Who Will Take This Man?

Six

Philip paced in front of the fireplace in the library, and stared once again at the mantel clock.

“You seem nervous,” Andrew remarked in an amused drawl.

“Not nervous. Filled with anticipation. I haven’t seen Catherine in ten years.” He watched Andrew tug his midnight-blue jacket into place. “Speaking of nervous, that’s the dozenth time you’ve straightened your attire.”

“Wouldn’t want your sister to think you’ve befriended a disreputable ne’er-do-well.”

“Ah. In that case you’d best leave before she arrives.” Ceasing his restless pacing, he stared into the flames dancing in the fireplace, childhood memories washing over him. “She always looked like an angel, but good God, she was a mischievous devil. Always sending the butler off on some false errand so we could slide down the curving banister at Ravensly Manor, or convincing me to join her on late night raids of the kitchens to filch biscuits.”

Yes, one year his junior, Catherine had been everything he was not as a child-fun-loving and playful. She taught him how to laugh and smile, how to take time for fun, coaxing him from his shyness, and accepted him exactly as he was-awkward, clumsy, diffident, serious, bespectacled, and pudgy.

“You’ve spoken of her so often over the years, I feel as if I know her,” Andrew said. “You were fortunate to have each other.”

“She was my best friend,” he said simply. “When I left England, leaving her was the most difficult part. But she’d been recently married, and was expecting a child, and I’d been assured of her happiness.” His jaw clenched. “But as you know, her letters indicate that her cordial relationship with her husband changed drastically when she presented him with a less-than-physically-perfect heir.”

“Yes. It’s hardly the boy’s fault he was born with a clubfoot. The man should be happy he was blessed with a child.”

At Andrew’s sharp tone, Philip turned to his friend and offered a grim smile at his dark scowl. “I appreciate the outrage on Catherine’s behalf. Believe me, it cannot possibly match mine. I greatly look forward to engaging in a little private discussion with my swine of a brother-in-law.”

“Happy to participate in that ‘chat’ should you require any assistance.”

A knock sounded at the door. At his call to enter, Bakari opened the door. “Lady Bickley,” he intoned, then stepped aside.

Catherine stepped over the threshold, and a lump clogged Philip’s throat at the sight of her. Clad in a pale green muslin day gown, her shiny chestnut curls framing her lovely face, she looked very much like the image he carried in his mind and heart, only more so. More beautiful, more slim, more elegant. An air of regal serenity surrounded her-not unusual for a proper English lady. Yet it had always been the flashes of deviltry so often present in her golden brown eyes that were so unexpected. And endearing.

He walked slowly toward her, across the expanse of the Persian rug to where she remained framed in the doorway, like a stunning portrait. Before he’d taken half a dozen steps, however, her lips twitched in that infectious, engaging way of hers, and she ran toward him. He caught her up in his arms, swung her around in an exuberant manner, and was instantly inundated with her delicate floral scent, exactly the same as he recalled. No matter what sort of mischief Catherine had engaged in, she’d always smelled as if she’d just stepped out of the garden. After one final twirl, he set her down, then they held each other at arm’s length while giving each other a thorough look-over.

“You look exactly the same,” he declared, “only more lovely, if that is possible.”

She laughed, a delightful sound that filled him with nostalgia. “Well, I’m afraid you look completely different.”

“For the better, I hope.”

“For the much better.”

“Is that to insinuate my appearance was lacking before I went abroad?”

“Not at all. Ten years ago, you were a darling boy. Now you’re a-”

“Darling man?”

“Exactly.” She squeezed his shoulders. “And so strong,” she teased in the exaggerated way he so vividly recalled. “Clearly, living in rustic conditions agrees with you.” Her smile faded, and her eyes turned misty. A myriad of emotions flashed in her eyes, so quickly he couldn’t decipher them. Resting her palm against his cheek, she said, “It is so wonderful to have you home, Philip. I’ve missed you very much.”

Her voice hitched, and looking into her eyes, he realized that there were subtle changes. This was not the carefree girl he’d left behind. Shadows flickered in her eyes, shadows a casual observer wouldn’t notice, but he knew her very well. Clearly Father’s illness and her unhappy marriage had taken their toll on her vivacious spirit. He looked forward to speaking to her privately, to hear about her son and husband, things she wouldn’t confide to him in front of Andrew.

“And I’ve missed you, Imp.” She smiled at his use of her childhood sobriquet. Grabbing her hand, he kissed her fingers in his most gallant gesture, then offered her his arm. “Come, you must meet Andrew.”

They turned and made their way across the room to the fireplace where Andrew stood. Leaning his head toward Catherine, Philip whispered, making certain he spoke loud enough for his friend to hear, “Do not believe a word he says. He is an outrageous flirt and an accomplished mischief maker.”

Drawing to a halt near the hearth, Philip said, “May I present my friend and colleague, Mr. Andrew Stanton. Andrew, my sister, Catherine Ashfield, Lady Bickley. ”

Catherine smiled and offered her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stanton, although I feel I already know you through Philip’s letters.”

