exasperated breath, he headed for the horse-hungry imp. Even from this distance, he could make out her rapt expression. What he wouldn’t do to feel such unreserved joy for something. Anything.
“Miss Sophie,” he called.
She started, grabbing the rail for balance. Once she had recovered, she shoved a piece of paper into the pocket of her red pelisse, then glanced over her shoulder with a guilty expression.
“Do you remember who I am, child?”
She nodded. “You’re the Lord Earl.”
Leaning his forearms against the fence, he followed Cira’s progress. He shared the girl’s fascination with the Arabian. The horse’s trim lines and graceful maneuvers had been perfected over centuries of solid breeding.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he said with the same patience as her mother. “I am an earl, but the proper way to address me is by using my title—Lord Somerton.”
She wrinkled up her nose. “Lord Somerton.”
His lips twitched. “Or you may call me Sebastian.”
She perked up, but her gaze never veered from the Arabian. “Bastian.”
He smiled, liking her version better. “That’s right, Sophie.” A few silent minutes passed while they both admired the white beauty.
“Did you know Arabians are the oldest purebred horses in the world?” she asked with wonderment.
He did. But how did she? The child couldn’t be more than six or seven. “I had heard something to that effect. What else can you tell me?”
She turned wide, expressive eyes on him. Her father’s eyes. “King Sol-lom—”
“King Solomon,” he offered.
Her eyes opened wider. “Have you heard this story?”
Suppressing a chuckle, he said, “I’m not sure. Why don’t you tell me?”
“King Solomon housed forty thousand Arabians in his stable. Can you imagine? They’d fill your big barn.”
Sebastian nodded in agreement. “Indeed, they would. Yours, too.”
“Holy horses!”
A laugh burst from Sebastian’s chest, alarming Cira and the groomsman and sending young Sophie into a gale of giggles. The intrepid child reminded him so much of Cora at her age that he felt an answering pang of longing for simpler times.
“Ohhhh, no,” Sophie whined. The abrupt shift from laughter to a child’s pout surprised him. He glanced down and found her staring off into the distance, shrinking behind his shoulder.
He followed her gaze and noticed a feminine form headed their way. His heart stuttered for a moment, thinking Catherine had come to fetch her child. On closer inspection, the woman wore a light gray gown, rather than mourning black, and she had brown hair. Not his Catherine at all.
“Who is she?”
“My new governess, Mrs. Clarke.”
“You do not like her?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “She’s nice. This morning, she showed me how to build a kite.”
“Impressive,” he said. “How did it fly?”
“Really high. I ran out of string.”
“Well done.” Remembering the many times he had attempted to elude his tutor, he asked, “Are you hiding from Mrs. Clarke?”
“Not her.” She slanted a glance toward her governess again. “Him.”
Sebastian kept his pose casual while he scoured the area. The girl’s tone carried a distinctive note of fear that could not be easily invented. “I see no one.”
“He’s there,” she said. “He’s always there. In the woods, behind Mrs. Clarke.”
He peered beyond the governess, into the dense woodland. Still he saw no one.
“Have you told your mother about him?”
Her eyes widened, as if she remembered something important. “Ahh, I’m going to be in so much trouble.”
“Why is that?” He split his attention between the approaching governess and the treeline.
“Because I’m not supposed to tell anyone about him.” Her voice lowered and she fidgeted with a ruffle on her dress. “Especially you.”
Every muscle in Sebastian’s body hardened with fury. “How long have they been following you about?”
With her eyes downcast, she slid her hand into her pocket, and paper crackled.
He nudged her with his shoulder. “We’re friends now, are we not?”
Her blond eyebrows squeezed together, considering.
“Did you hear of my invitation to visit my stables?”
She brightened, nodding. “Mama said I had to wait until my birthday on Saturday.”
“That’s correct,” he said. “We must be friends, because I don’t let just anyone into my stables.”
“I feel the same way about Dragonthorpe,” she said. “I asked Mama if I could show it to you, but she cried.” Her lips pursed. “Not like that bad man made her cry. I think she misses my papa.”
Sebastian stilled, trying to keep up with the girl’s thought patterns. He had some experience with this particular malady from when Cora was young, but he was more than a little rusty. He tucked Dragonthorpe away, recalling Catherine’s mention of the castle. However, ignoring Sophie’s comment about