LITMIR.BIZ

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and Howard I know, Lady Alice,” Mr. Masterson said. “Please, will you not present me to your charming companion?”

      The introductions duly made, Mr. Masterson promptly requested Lady Alice to allow her charge to take a turn about the room with him. Her aunt’s smile, if possible, grew even broader as, permission granted, she walked off on Jeffrey Masterson’s arm.

      Knowing her aunt was envisioning a courtship of rivals with competing offerings of flowers, books and invitations, Gwen was hard put not to smile, too. If either of these gentlemen came calling the next day, Lady Alice was going to be in alt.

      “What brings you to the city?” Mr. Masterson asked. “Certainly not, given the bloom of health on your cheeks, a need to sip the waters. You are paying your aunt a visit?”

      “Y-yes. Although seeing my aunt is always a pleasure, as you can tell by my dress, I’ve recently lost a kinsman—my father. With my cousin now taking charge of my old home, I wished a…change of scene.”

      “My condolences on your sad loss.”

      She nodded briskly, refusing to let her thoughts stray to such doleful ground. “I understand you are attending your ailing grandfather. How kind of you to leave the attractions of London to succor a sick relation.”

      He smiled slightly. “Much as I should like to boast that noble purpose was my sole reason for quitting the city, honesty forces me to confess that, though I was truly concerned about the recent decline in grandfather’s health, there were…other considerations.” His smile faded. “I, too, recently suffered a…disappointment, and felt the need for a change.” With a shake of his head, he summoned back the smile. “But enough of that! Does your mourning permit you to attend the assemblies and the theater?”

      “I expect we shall attend both.”

      “Would you permit me to call tomorrow? Perhaps we could arrange a theater party.” His clear green eyes gazed into hers appealingly.

      A shiver of both anticipation and trepidation rippled through her. Firmly suppressing the latter, she replied, “I should like that very much.”

      

      As it turned out, she saw him again sooner than expected. Early the next day as she and Parry took their morning walk, they encountered Mr. Masterson near the park, riding a handsome chestnut gelding. Drawing rein, he dismounted and came over to greet them.

      Gwennor had a moment of satisfaction upon noting his obvious relief that she presented Parry as her brother.

      He, of course, was more interested in the new four-legged arrival. “What a fine beast, Mr. Masterson.”

      “We were…not able to bring our horses with us,” Gwennor said, “and have not as yet had time to hire any. Though the walk is pleasant, we miss our morning ride.”

      “I’m afraid Vulcan is a bit too spirited for a lady’s mount, but until you’ve made other arrangements, you are welcome to borrow him, Mr. Wakefield,” Mr. Masterson replied promptly. “I must warn you, he dislikes strangers. ’Tis the reason I ride early, before the streets are full…”

      His words trailed off and his expression turned to amazement as Parry approached his horse, murmuring softly. Vulcan alerted, his ears pricking up, and extended his head to nuzzle Parry’s outstretched hand.

      “Why, ’tis amazing!” Mr. Masterson exclaimed. “Truly, I’ve never seen him react like that! In fact, he still nips at my groom if Nichols approaches unexpectedly.”

      “Parry has a special affinity for animals,” Gwen replied. “They sense and respond to it.”

      Her brother turned from crooning to Vulcan, as if suddenly reminded. “Can we return by the stables, Gwen? I want to show you what I’ve found.”

      “Oh, not already!” Gwen said with a groan. “My brother also has a knack for discovering lost and injured creatures wherever he goes. At Southford we possessed an ever-changing menagerie of rabbits, fawns, ducks, even wolves he found and healed before setting free again.”

      “I have to help them, Gwen,” Parry said.

      “Of course you must,” she agreed. “What is it now?”

      “Only a kitten. Come see him! His coloring is almost exactly the shade papa was seeking in our rabbits.”

      “My father was attempting to produce a stronger strain of domestic rabbit,” Gwen explained. “Parry was directing the breeding experiments.”

      “We must go see what he’s found then, mustn’t we?”

      Heartened by Mr. Masterson’s congenial response to her brother, as they strolled back, Gwen tried to draw out her potential suitor.

      “How do you occupy your time while your grandfather is resting, Mr. Masterson? I imagine there are rather few pursuits here for a gentleman accustomed to London. Though there is, my aunt tells me, a fine lending library.”

      Mr. Masterson chuckled. “A claim whose truth I’m not likely to discover! I’m an indifferent scholar, I must confess, and works of literature are more likely to put me to sleep than amuse me. Had it not been for my best friend Gilen—now there’s scholar for you—I would never have survived Oxford.”

      Books being one of her chiefest pleasures, Gwen felt a mild disappointment. But there were other interests they might share. “My aunt tells me you came by way of your home at Wilton Park, where you maintain a large stable,” she continued. “Horses are your particular pursuit?”

      During the rest of the walk, she coaxed Mr. Masterson to describe his stock and his estate, which he did with so much enthusiasm she concluded both must be extensive, well-maintained and lovely. Once they’d reached the mews and Parry had tied the docile Vulcan to a stall, he led them to a manger half full of fragrant hay.

      He clucked softly and a small, malnourished kitten popped out from under the straw. The little creature ran to Parry, purring lustily.

      “Isn’t he lovely?” Parry asked.

      “Very pretty,” Gwen agreed. But when she reached out to pet the animal’s back, the kitten whirled around and bit Gwen’s finger before burrowing back under the straw.

      “Sorry, Gwen,” Parry said. “I forgot he is still shy of strangers. I think he was mistreated.”

      “Why don’t you get him some milk from the kitchen?” Gwen suggested. As her brother, after a bow to Mr. Masterson, trotted off in that direction, she turned to give Mr. Masterson a rueful smile. “Obviously, I haven’t my brother’s skill.”

      “No, he is quite special,” Mr. Masterson replied.

      Gwennor’s eyes flew up to his. He returned her steady regard, his gaze open and friendly. In his tone and manner, she could discern neither mockery nor disdain.

      He accepts Parry. The realization filled Gwennor with such a sense of joy and relief, she could have wed Mr. Masterson on the spot. Despite his dislike of scholarship, if further acquaintance confirmed her initial impression of Mr. Masterson as a kind, congenial, sympathetic gentleman of sufficient means, Gwen felt she might be able to develop for him not just a fond regard, but a lasting affection.

      An affection that might be coupled with a more measured attraction than the frighteningly intense desire that had swept her for the stranger at the gypsy camp.

      If Mr. Masterson found her as appealing as she was finding him, perhaps she’d not have to hunt for an enfeebled octogenarian after all.

      

      Ten days later, grimy and out of sorts, Gilen de Mowbry gritted his teeth as he unpacked clothing from his equally dusty saddlebags.

      Weary from six days spent nearly ceaselessly in the saddle, he did not want to hear about the lovely, fascinating creature Jeff had just met. As Alden had predicted, he thought with disgust, only half listening to Jeff’s rapturous flow of rhetoric, it appeared

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