Kathryn Jensen – The Earl's Secret (страница 2)

The long curve of her throat drew his attention, summoning a momentary vision of his lips trailing down the delicate flesh, that lust finger poking him again. She was petite—a natural blonde, he guessed, though that wasn’t a sure thing these days. She stood only as high as his shoulder, even in her conservative heels. As she studied the structure that had belonged to his family for nearly three hundred years, her fingers played lightly with the tassels at the bottom of her tapestry purse. A momentary frown puckered her brow, and she looked with more concentration at the right wing, which remained in ruins.

Clever woman, he thought. Bremerley had been fully restored, and if she were a competent guide, she would know that. He wondered how long it would take her to figure out her mistake.

Meanwhile he took pleasure in her interest in his legacy. Usually, when tourists took a wrong turn off the A7 and ended up on his grounds, he or his groundskeeper brusquely sent them on their way. But she was so damn fascinating to watch.

“What is your name?” he asked, gesturing with one hand toward the steps.

She started walking, and her group of ten chattering travelers followed their shepherdess like docile lambs. “Jennifer Murphy, and you?”

“Christopher.”

“Christopher,” she repeated thoughtfully as she climbed the granite stairs, worn low and smooth in their centers by past generations. “Is that a Scottish name? I would have thought English. As in Christopher Robin.”

“I was born in Sussex. I grew up in that area, and in London.”

“How exciting!” Her eyes danced in the morning light.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. He certainly hadn’t fretted about where his next meal was coming from, and there had always been plenty of money with which to do anything he liked. His father, the earl of Sussex, had been grudging with his affection, but he’d placidly doled out cash to Christopher and his two brothers whenever required, as well as titles. They each could legitimately claim to be an earl—although of lesser importance than their father. The family held a collection of aristocratic nametags dating back centuries, gathered from various ancestors on their father’s side.

“What about you? You’re obviously an American. What part of the States are you from?”

“I grew up in Baltimore, and I’ve lived there all of my life. My mother and I own a travel agency. We specialize in European tours.”

“And you personally guide each tour?”

She smiled. “Not every one. Most, though, since my mother prefers to keep watch over the office. And since I majored in history in college, I have the background for the on-site lectures we offer.”

“Is that so?” Not only was she pretty, she was smart, too. He itched to find out more about her. But by now they were standing in the middle of the great hall, and her group was getting restless and starting to investigate.

He was about to ask her to warn her clients not to touch the paintings he’d just moved out of storage and propped against one stone wall to await hanging. But she was staring at his clothing, a frown softly rumpling her forehead. “Is something wrong?”

“I was just curious how much caretakers are paid these days.” She flicked a finger at the lapel of his favorite cashmere blazer.

She was catching on fast. Christopher nearly chuckled.

He had dressed to drive into Edinburgh for a meeting with his solicitor. That was the way he and his father communicated these days. The old earl disapproved of his youngest son’s lifestyle—as recorded in elaborate detail by the British paparazzi. His father considered him a playboy with a weakness for fast polo ponies and faster women. When Christopher had asked a year ago to be given Castle Donan as part of his inheritance, he had agreed in the hope Christopher would settle down in the North Country and find himself a bride. But he had been living at Donan for over nine months and that hadn’t happened.

In actuality, the young earl thought to himself, he had only one weakness—which would remain a secret until the moment he was released from his promise. He hoped with all his heart that day would come soon.

Christopher forced a smile for the young woman’s benefit. “The jacket is a gift from my employer.”

Jennifer studied him for a moment longer through narrowed eyes, paling almost to buttercup-yellow. He wished he could tell what she was thinking. Suddenly she spun around and, with a quick clap of her hands above her head, summoned her group and began talking about the architecture of the Middle Ages. He listened to her, enthralled more by the sound of her words than by their meaning. Her voice was gentle and sweet, reminding him of a time in his distant past when a nanny, whose name he couldn’t recall, had read him to sleep with stories of a time when honor meant everything.

