? You left the room, and it took me some minutes to see that something was wrong. I am sorry for that. I should have been paying closer heed.”

“It is not your fault, Hannah.” Viola’s voice was soft. “I had another note. Lord Carrington has been assuring me that, whatever it says, he has no interest in the house and would refuse it even were I to give it him.”

“Indeed I have.” Lord Carrington drew the letter from his pocket and handed it to Hannah rather than back to Viola. “Whoever sent this has decided your sister owes me Stoneleigh House. That is not at all how I see it. I am glad it is hers, Lady Manion, glad it will be so well cared for, and my cousin’s wishes so respected.”

Hannah read it, her shoulders slumping. “Who would write such a thing? We must find them out, and put an end to it.”

“Lord Carrington believes he knows why Lady Warrington gave me the townhouse,” Viola told her. “That is why he and Brookmire came to call.”

Hannah grimaced. “And, alas, we have Lady Henderson and Miss Galbraith here, so you cannot speak freely. They will surely wish to stay longer now the gentlemen have come.”

“Then tomorrow,” he said, his gaze on Viola so intent it near burned her. “You and I shall speak tomorrow.”

She nodded, wishing her sister had not come in at quite so unfortunate a moment. “Yes. That would suit me very well.”

“I will walk with you in St James’s Park,” he said firmly. “I know the quieter paths, where we shall not be interrupted.” He bowed, short and sharp, a look in his eyes she had never seen before, one that set her skin prickling. “I shall take my brother and excuse us at once. Good afternoon, Lady Manion.” He put a hand to his heart and bowed again. “And to you, Miss Trent.”

The moment the door closed, Hannah began to exclaim over what she had so nearly seen, half scolding Viola for standing alone with him, half pressing her with questions about his intentions. Viola answered none, only smiled and caught her sister’s hand.

“Hannah, I will tell you my thoughts of Lord Carrington very soon,” she promised, and Hannah’s mouth closed, though her eyes stayed wide. “For now, we should return to Lady Henderson and Miss Galbraith.”

Hannah drew a breath and scowled, releasing her hand. “Very well. Though I do wish they had not come. This afternoon might have brought such clarity, and instead we have nothing but confusion.”

Viola smiled and said nothing — for she was not, in truth, confused at all. Lord Carrington had discovered the reason behind Lady Warrington’s kindness, and soon she would know it too. And he had kissed her. Briefly, improperly, wonderfully — he had kissed her, and in it he had shown her the depth of his feeling, and her own heart had sprung to life with the very same. No, she thought, as she walked back toward the drawing room. She was not confused, nor perplexed, nor confounded. For the first time in many weeks, she felt herself quite certain of one thing.

She was already in love with Lord Carrington.

CHAPTER 15

Julian had always loved St James’s Park in summer. The grounds were spectacular, the sunshine bright on every vivid color. Today, though, it was not the roses that caught his eye, nor the other figures at their promenade. His gaze searched for one person, his heart longed for one person only.

Miss Trent.

He had thought of little since but the kiss — brief, stolen, ended almost before it had begun, and the sweetest thing he had ever known. The impropriety of it ought to have weighed on him. It did not. It brought him no dread, but hope, and a smile he could not keep down. He wanted to kiss her again, properly, unhurried, with no sister’s voice in the hall. He wanted her to know how he felt. The only question that remained was whether to speak of it now, or to wait until all was explained and understood between them.

“Lord Carrington?”

He turned and bowed as Miss Trent curtsied, his heart quickening at the nearness of her. When he looked into her brown eyes, it was as if they were back in the library, the two of them alone.

“Lord Carrington. Good afternoon.” Lady Manion’s quiet voice made him start, and he forced his eyes from Miss Trent to her sister, who was rising from her curtsy with a small, knowing smile.

“Good afternoon, Lady Manion.” He hoped she would do as she had before and fall back. “I am glad to see you both.”

“I am sure you are.” A twinkle came into her eye that sent heat up his neck. “Shall we walk? My sister is eager to hear whatever explanation you have of the will.”

“Of course.” Julian offered Miss Trent his arm, and she took it without the slightest hesitation. To his relief, Lady Manion did stay back, and he felt as if he had Miss Trent entirely to himself.

It was just what he had wanted.

“Miss Trent,” he began, with a long look and a faint smile. “There is a great deal I must tell you. And in truth, I fear you may wish to step back from me when you have heard it, which would be a great pain to me indeed.”

Her eyes widened. “You alarm me, my lord. What could you have done to drive me from you?”

He turned them onto a path where the sun flooded a broad sweep of grass with a pond at its center. “It is not what I have done, but what my father did. A decision, years ago, that touched your family deeply.”

She said nothing.

“Your father and mine were, it seems, the very best of friends.” He smiled ruefully at her swift intake of breath. “That was my own response. I could scarcely credit it, for I never once heard of the connection. Yet they were near to brothers. They first met at Eton.”