features strong and even, with faint, pale whisks of laugh lines radiating from the outer corners of his eyes. He seemed like someone who would be irreverent and amusing, but there was also something shrewd about him, something a bit flinty. As if he’d had his share of experience in the world, and had few illusions left. Somehow that made him even more attractive.
He came to them without haste. A pleasant outdoors scent clung to him: sun and air, a dusty, sedgelike sweetness and a hint of smoke, as if he’d been standing near a peat fire. His eyes were the darkest blue she’d ever seen, the irises rimmed with black. It had been a long time since a man had looked at Phoebe like this, direct and interested, and the slightest bit flirty. The strangest feeling came over her, something that reminded her a little of the early days of her marriage to Henry . . . that shaky, embarrassing, inexplicable desire to press her body intimately against someone else’s. Until now, she’d never felt it for anyone but her husband, and never anything like this fire-and-ice jolt of awareness.
Feeling guilty and confused, Phoebe backed away a step, trying to pull Justin with her.
But Justin resisted, evidently feeling it had fallen to him to begin the introductions. “I’m Justin, Lord Clare,” he announced. “This is Mama. Papa isn’t here with us because he’s dead.”
Phoebe was aware of a brilliant pink flush racing from her scalp down to her toes.
The man didn’t seem a bit flustered, only sank to his haunches to bring his face level with Justin’s. His low-pitched voice made Phoebe feel as if she were stretching across a deep feather mattress.
“I lost my father when I wasn’t much older than you,” he said to Justin.
“Oh, I didn’t lose mine,” came the child’s earnest reply. “I know exactly where he is. Heaven.”
The stranger smiled. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Clare.” The two shook hands ceremoniously. He held the marble up to the light, viewing the tiny porcelain figure of a sheep embedded into the clear glass marble. “A fine piece,” he remarked, and handed it to Justin before standing up. “Do you play Ring Taw?”
“Oh, yes,” the boy replied. It was a common game in which players tried to knock each other’s marbles out of a circle.
“Double Castle?”
Looking intrigued, Justin shook his head. “I don’t know that one.”
“We’ll play a game or two during your visit, if Mama doesn’t object.” The man gave Phoebe a questioning glance.
Phoebe was mortified by her inability to speak. Her heartbeat was stampeding out of control.
“Mama isn’t used to talking to grown-ups,” Justin said. “She likes children better.”
“I’m very childlike,” the man said promptly. “Ask anyone around here.”
Phoebe found herself smiling up at him. “You’re the estate manager?” she asked.
“Most of the time. But there’s no job at this estate, scullery maid included, that I haven’t tried at least once, to gain at least some small understanding of it.”
Phoebe’s smile faded as a strange, terrible suspicion flickered through her mind.
“How long have you been employed here?” she asked cautiously.
“Since my brother inherited the title.” The stranger bowed before continuing. “Weston Ravenel . . . at your service.”
Chapter 2
West couldn’t stop staring at Lady Clare. He had the feeling if he reached out to touch her, he would come away with his fingers scorched. That hair, blazing from beneath a simple gray traveling bonnet . . . he’d never seen anything like it. Bird-of-paradise red, with glimmers of crimson dancing amid the pinned-up locks. Her skin was flawless ivory except for a tender spray of freckles sprinkled across her nose, like a finishing spice on some luxurious dessert.
She had the look of someone who had been nurtured: educated and well dressed. Someone who had always been lovingly sheltered. But there was a shadow in her gaze . . . the knowledge that there were some things no human being could be protected from.
God, those eyes . . . light gray, with striations like the rays of tiny stars.
When she smiled, West had felt a hot tug deep inside his chest. But immediately after he’d introduced himself, her winsome smile had faded, as if she’d just woken from a lovely dream into a far less pleasant reality.
Turning to her son, Lady Clare gently smoothed a cowlick at the crown of his dark head. “Justin, we have to rejoin the rest of the family.”
“But I’m going to play marbles with Mr. Ravenel,” the boy protested.
“Not