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so much as taste it.”’

      ‘Are you sure you didn’t have too much yourself?’ he asked, grinning at her imitation of the voluble woman.

      ‘Not nearly enough, I assure you, Sir Adam. Now our ways must diverge, as I need to see Janet Partridge and I doubt she wants to see a gentleman when she’s so near her time.’

      ‘I dare say you’re right, but I’ll escort you to her door nonetheless. Gadding about the countryside alone with all those light-fingered Frenchmen and restless ghosts running about is pure folly, my lady.’

      Sensing a serious note under his teasing, she wondered fleetingly what it might feel like to be ruthlessly bullied for her own good by Sir Adam Langthorne for the rest of her life. She had undoubtedly drunk too much of that wine after all, because it seemed a seductively attractive notion—and that would never do.

      ‘I doubt if either are bold enough to venture abroad in daylight, and I have no wish to visit the churchyard or Hangar Woods during the hours of darkness, I assure you.’

      ‘You have no taste for the gothic, my lady?’

      ‘None whatsoever—which shows a sad want of sensibility I dare say. Indeed, I can imagine nothing more horrid than coming across a headless spectre or a restless spirit while I’m busily minding my own business and harming nobody.’

      ‘I suspect one or two of them might like to come across such an appealing quarry as yourself, though. But it’s my belief Wharton is hiding something in that churchyard and means to frighten everyone away from it—especially after dark.’

      ‘So you intend to go there just to confound him?’ she asked sharply.

      ‘Maybe I’m foolish enough to wonder what a supernatural encounter might be like,’ he admitted laconically. Why did she think he was serious about this odd business? Surely there weren’t really French spies running about rural Herefordshire for want of something better to do?

      ‘Trust a man to be curious,’ she accused, knowing she had no right to protest his determination to run headlong into the first danger that presented itself because he might be bored after his adventures in Spain.

      ‘And trust a woman to know best,’ he parried infuriatingly.

      ‘Not two minutes ago you were warning me to be careful, and it’s commonly held to be the other way about.’

      ‘Have you never wanted to break out of the role you were allotted in life, Lady Summerton?’

      ‘Frequently. But then I grew up.’

      ‘Ah, so that explains it! Women grow up and men just learn to hide their curiosity a little better.’

      ‘Or we pique your curiosity, so you satisfy it at no cost to ourselves.’

      ‘Then you want to know about the ghost after all?’

      ‘No, but I should like to know just what Wharton is hiding in that vault.’

      ‘Meet me there tonight and find out, then,’ he challenged her, and for a reckless moment she was sorely tempted.

      Sharing outrageous midnight adventures with Sir Adam Langthorne seemed the ideal way of proving to both of them that she wasn’t as staid and colourless as he thought. Glimmers of the wild young girl she had once been, up for any mischief on offer, must still lie under Countess Serena’s sober façade after all. She reminded herself that reckless actions led to uncomfortable consequences and managed to crush her inner hoyden for the time being.

      ‘Not even if I consumed a whole bottle of Mrs Burgess’s wine. You’re a former soldier, and used to alarms and night watches. It’s probably your job to satisfy the curiosity of your neighbours while we sleep safely.’

      ‘I hope I know better than to go looking for trouble, but I’m also a churchwarden, and duty must outweigh caution.’

      ‘Good luck, then, Sir Adam,’ she managed to say, cheerfully enough, and offered him her hand in farewell as she opened the Partridges’ front gate.

      He bowed over it like a beau from a previous age, and kissed it lightly instead of shaking it. Fire shot through her, as if he had touched his lips to bare flesh instead of her supple leather glove. She snatched her hand back and looked about her. Luckily the men were at work and the women busy cooking. This time she had been lucky, but she must avoid him in future.

      ‘Thomas will meet me here with the gig,’ she lied brightly.

      ‘He must have learnt the dark art of being in two places at the same time, then. When I met him not half an hour ago he was on his way to Hereford. Either he’s a top sawyer and that old grey nag a phenomenon, or you’re guilty of shameless untruth, my lady.’

      ‘It’s not at all the thing for a gentleman to argue with a lady,’ she said hotly, squirming at being caught out under his amused gaze.

      ‘Dear me, what a hard furrow such paragons choose to plough.’

      ‘How would you know?’ she muttered under her breath, but his sharp ears caught her words and he gave her an unrepentant grin.

      ‘I wouldn’t, of course. But I’ll meet you here after I’ve seen the smith. Shall we say half an hour, my lady?’

      ‘You can say what you like, Sir Adam,’ she replied with a shrug she hoped looked as pettish as she felt. ‘I’ll go my own way.’

      ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am about the first part of that statement. Half an hour and no longer,’ he ordered, and turned away, as certain of being obeyed as if she were a subaltern under his command.

      She’d see about that, she decided militantly, tapping at the front door.

      ‘Lady Serena—how lovely,’ her once properly reserved ladies’ maid exclaimed. ‘Come on in off the street, do,’ she ordered as they embraced with a lack of reserve Serena’s sister-in-law would have found profoundly distasteful between one-time maid and mistress.

      How that neat, coolly efficient maid had once intimidated her, Serena recalled ruefully. Yet since coming to Windham as the new Lady Summerton she and her personal maid had become firm friends. Indeed, Janet knew a great deal about her that Serena had trusted in nobody else. Over the last five years the aloof little Londoner had blossomed, and become as staunch a convert to country life as you could find anywhere—especially since succumbing to Zachary Partridge’s heartfelt pleas to become his wife.

      ‘Marriage suits you, Janet,’ she told her.

      ‘Ruined my figure, but I dare say Partridge’ll not stray far.’

      ‘He can’t take his eyes off you long enough to look elsewhere, and well you know it.’

      ‘I’d never have married him otherwise, Lady Serena,’ Janet said, and sent her a speculative look. ‘Time you found yourself a good man who loves you, Lady Serena. It’s two years since himself died, and not even the Countess Almighty could object.’

      ‘I like my independence too well to give it up.’

      ‘Independence? Those other two countesses don’t let you rest from sunrise to sunset—and I never took you for a coward, my lady,’ Janet told her sternly.

      Serena wondered why her words never seemed to carry weight. ‘I’m not made for domesticity, and prefer to stay as I am.’

      ‘I did say you must find a good man this time,’ Janet chided, more gently, and Serena knew they could stand here arguing all day and never agree. Janet was like a dog at a bone when she was trying to organise the life of one of the select band of people she truly loved.

      ‘Well, your Zach might live under the cat’s paw nowadays, but I cunningly escaped you when you married him, and fully intend to follow my own path from now on,’ she teased, and a militant light came into her old friend’s eyes.

      ‘Cat’s paw, my foot,’ Janet snorted. ‘Sir

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