Andrew said nothing for several seconds, then seemed to gather himself, and reaching out, he took her hand and formally bowed over it. “It is an honor, Lady Bickley. As Philip was kind enough to share snippets of your letters with me and often regaled me with stories of your childhood, I, too, feel as if we are already acquainted. The miniature of you he carried did not do you justice.”

“Thank you.” Catherine shot Philip an arch look. “Childhood stories? Oh, dear. You must not believe everything my brother tells you, Mr. Stanton.”

“I assure you he painted you in the most flattering light.” One corner of Andrew’s mouth lifted. “Usually.”

“Come, let us sit,” Philip said. “Miss Chilton-Grizedale isn’t expected to arrive for another hour, which gives us some time to catch up.”

“Yes,” Catherine agreed. “I want to hear about… everything.”

Once they were seated, Philip asked, “As neither Spencer nor Bickley joined us this evening, I take it that you traveled to London alone?”

A pained expression flashed in Catherine’s eyes, so quickly that if Philip didn’t know her well, he would not have recognized it as such. “Yes. Bertrand is immersed in his duties at Bickley Manor. I left Spencer in Little Longstone, under the care of Mrs. Carlton, his governess. Traveling is difficult for him, and he does not particularly care for London.” Then her face lit up with a look of deep, motherly love. “However, he is most anxious to meet his wildly adventurous uncle and made me promise to extract your promise to visit us in Little Longstone the instant you return from your wedding trip.” She reached out and clasped his hand. “I visited with Father earlier and he told me everything. I’m so sorry about your canceled wedding, Philip. But do not worry. The idea you wrote me of hosting a party is excellent. With the soiree Miss Chilton-Grizedale and I will arrange, we’ll find you a lovely bride in no time.”

Philip leaned nonchalantly against the marble mantel in the drawing room, ankles crossed, half smile in place, swirling a snifter of after-dinner brandy. Outwardly, he knew he appeared relaxed and composed. Inwardly, a mass of tense confusion writhed through him like snakes in a pit. As he had all during dinner-wildly unsuccessfully- he now again tried his damnedest to keep up with the conversation buzzing between Miss Chilton-Grizedale and Catherine, but his mind was not cooperating. No, he was far too preoccupied. With her-the annoying matchmaker, whom he was finding more annoying with each passing minute. More and more annoying because it was no longer her autocratic nature he was finding irksome- although there was no denying that still rubbed him the wrong way. No, it was this damnable attraction and awareness he was experiencing that was now the source of his mounting irritation. The excellent meal had done little to hold his attention, in spite of the fact that the Mediterranean influences in the courses indicated that Bakari had obviously gone to great pains to see to it that his very English cook, Mrs. Smythe, had prepared the food according to his tastes. Judging by the number of harrumphs Bakari had muttered, and Mrs. Smythe’s formidable demeanor, Philip judged this had been no easy task.

The delicately poached turbot had been lost upon him as he’d attempted to divert his gaze away from Miss Chilton-Grizedale-and failed utterly. She sat on his left, giving him an unimpeded view of her profile. Her dark hair was arranged in a Grecian-style knot, with a bronze ribbon that matched her gown woven through the shiny strands. His gaze touched upon her smooth skin, the curve of her cheek, the sweep of her lashes. With every sip from her wine goblet, his attention was drawn to her lovely mouth.

Every time she’d leaned forward to say something to Catherine, he’d desperately tried not to notice how the movement pulled the coppery-bronze silk of her gown just a bit tighter across the generous swell of her breasts. Every word she uttered to Catherine regarding this party they were planning with the precision of a military invasion provided him with another opportunity to enjoy her voice.

In fact, she was speaking to Catherine now, both women perched upon the brocade settee. A delicate blush colored Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s cheeks, and her eyes were alight with interest. She moved her hands in animated gestures as she spoke, punctuating her words. Her voice was rich and warm, with just a slightly husky timbre that made it sound as if she’d just awoken. From bed. His bed.

An image instantly formed in his mind, of them, together, naked, limbs entwined, her whispering his name in that husky voice… Philip… please, Philip…

“Philip… please. What do you think?”

Catherine’s voice snapped him back from his runaway thoughts like a cobra bite. He looked around and noted three pairs of eyes regarding him with varying degrees of quizzical expressions. Andrew, who sat on an overstuffed wing chair across from the ladies, bore an expression that appeared more amused than questioning. Heat crept up Philip’s neck. He adjusted his spectacles, then, convention be damned, he loosened his confining cravat.

“Afraid I was in a bit of a brown study. What were you saying?”

Catherine’s lips quirked upward. Alternating her gaze between Andrew and Miss Chilton-Grizedale, she reported in a teasing voice, “My brother has changed very little in the past decade, I see. His mind, always filled with thoughts of his studies, often wandered off during our conversations. I recall one time relating a fascinating story to him of a musicale I’d attended. After the fifth ‘That’s nice, Catherine’ he’d uttered, I said, ‘And then I jumped into the Thames and swam across to Vauxhall.’ He simply nodded. However, when I said, ‘The pyramids at Giza were built by Sir Christopher Wren,’ that comment quickly rewarded me with his attention-something you might both wish to remember the next time Philip’s mind wanders.”

