features transformed into glowing angles. “Sophie is a sweet-hearted girl, full of life, and rather horse-mad, I’m afraid. She turns seven next Saturday.”
“From the sound of it, your daughter is keeping you busy.”
“Indeed, she does. Her old nurse, too. The poor woman can do little more than watch her flit from one distraction to the next.”
“No matter how hard they might be, enjoy these years while you can. Children grow up all too soon.”
The widow studied him with a peculiar look that made heat gather around his neckcloth. He broke eye contact and took the opportunity to scan the gardens and treeline again. “I should not keep you any longer. May I escort you home?”
“Is anything amiss, sir?”
Sebastian jerked his attention back to his companion. Her gaze flicked up from his hands, where he toyed with his signet ring. “No, why?”
“You appear distracted.” She waved toward the area he had been searching. “Searching for something?”
Surprised by her perception and irritated by his lack of finesse, he emptied his expression of all emotion, stopped twirling his ring, and forced his voice into an equally bland tone. “I am merely enjoying the view, madam.”
“Ah, I see.”
But Sebastian could perceive that she had not been fooled. He cursed again. His transition from protective agent to bored aristocrat had been too abrupt, too jarring. This mess with Latymer and Reeves was affecting him more than he realized.
He settled what he hoped was a pleasant smile on his lips. “May I provide an escort, Mrs. Ashcroft?”
“No need, my lord.” She sent him a thin smile. “I have navigated the path connecting our two properties many times. If you have nothing more for me, I shall retrieve my horse and head back to Winter’s Hollow.”
Sebastian gritted his teeth, bowing. “Thank you again for your assistance. I shall see you Sunday.”
She curtsied, and set off for the stables.
He tapped the folded list against the stone ledge while he followed the widow’s route through the garden until she disappeared behind the small maze of tall green hedges.
Despite his blunder with the surveillance, the sensual awareness that had been present during their meeting in London was all but nonexistent today. In fact, she seemed a wholly different woman. Her wardrobe, her hair, her openness—it was all… suppressed. So what had changed in the last four days?
He caught a small glimpse of her again when she turned toward the stables. One thing that had remained the same from their previous meeting was the layer of underlying loneliness he sensed in her. This she could not mask. At least not from him, a man who had lived in emotional isolation for years. Too many years for him to change now, but the widow made him yearn for something closer, something more meaningful.
His gaze roamed over the gardens, and paper crackled between his stiff fingers. Once again, his responsibilities had closed in on him. What he had viewed as a sanctuary a mere half hour ago now felt like another beautiful, unwanted burden.
Three
Catherine did her best to retreat from Lord Somerton’s presence in a calm, there’s-nothing-wrong-with-me manner. But there was something wrong. Something very wrong. It was all she could do not to run, not to flee from the chaos crowding her mind and the unholy sensations invading her body.
How does one run from oneself? She closed her eyes and allowed her lungs to expand on a long breath. The exercise didn’t help. Nothing would at the moment. She was too far gone into self-recrimination. Squaring her shoulders, she refocused on the path.
The man she had spoken with today was vastly different from the one she had encountered in London. Today’s Lord Somerton was compelling. His anger over Mr. Blake’s inaction, his concern for his butler, and his appreciation of her efforts were the reactions of a man who cared. Not someone who could not be bothered with a grieving widow’s request.
His eyes—a piercing blue-gray flecked with an unholy silver—were perhaps what disturbed Catherine the most. The combination of striking colors bore right through to her soul, laying open all the raw pain she tried to hide from the world.
She felt wary around him. Exposed. Drawn to the strength chiseled into his lean features.
That strength had not faltered once. At least not until she’d defended his decision to leave Bellamere in the hands of his steward. A flash of surprise, maybe even gratitude, had lit those amazing eyes.
Catherine veered toward the stables. While making her way down a small hill, she allowed