LITMIR.BIZ

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did.

      The room did not disappoint. It looked out on to the back veranda and the staff had set it to perfection. Of course, they thought it was a business dinner to discuss the library, but they still wanted their home to look its best. And it did. The rose shades of summer twilight filtered through the panes of the French doors, bathing the cream walls in dusky hues, but it was the table in the room’s centre that drew all eyes. Two tall white tapers stood like sentinels in their silver-candlestick holders atop pristine white linen, flames flickering an invitation. A bowl of yellow roses from the garden sat between them on the round table. In complement to the yellow roses, her favorite Wedgwood pattern of blue flowers was laid out in two place settings with slim goblets and silver. Cold champagne rested in a chilled bucket.

      Two footmen seated them and Plumsby removed the covers, presenting the meal, but that would be all the service she required. She’d already made it clear to Plumsby they meant to dine casually, serving themselves from the dishes on the table. Plumsby had protested, but she’d argued all the fuss for one guest was hardly worth it. Since that guest was a ‘librarian’ there to do a job, Plumsby had eventually conceded the point.

      ‘Shall I?’ Nicholas reached for the bottle of champagne, uncorking it in a deft movement with the merest of pops. He poured the glasses and turned his attention to the chicken, applying the same dexterity to carving that he had to champagne. Effortlessly, he filled their plates with roasted chicken and salad greens. Gentleman born or not, he was skilled in the art of the dining room, offering her the best of everything the table had to offer. It made him all the more intriguing, all the more mysterious. What sort of man kept the company of Chiswick House, dined with the manners of a well-heeled peer and found himself at a socially retiring woman’s table under these circumstances? Goodness knew with looks and manners like his he would have been welcome anywhere.

      ‘A toast, Annorah.’ He raised his flute. ‘To summer evenings and new friendships.’

      Their glasses touched in a satisfying chime of crystal against crystal. She sipped and let the cold liquid run down her throat. She loved champagne and could certainly afford to drink it every night, but it seemed a sin to drink alone—although in retrospect it seemed a very small sin compared to the one she’d commit tonight. She groped for something to say. Perhaps she should have spent as much time thinking of conversational topics as she had selecting a dress. She’d never learn anything about him at this rate. She had to try. Annorah settled on the one topic that came to mind.

      ‘Are you an aficionado of gardens, then?’

      ‘I’m an aficionado of many beautiful things, gardens among them.’ His hand slid idly up and down the stem of his goblet. On another man she might not have noticed the gesture. With him, she could hardly pull her eyes away.

      ‘What else do you admire?’

      He smiled. ‘I admire you, Annorah.’

      She looked down at her plate, flushing. She hadn’t blushed this much in years. Perhaps her social skills were more out of shape than she’d thought. ‘You are not required to say such things. Besides, you hardly know me well enough to come to any sort of conclusion.’

      ‘Do you think I don’t mean it? I assure you, I do. I’ve spent the afternoon being treated to this lovely home and I beg to differ with your assessment. An estate is often a reflection of its owner. You can tell a lot about a person by the state of his or her surroundings. I sense there is a story in you, Annorah, and I would love to hear it. How is it that you’ve come to be here?’

      She met his gaze with a sharp look over her champagne. ‘Is that the polite way of asking how I’ve reached the august age of thirty-two alone?’

      Nicholas laughed and leaned back in his chair. ‘What a prickly creature you are! Are you always this cynical? Since we’ve sat down to dine you’ve accused me of being insincere with my flattery and when I have sincerely enquired as to your history, you believe me rude. You present me with quite the conundrum.’

      Oh, lord, she had. He was right. She’d been so worried about playing the decent hostess and at the first opportunity she’d performed poorly. She studied her half-eaten meal, gathering her thoughts. ‘I must apologise. I have little experience at this.’

      He leaned forwards again, this time capturing her hand where it lay on the tablecloth. ‘No apology necessary. I find conundrums refreshing.’ He winked. ‘Have some more champagne. It will help and perhaps we’ll try again.’ He was tracing sensual circles in the palm of her hand that were both relaxing and stimulating.

      No man had ever touched her as he did or so often. She’d been intimately aware of him since his arrival: the casual touch of her hand on his sleeve, the feel of his hand at her back, all of it legitimate. Gentlemen touched ladies like that all the time. She’d been touched like that, but not with these results, not with a pleasant warmth spreading through her, a tingling heat filling her belly and lower. Oh, no, most certainly never like this.

      ‘Now, Annorah, tell me your story. I want to know how you’ve come to be the queen of all this.’ He poured more champagne with his free hand.

      ‘I grew up here and I never left, not for long anyway.’ She took a sip from her glass. He was right—the champagne did help. She hardly ever talked about her family. It had been a good family once, but it had fallen due to time and circumstance, leaving her with a legacy that was about to end soon, a situation she was rather loath to recollect, a potent reminder that she was about to lose all this unless she sold her soul in marriage to a man she didn’t love.

      ‘Why?’ He coaxed with his voice, with his touch, with the sincerity of his gaze. Even the room conspired against her, the candlelight creating intimacy in the deepening darkness.

      ‘Because it was home, and the people I loved were here. Hartshaven hasn’t always been an empty house.’ She had not meant to talk of herself or to reveal so much that couldn’t possibly matter, that had no bearing on the job he’d come to do. But once started, she couldn’t help herself.

      The stories fed upon themselves, encouraged by Nicholas’s laughter and the occasional nod of his head. She told him of her family: her grandfather and grandmother, her parents, her cousins who had come to visit in the summers. She did not tell him of her aunt. Her aunt had no place in happy stories.

      Those summers had stories of their own: days of roaming the meadows, fishing in streams and endless games of hide and seek in the gardens. The memories leapt to life as she talked. Merry ghosts of the past peopled her stories: the laughter of her cousins shrieking as they ran through the gardens; the patience of her grandfather teaching them to fish in the cold river. Everything was alive again—messy and vivid, and she was alive with it, no longer sitting at dinner with a stranger, but with a man who’d become a friend in a very short time; a friend she didn’t know much about, but a friend none the less.

      ‘What happened?’ Nicholas poured the last of the champagne. Dear heavens had they drunk so much already or had they been at the table that long?

      ‘What always happens. We grew up and time moved on.’ The merry ghosts she’d conjured receded. The candles burned low. ‘I would give anything to have it all back. What about you? How have you arrived at this point?’ The question was bold. That was the champagne talking, but it had been talking all night.

      ‘I think the future holds infinite promise.’ Nicholas drained his glass and set it aside with a sense of finality. He rose and held out his hand to her. ‘Come with me.’

      Annorah set her glass down slowly, all her thoughts coalescing around his words and what they meant. This was it! He would lead her upstairs and bed her. She rose and took his hand somewhat woodenly. Now that the moment was upon her, the impending act suddenly seemed an empty conclusion to the fullness of their conversation and the friend was a stranger once again, the spell broken.

      Chapter Four

      He was losing her. The intimate magic of champagne and candlelight had not enthralled her enough to let go of her reservations. It wasn’t that

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