“Thank you for the advice, Lady Bickley,” said Andrew. He turned to Philip. “Is that what you were contemplating just now, Philip? The beauty of the… pyramids?”

Philip shot Andrew a quelling look. Normally he enjoyed his friend’s irreverent sense of humor-but not now. Not when he felt so unsettled and undone. “No. I was merely… preoccupied.” Careful to avoid looking at Miss Chilton-Grizedale, he focused his attention on Catherine. “What do I think about what?”

“Holding the gathering here at your townhouse the evening after next, with me acting as hostess. Miss Chilton-Grizedale and I thought a dinner with dancing afterward would best suit our purposes.”

“Can you arrange something that quickly?”

“With the proper help and staff, a coronation could be arranged that quickly.” Sadness shadowed Catherine’s eyes. “And with father’s illness, time is of the essence.”

“To assist me in my search for a wife for you, it would help to know what sort of qualities you admire in a woman,” Miss Chilton-Grizedale said in that brisk, no-nonsense tone of hers.

Something that sounded suspiciously like a guffaw arose from Andrew. Philip shot his friend a frown, and when Catherine and Miss Chilton-Grizedale looked his way, Andrew started coughing. Waving his hand, Andrew reached for his brandy and gasped, “I’m fine. Really.” After taking a sip, Andrew grinned at Philip. “Yes, Philip. What sort of qualities do you admire in a woman?”

All eyes turned his way, and when Philip remained silent, Miss Chilton-Grizedale said, “I’m not saying I shall be able to meet all your criteria, Lord Greybourne, especially as time is short. However, it might prove helpful to know if there are any characteristics that you find particularly attractive or overly off-putting. In fact, if you wouldn’t object to loaning me the use of your desk and a piece of vellum, I’d like to jot down some notes.”

This was not a conversation he particularly wished to have, especially given the devilish gleam he recognized all too well in Andrew’s eyes. But since he couldn’t think of a way to refuse her request without reinforcing her belief that his manners were sorely lacking, he led the way to his desk. Extracting a piece of thick ivory vellum from the top drawer, he held out the maroon leather chair for her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, sitting down with fluid grace. Her bronze skirts brushed his breeches, and her delicious scent wafted into his head. Scones. Tonight she smelled like warm, freshly baked, buttered scones. Damn it all, he had a particular weakness for warm, freshly baked, buttered scones. He stepped quickly back from her.

“Philip harbors a fondness for willowy blondes,” Andrew said, rising to stand near the fireplace, “especially since he met so few during his travels. And if her features are those of a classic beauty, so much the better.” He made a Ming noise. “Too bad Lady Sarah ran off. Physically, she was exactly the sort he likes.”

“Classically beautiful blondes,” Miss Chilton-Grizedale repeated in a serious tone, making a note. “Excellent. What else, my lord?”

A scowl bunched Philip’s brows. Damn it all, as recently as two days ago he would have agreed with Andrew. But now…

“My brother enjoys music,” Catherine added, “therefore someone with a talent for the pianoforte, or a pleasant singing voice, would be preferable.” She turned toward him. “Don’t you agree, Philip?”

“Er, yes. Musical talent is nice.”

“Someone who has at least a passing interest in antiquarian studies would no doubt be helpful,” Catherine added. “For conversational purposes.”

“Indeed,” agreed Andrew, who was clearly enjoying this conversation far too much. “Being of a scientific and intellectual bent, Philip prefers ladies who are conversant in subjects other than fashion and the weather. However, she should most certainly be a practical woman who won’t expect romantic drivel. Philip isn’t the sort to make the grand romantic gesture.”

“Oh, I agree,” Catherine said, before Philip could reply. “Romance is simply not in Philip’s nature.” She smiled and wagged her finger at him. “Don’t look so stricken, Philip, dear. Most men are notoriously unromantic.”

“I am not stricken, nor am I unroman-”

Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s tsking cut off his words. She shot him a look of clear disapproval. “How vexing this is. Based on these comments, I’d made a perfect match for you, Lord Greybourne.”

“I did not intentionally curse myself, Miss Chilton-Grizedale.”

“But that does not make you any less cursed, now, does it, my lord?”

“How kind of you to point that out. Have you always had this compelling need to state the obvious?”

“I prefer to call it a reiteration of the pertinent facts-”

“Yes, I’m certain you do.”

“-and no, I only need to do so when certain people lose sight of the situation.”

“Ah. Certain people who are not showing a moment of brilliance, perhaps?”

She smiled sweetly. “I would not have presumed to imply as much-”

“Ha!”

“-but now that you mention it, yes.” Before he could reply, she turned to Catherine and asked, “Where were we? Oh, yes. The bride-to-be’s traits. What else?”

Catherine’s bemused gaze bounced between him and Miss Chilton-Grizedale, then she said, “She should, of course, be accomplished in handling the servants and know how to run the household.”

Miss Chilton-Grizedale, he noted, jotted down copious notes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth with concentration.

Catherine stroked her chin. “What else? Oh, yes. A love of dusty relics is an absolute must.”

“I fear no such woman exists,” Andrew chimed in. “A woman who does not abhor them would be enough to ask for.”