He tried to imagine how Jennifer might look dressed in the garb of a fifteenth-century noble-woman. Today she wore a simple denim skirt and a pink cotton top. Back then it would have been a sweeping gown of Flemish damask, ribbons and jewels woven through her long, flaxen hair. Back then a man could legally shut away his woman behind stone walls, safe from the wandering eyes and lustful urges of other men.

Politically incorrect for the modern world, true…but the male fantasy intrigued him nonetheless. He envisioned himself alone with the Lady Jennifer, free to touch her where he desired. His body responded to the intriguing images playing across his mind. He tried to remember how furious he had been when she’d parked in front of his door, but it was no good.

“Are you coming?”

Startled, Christopher focused on Jennifer’s voice, which suddenly seemed distant. He turned to find her moving briskly through the doorway that led into his library. “We need to move along pretty quickly,” she called back at him. “We’re scheduled to lunch at a pub just south of Edinburgh. And—” she cast a knowing look at him over her shoulder “—the notes I’d prepared on Bremerley’s interior don’t seem to match up with your rooms.”

Now he did laugh. A booming laugh to let her know he had no regret he’d been found out so soon. Clever, clever woman indeed.

He hurried to catch up with her.

Listening to her lecture in earnest now, he was surprised by how much she knew of the history of the Borders, the Scottish county whose southern edge touched England, where the battles between the two countries spanned hundreds of years and had been the fiercest. Castle Donan had been a crucial link in the line of defense. She had exchanged hands a dozen times at great cost to both sides. He was so enthralled by her discussion he didn’t at first notice one of the men moving apart from the group to investigate a pair of dueling pistols mounted on one wall.

Out of the corner of his eye, Christopher glimpsed a hand reaching up. A shout burst from his lips before he could stop it. “Don’t!”

Everyone turned to stare at him. Jennifer tipped her head to one side and observed him with a look of triumph sparkling in her eyes.

Taking three long steps across the room, Christopher moved the man’s raised hand away from the pistol. “The earl wouldn’t like you touching his things,” he said, trying to keep his voice level.

“Sorry, I wasn’t going to hurt it,” the tourist objected.

“That’s an excellent rule to follow anytime you’re in a museum or building of historic importance,” Jennifer suggested cheerfully. “Many items you’ll see are irreplaceable, and age has made them fragile. Let’s move along now.” She flashed him a wicked smile in passing. “I’m sure there are many more intriguing things to discover here.”

By the time they had finished viewing the first floor, Christopher was sure Jennifer not only knew she wasn’t in Bremerley, she also had determined he wasn’t who he pretended to be. He felt her watching him whenever the little group entered a new room. Repeatedly he caught himself standing between the group and his most cherished possessions, as if unconsciously shielding them from clumsy hands. He was certain she added this mistake to her collection of clues.

At last she turned to him as they circled back toward the great hall. “Are the rooms on the upper floors open for viewing?”

He automatically stiffened at the thought of strangers plodding through his private chambers. “I, well…you see, the upper floors are all under renovation.” It was true, though he could have shown them, anyway. All but the turret; that was his alone.

Two of the women standing nearby sighed with disappointment.

“Well then, that’s it for this stop,” Jennifer announced. “Thank you, Christopher, for letting us in and playing host. We’ve enjoyed seeing the castle.”

“Anytime.” His own voice, so relaxed and affable, sounded strange to him. How long had it been since he’d felt this free of tension?

Before he could count off the months, Jennifer was herding her charges toward the towering doors, her voice echoing against the stone as she efficiently announced their itinerary for the afternoon.

Christopher followed at her heels, feeling just a little guilty for having strung her along. It didn’t matter that he would never see her again, he thought as he stood and watched her group pile into the van. He just didn’t like the idea of her going away, thinking he had intentionally tricked her when, really, his intention had been to help her out of a jam. And, of course, have a little innocent fun.