“All right,” Catherine agreed. “Philip, what else do you like?”

“I’m surprised you’ve bothered to ask. I like-”

“Animals,” Andrew said. “She must love large animals. He already has a puppy that, based on the size of its paws, promises to grow to the size of a pony.”

Catherine turned toward him. “A puppy? Did you bring him home from Egypt?”

“No. I found him on the way home from the docks. Abandoned.”

“Where is he now?”

“Resting in Bakari’s quarters. The beast had an injury which Bakari bandaged. He’s keeping him as still as possible for a few days to give its leg a chance to heal.”

Catherine gave him a fond smile. “You always did have a soft spot for abandoned creatures.”

“I’ve always felt a special kinship toward them,” Philip said quietly.

Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s hand moved swiftly across the vellum for several more seconds, then she looked up. “Anything else?”

“She should be an accomplished dancer,” Catherine said, which brought a guffaw from Andrew.

“Oh, most assuredly,” Andrew agreed, “so she can teach Philip how to dance.”

A confused frown puckered Catherine’s brow. “As I recall, Philip is a passable dancer.”

“Such effusive praise will surely swell my head,” Philip murmured.

Andrew laughed. “My dear Lady Bickley, the last time I saw him engaging in a dance, the din he raised sounded like a stomping herd of elephants.”

“Camels,” said Philip. “It was camels, not elephants. Several camels broke free of their tethers during a soiree in Alexandria and caused quite a commotion.” He glared at Andrew. “So all that stomping wasn’t me at all.”

Catherine coughed to cover an obvious laugh. “My relief knows no bounds. To continue, your future wife should possess at least a passing knowledge of French. And don’t you think she should know how to embroider, Philip? Even as a child you liked having your initials decorate your handkerchiefs.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Philip said. “Please be certain to add that to your list, Miss Chilton-Grizedale. ‘Must know how to embroider.’ I couldn’t possibly consider marrying a woman who was not handy with a needle and thread.”

Clearly his dry tone was not lost upon Miss Chilton-Grizedale. She looked up and their eyes met. One corner of her mouth twitched, and clear amusement glittered in her eyes. “I’ve not only added ‘expert embroiderer’ to the list, my lord, but I’ve placed a star next to it as well to denote its category as one of the utmost importance.”

She smiled at him, a simple gesture that sped up his heart to a ridiculous rate. A reluctant answering grin pulled at his lips, evaporating a measure of his irritation. Andrew issued a loud ahem, recalling Philip’s attention, and he realized he’d been grinning at Miss Chilton-Grizedale like an idiotic green schoolboy experiencing his first crush. She blinked twice, as if she, too, had forgotten the presence of others.

“Was there anything else you’d like added to the list, my lord?” she asked. “Perhaps something you find particularly abhorrent?”

“Philip detests liars,” Andrew said. “And didn’t we run into our share of them with those corrupt artifact dealers. Liars and thieves, nearly every one of them. Thankfully Philip possesses an excellent eye for spotting a forgery.”

Philip nodded slowly. “I cannot deny that I hate being lied to.”

Miss Chilton-Grizedale made a notation on the vellum. “So noted,” she said in a voice that sounded somewhat strained, “although I believe it is safe to say that no one enjoys being told falsehoods.” She turned her attention to Catherine. “Since that appears to finish this list, would you like to begin making up the guest list now, Lady Bickley?”

“Of course. That way I can send out the invitations early tomorrow.”

While Catherine and Miss Chilton-Grizedale sat at the desk near the windows, their heads close together as they plotted out the guest list, Philip and Andrew settled themselves on the opposite side of the room, near the marble fireplace, and began a game of chess. As Philip concentrated on resettling his ruffled feathers, they played in silence for some time, before Andrew said, “Edward came to the museum today.”

Guilt pricked Philip, and he raked his hand through his hair. “Damn, I’ve been so preoccupied with my own problems this evening, I completely forgot to ask about Edward. How were his spirits?” He didn’t add that he’d sent around a note to his solicitor late this afternoon instructing him to open an account in Edward’s name.

“Subdued. He’s planning to come again tomorrow.”

“Good. Focusing on something other than Mary will no doubt help him.”

“I agree. Obviously he’s mourning his wife, but it’s difficult to tell exactly what he’s thinking. He’s not an easy man to read.” Feeling the weight of Andrew’s stare, Philip looked up from the chessboard and found his friend’s gaze resting pointedly on him. “Not like some people.”

Philip raised his brows. “Meaning?”

Andrew leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Meaning that you are easier to read than a book, my friend.”

Philip stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The hell you don’t. I mean her.” He jerked his head toward the other side of the room. “That little exchange of words between you was quite telling. Not to mention the fact that you’ve been looking at her as if she’s an oasis and you’re dying of thirst.”

Bloody hell. Had he truly been that obvious? And when the devil had Andrew turned into such an enthusiastic observer of human behavior?

Andrew’s gaze flicked over to the two women in the corner, then he regarded Philip with an inscrutable expression. “Easy to see what the attraction is.”

To his annoyance, everything inside Philip tensed. Forcing a light tone, he said, “She is pretty, yes.”

“Actually, I don’t believe ‘pretty’ describes her at all. She is distinctive. Unusual. Striking. But not pretty.”

“Indeed? I hadn’t particularly noticed.”

“I see. Then I suppose you didn’t notice any of her other attributes, either.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the darker blue ring that surrounds her aqua irises, making her eyes appear like bottomless pools. Or the way her pale skin turns a delicate peach when she’s animated about something, or how incredibly shiny all that dark hair is. How long do you suppose her hair is? I suspect it at least reaches her waist.” He heaved a long sigh. “There’s nothing like a curvaceous woman with long, long hair. But I suppose you didn’t notice the fact that she is quite the curvy piece, either.”

Philip dropped all pretense of studying the chessboard. Unwanted, unwelcome jealousy pumped through him, along with a healthy dose of anger. “We’ve returned to civilization, Andrew. That is hardly a proper way to describe a lady.”

The look Andrew shot him was one of pure innocence. “So there «some decorum buried in there. I meant no disrespect, of course. I was merely obliging your request to list her attributes-ones that I believe any man with eyes would instantly note, by the way. Except you, it seems. Interesting. Especially as you are normally most observant.”

Oh, he’d observed. Observed everything about her, including her striking eyes, her complexion, her lovely hair, and the hints of her feminine form beneath her bronze-hued gown. It just irked that Andrew had also noted them.

“Too bad she isn’t one of those willowy blondes you prefer,” Andrew mused, “Although I imagine it wouldn’t matter. From everything you’ve told me, I gather you’re expected to marry some ‘Lady’ something-or-other as opposed to a regular ‘Miss. ’”

“Yes, that is what is expected,” Philip said. The words felt like desert sand upon his tongue.

“Yet there have been many occasions when I’ve known you to do the exact opposite of what was expected, Philip.”

Philip studied his friend for several seconds before replying. “That was in Egypt. Turkey. Greece. This is England. I returned here to do what is expected of me.”

“To marry someone you barely know. You’re abandoning the life you love abroad, your explorations, giving up your freedom.”

This was a familiar argument between himself and Andrew. “I’m honoring an agreement that granted me my freedom for the past ten years. And between the British Museum and the private museum you and I plan to co-found, I shall have more than enough to keep me busy.”

“I suppose. But you’ve given up a great deal. It certainly seems that you should have the woman you want. I myself would never marry for less than love.”

Philip couldn’t contain his bark of surprised laughter. “I find it difficult to envision you in the role of lovesick suitor, Andrew. I’ve seen you in the company of numerous women over the years, yet none seemed to have captured your heart.”

“Perhaps because my heart was already otherwise engaged.”

Philip stared, nonplussed. Although it was sometimes difficult to determine if Andrew was speaking in jest, those quietly spoken words held no trace of amusement. He’d known Andrew for five years, had lived in close quarters with him all that time, shared life-and-death experiences with him, yet this was the first mention of this unrequited love.

“Is your heart otherwise engaged?”

A fleeting expression of what looked like pain flashed in Andrew’s eyes. Then a rueful, sheepish grin pulled up one corner of his mouth. “Caught.”

Unable to hide his surprise, Philip asked, “Is she American?”

“No. I met her years ago. During my travels.”

“And you fell in love with her?”

“Yes. My fate was sealed the moment I laid eyes upon her.”

“Well, then why didn’t you marry her?”

“Unfortunately the lady was already married.”

“I see.” Silence settled over them while Philip digested this new information about his friend. “Do you love her still?” he finally asked.

Once again their eyes met, and Philip was struck by the bleak expression in Andrew’s dark eyes. “I will always love her.”

“Did she… love you in return?”

“No.” The word came out as a harsh whisper. “She was true to her husband, to her marriage vows. She did not know of my feelings. She did nothing to encourage them. I simply lost my heart to her.”

Philip tried to suppress his pity and amazement. He’d never seen Andrew so serious, so undone. So sad. Reaching out, he squeezed Andrew’s shoulder in a gesture of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Andrew. I had no idea.”

“I know. And I’m not certain why I told you, except…” He shook his head, then pressed his lips together, as if having a difficult time forming the words, uncharacteristic of the normally unreserved Andrew. “I know you’re a man of integrity, Philip. A man of your word. A man who must choose a wife. I suppose I’m just hoping that you will choose… carefully. And follow your heart. I was not able to do so, and it is a pain I would not wish upon anyone, most especially my closest friend. Perhaps your betrothed marrying another was fate. A sign that you were meant for another.”

Before Philip could fashion a reply, Andrew’s expression changed, replacing his air of melancholy with his normal lopsided grin. He inclined his head toward the chessboard and moved his queen. “Checkmate.”

Philip shook Andrew’s hand, then turned toward Catherine and Miss Chilton-Grizedale who had arisen and were crossing the room. “Have you finished with the guest list?”

“Yes. The invitations will be sent out tomorrow. And we can hope that by the evening after next, you will have found someone who appeals to you. Miss Chilton-Grizedale and I have made up a list of candidates that is certain to please you.”

A knot settled in his stomach. “Excellent. Now we can only hope that I am able to break the curse. For if not, it doesn’t matter how perfect a woman you find for me, I will not be able to marry her.”

Silence fell over the group like a shroud of fog. Finally Miss Chilton-Grizedale said, in her practical, brisk way, “I believe our best course is to remain hopeful. Nothing breeds bad luck more than a pessimistic outlook.” Her gaze wandered to the mantel clock. “Good heavens, I had no idea it was so late. I really must be going.”

“I must go as well,” Catherine said.

They all walked to the foyer, where Bakari called for both Philip’s and Catherine’s carriages.

After tying her bonnet beneath her chin, Catherine hugged Philip. “Thank you for a delightful evening. I’ve missed sharing meals with you.”

“Thank you for your help. If there is anything I can do-”

“You can continue searching for the missing piece of stone so that the wedding can take place.” Turning toward Andrew, she inclined her head. “A pleasure, Mr. Stanton.”

Andrew bowed over her gloved hand. “The pleasure was mine, Lady Bickley.”

Philip walked Catherine down the walkway to the waiting carriage. After seeing her safely inside, he returned to the foyer, where Miss Chilton-Grizedale and Andrew were sharing a laugh over something. An uncomfortable wave of jealousy washed through him. He forced a smile, then reached for his walking stick.

Andrew noted his walking stick and asked, “Going somewhere, Philip?”

“I am seeing Miss Chilton-Grizedale home.”

Her cheeks flooded with color. “That is not at all necessary, my lord. I would not wish to indispose you.”

“I insist. Whereas my sister lives just down the road and has two footmen in addition to her coachman to protect her, you live quite a distance from here, and there are all manner of criminals who lurk about at night.” He raised his brows. “You’ve harped on my lack of decorum, yet when I make a gentlemanly gesture, you argue.”

She appeared to bristle. “Harp? I prefer to call it reminding.”

“I’m certain you do.”

“There’s no point in arguing with him, Miss Chilton-Grizedale,” Andrew broke in. “Philip can be quite stubborn. Indeed, I suggest that you add ‘capable of putting up with pigheadedness’ on your list of qualities in his future wife.”

She laughed. Humph. He didn’t think Andrew’s comment was particularly humorous. Then an enchanting smile lit Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s face-a smile directed at Andrew-a fact which further tensed Philip’s muscles.

“I’ll add it as soon as I return home.” She held out her hand to Andrew. “Good evening, Mr. Stanton.”

Andrew raised her hand and bestowed a kiss upon Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s gloved fingers-a kiss that, even to Philip’s dim memory of all things decorous, lasted considerably longer than was strictly proper. “A delight, Miss Chilton-Grizedale. I’ve not been fortunate enough to spend the evening in such lovely company for a long time. I hope we meet again soon.” Turning toward Philip, he said, “I’ll see you in the morning.” With that he climbed the stairs, heading toward his bedchamber.

Philip escorted Miss Chilton-Grizedale to his waiting carriage, then settled himself on the velvet squabs directly across from her.

The instant the door clicked shut, Meredith questioned the wisdom of allowing Lord Greybourne to escort her home. Only hours earlier, this coach had seemed spacious. Now it felt as if the interior did not contain enough air to breathe. She had only to reach out her hand to touch him. Looking down, she noted that the bronze skirt of her gown brushed his breeches. It was difficult to see his features in the dim interior, but she felt the weight of his regard. The intimacy of this dark, close space sped up her heart in a way she found most disturbing. She closed her eyes, hoping to erase the image of him sitting just across from her, but there was no escaping the knowledge he was there. His masculine scent invaded her senses, that lovely aroma of freshly laundered clothing and sandalwood, mixed with a musky fragrance she couldn’t identify. He smelled like no other man, and she knew that even blind she could pick him out of a crowd of thousands.

“I thank you for your assistance this evening,” he said, his deep voice rising out of the dark shadows.

Opening her eyes, she forced a smile, hoping that the dim interior would keep him from noting just how forced it was. “You’re welcome; however, your sister deserves much of the credit. With my reputation in disfavor, the successful outcome of this dinner party would be dubious indeed. However, I am hopeful that we shall find you another bride as well suited to you as Lady Sarah was.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, Miss Chilton-Grizedale, but it is obvious that Lady Sarah and I were not well suited at all-at least she did not find me at all suitable. Or attractive in any way.”

“Lady Sarah was clearly daft.” Dear God, she had not meant to speak that thought out loud. Forcing her hands to remain folded on her lap as opposed to clamping them over her runaway lips, she stammered, “S-socially, you were suited in every way.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose we were. But when one’s heart is otherwise engaged, as Lady Sarah’s clearly was with Lord Weycroft, that muddies the waters.”

Relieved that he did not pursue her comment, Meredith raised her chin. “Actually, it does not muddy the waters at all, my lord. Lady Sarah’s affection for the baron would have faded with time once you and she were wed. It is simply a matter of mind over heart. The heart is willful and capricious. It does not know what is best, and, if listened to, will more often than not lead one toward an unwise path. The mind, however, is methodical and precise. Practical and sensible. When the heart and mind are at odds, one should always listen to the mind.”

“Such a pragmatic, unromantic statement from a woman whose occupation it is to arrange marriages.”

“The successful arrangement of marriages has nothing to do with romance, my lord, as I’d think a man in your position would know. My understanding of that concept is what has enabled me to be successful in my matchmaking endeavors. The advantageous combining of estates, political aspirations, families, and titles is what is important. Couples can develop a fondness for each other over time.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then they should strive for civility, with each pursuing their own interests.”

“My interests lie in studying antiquities. In learning about people and civilizations from other corners of the world. I plan to be very involved with displays at the British Museum, and it is my intention to found a museum of my own. For me to pursue those interests alone sounds very… isolated. Lonely. As was much of my work abroad. I would much prefer a partner with whom I could share all things.”

His deep voice wrapped around her like a cloak, seducing her with its warmth. She moistened her dry lips, and noted that his gaze flickered briefly down to her mouth. “Are you saying that you wish for me to make a love match for you? Because you must remember that due to your father’s illness, our time is limited.”

“According to Andrew, it does not take long to fall in love.”

She raised her brows. “He is an expert in such matters?”

“I don’t know that I would call him that, but he is in love with someone.”

They passed under a gas lamp, and Meredith saw he regarded her with a speculative expression. “You look disappointed at that news, Miss Chilton-Grizedale.”

“I am, Lord Greybourne.”

“May I inquire why?”

She raised her chin a notch. “I’d hoped to offer Mr. Stanton my services to find him a bride.”

For the space of half a dozen heartbeats, the only sound was the squeak of the carriage making its way slowly down the street. Then, to her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. Whatever she’d expected his reaction to be, it certainly hadn’t been amusement.

Annoyance flooded her, an emotion that actually pleased her. Good. Certainly I cannot find an annoying man attractive.

“I fail to see what is so amusing, my lord. Although it may not seem so to you, I assure you that prior to the debacle caused by your curse, my services as a matchmaker were highly sought after. Last year alone I arranged seven successful unions. The most notable of those, Miss Lydia Weymouth and Sir Percy Carmenster, was what convinced your father to seek out my services on your behalf.”

His laughter tapered off, and shaking his head, he said, “Forgive me. I was not laughing at you, dear lady. Indeed, I was laughing at myself. Laughing because your words made me happy.”

Meredith frowned. Happy? What had she said that could have possibly made him happy? She cast her mind back, but before she could reach an answer, he said, “With Andrew’s affections already spoken for, I’d say that means that you’ll simply have to devote all your attention to me.”

Unfortunately, Meredith did not think that devoting all her attention to Lord Greybourne would prove difficult.

And that scared her to death.

When Philip arrived back home, he was greeted by an empty foyer. “Hello?” he said, removing his hat.

A harrumph sounded behind him, startling him. Turning swiftly, he found himself facing Bakari. Damn, the man moved like a cat-silent and stealthy. It was a talent that had stood them in good stead during numerous adventures over the years-such as the time Bakari had furtively rescued Philip from that band of artifact thieves-but one that was quite disconcerting in the foyer.

Philip noted the man seemed a bit out of breath. “Is all well?”

Bakari grunted. “Dog.”

“Ah. I see.” Philip hid a smile. Apparently, under Bakari’s tutelage, the puppy, whom he’d yet to name, was recovering. Excellent.

The sound of footfalls upon the stairs drew Philip’s attention. Andrew, who still wore the same garments he’d worn to dinner, and whose face bore a slight sheen of perspiration as if he’d been exerting himself, joined them in the foyer.

Philip raised his brows. “I thought you’d retired-or are breeches, boots, and cutaway jackets a sleeping-wear fashion trend I’ve missed?”

“Not at all,” Andrew said. “I decided to wait until you arrived home, to see how your carriage ride with Miss Chilton-Grizedale went.” Tilting his head left, then right, he made a great show of studying Philip’s face. Then he shook his head. “Just as I suspected.”

“What?”

“Your time alone with her did not go as you wanted.”

“Meaning?”

“You did not kiss her.”

Bakari harrumphed.

Annoyance slithered down Philip’s spine. “First of all, how could you possibly know that, and secondly, why would you think I would do such a thing? Allow me to remind you that we are now in England-staid, proper, and all that. One simply does not go about kissing ladies. There are rules. Propriety.”

Andrew’s face was the picture of skepticism. “Since when are you such a stickler for rules and propriety? Need I remind you what happened the last time you strictly adhered to the rules?”

Bakari drew in a sharp breath and, waving his hands about, muttered some incantation. Then he shook his head. “Bad. Very bad.”

Philip raked his hands through his hair. “No, you need not remind me, and yes, it was bad.”

“Very bad,” Bakari insisted.

“I damn near drowned because you insisted we cross the river as the ancients had-in a damn tippy canoe,” Andrew said with a dark scowl, clearly ignoring the ‘you need not remind me’ part.

“Bloody hell, you should have told me you could not swim! Before we left the shore. Did I not pull you safely to land-in spite of your flailing arms and legs, which if I may remind you, inflicted numerous bruising blows to my body, several of them to very tender areas?”

“Got in a few good ones,” Andrew agreed. “But it was no less than you deserved. The entire incident shaved a decade from my life.”

“And would have been avoided if you’d told me the truth.”

“Saying he can’t swim is not the sort of thing a man goes around bragging about,” Andrew insisted. “And it wouldn’t have come up if you hadn’t insisted on following the ‘cross the river in the canoe’ rules.” His eyes narrowed. “And don’t be thinking you’ve changed the subject. I know you didn’t kiss her because, as I said earlier, I can read you very well, my friend, and that frustration I see simmering below the surface is not that which you would bear had you kissed her. And second, I thought you would do such a thing because it is so clearly obvious you want to.”

Bakari harrumphed and cleared his throat.

Philip clenched his jaw. Damn, but it was irritating when Andrew was right. Bloody hell, he’d wanted to kiss her. Desperately. Why hadn’t he? It was just a simple kiss, after all. But the instant that thought entered his mind, he realized the answer-he hadn’t kissed her because some instinct told him that there wouldn’t have been anything even remotely resembling simple in kissing her. “And I suppose you would have kissed her.”

If Andrew heard the tightness in his tone, he ignored it. “Yes. If I were that attracted to a woman and was presented with the opportunity, I would kiss her.”

“And the fact that I am to-I hope-soon be married to someone else?”

Andrew shrugged. “You’re not married yet, old man. And that’s not why you didn’t kiss her, and we both know it.”

Philip narrowed his eyes. “I’m certain there’s a ship departing for America within the hour,” he said-a comment about which Andrew looked completely unconcerned.

“Should kiss girl you want,” Bakari said softly. “Girl might want you, too.” Then, after a low bow, Bakari left the foyer heading toward his chambers, his soft leather slippers silent on the marble floor.

Girl might want you, too. Bloody hell. Bakari normally only spoke on average a dozen words a month. Which meant he’d already surpassed his usual quota with that speech. Excellent. Philip was not anxious to hear anything else.

He looked toward Andrew, whose face bore a suspiciously innocent expression. “Don’t say a word,” Philip warned.

“I wasn’t going to. Bakari said it all. In amazingly few words. A rather scary talent, don’t you agree?”

“One that you might wish to emulate-uttering fewer words, that is.”

“As you wish. I’m off to bed.” He started toward the stairs. At the landing, he turned around and issued Philip a mock salute. “Sweet dreams, my friend.”

Sweet dreams, indeed. With his muscles tense and his thoughts racing, sleep was nowhere in his immediate future. Deciding a brandy might relax him, Philip walked down the corridor toward his study. Entering the room, he headed immediately for the decanters and poured himself a fingerful of the potent liquor. As he raised the snifter to his lips, his gaze fell upon his desk. His hand froze halfway to his mouth, and he stared.

One of his journals lay open on his desk, with several more volumes stacked in a haphazard pile near the inkwell. He didn’t recall leaving the books in such a manner; indeed, he wouldn’t, as he was very careful with them. Setting his drink down next to the decanters, he strode toward the mahogany desk.

The journal was opened to a page upon which he’d sketched a detailed picture of the hieroglyphics and drawings on a tomb in Alexandria. His gaze skipped over the page, noting it appeared undamaged, then settled on the stack of journals.

A frown tugged his brows downward. Had one of the servants been looking through his belongings? It must be so, as neither Andrew nor Bakari would do so without asking his permission, nor would either not carefully replace the journals upon the shelf.

But why would one of the servants do such a thing? No doubt curiosity about him and his travels. Understandable, but he needed to discover the offender first thing tomorrow morning and address the issue. Not only did he not like the thought of someone looking through his things, but these journals were irreplaceable. He certainly didn’t want some curiosity-seeker inadvertently damaging or misplacing them.

Heaving out a long, irritated breath, he closed the open journal, then picked it up. He was about to turn to slide it back into its proper spot on the shelf when he spied a piece of foolscap on the desk, underneath where the journal had rested. Cramped, unfamiliar writing was scribbled across the surface. Puzzled, he picked up the note and squinted in the dim light to scan the few words.

You will suffer.

Philip frowned and ran his finger over the print. The ink smeared slightly.

This had been written recently. Very recently. But by whom? Someone in his house? Or had an outsider gained entry? Striding quickly to the French windows, he tested them, noting they were all securely locked. Had an intruder gained entry some other way? It seemed very odd that clearly neither Andrew, Bakari, nor any of the other servants heard or saw someone entering the townhouse. He recalled that Bakari had not been in the foyer when he arrived home-he’d been tending to the dog. And the front door had not been locked. Philip dragged his hands down his face. How long had Bakari left the foyer unattended? Bloody hell, someone could have walked right in the front door! Unless that someone had already been in the house…

He looked at the note again. You will suffer.

Who the devil had written it-and why?

A shaky hand lifted the generous pour of brandy to trembling lips. A narrow escape. Far too narrow for comfort. I must take more care in the future. A quick gulp of the potent liquor provided a much-needed warmth. After several more swallows, the glass was set down, and a noticeably steadier hand lifted a dagger. The polished, keenly sharpened blade reflected the candlelight.

Your untimely arrival home interrupted me, Greybourne, forcing me to abandon my search. But I’ll find what I’m looking for. And when I do, your life is over.