Love or family...

How can she choose between them?

Lady Cecily Beauchamp has always put her family first. Until she falls under the spell of the mysterious Zachary Gray—a man of Romany descent. Knowing her family will forbid their match, Cecily steels herself to do her duty and marry someone else. Only she finds herself irresistibly drawn to Zach as the spark between them ignites a passion neither can deny!

The Beauchamp Betrothals miniseries

Book 1—Cinderella and the Duke

Book 2—Scandal and Miss Markham

Book 3—Lady Cecily and the Mysterious Mr. Gray

Book 4—Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake—coming soon!

“A captivating, sweet tale of heartbreak and hope.”

—RT Book Reviews on “Awakening His Sleeping Beauty” in Regency Christmas Wishes

“The adventure is delightful [...] it truly is an enjoyable read.”

—RT Book Reviews on Scandal and Miss Markham

JANICE PRESTON grew up in Wembley, North London, with a love of reading, writing stories and animals. In the past she has worked as a farmer, a police callhandler and a university administrator. She now lives in the West Midlands, with her husband and two cats, and has a part-time job as a weight management counsellor—vainly trying to control her own weight despite her love of chocolate!

Also by Janice Preston

Mary and the Marquis

From Wallflower to Countess

The Governess’s Secret Baby

Regency Christmas Wishes

Men About Town miniseries

Return of Scandal’s Son

Saved by Scandal’s Heir

The Beauchamp Betrothals miniseries

Cinderella and the Duke

Scandal and Miss Markham

Lady Cecily and the Mysterious Mr Gray

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Lady Cecily and the Mysterious Mr Gray

Janice Preston

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07366-0

LADY CECILY AND THE MYSTERIOUS MR GRAY

© 2018 Janice Preston

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To the ladies of the Anti-Doubt Crow (ADC) novelists.

Who’d have believed that within three years of our first meeting we’d all be published authors?

Our monthly get-togethers keep me sane—thanks for the many, many laughs, the sympathy when the going gets tough and the sage advice when needed.

Here’s to more coffee and cake,

and much more success. xxx

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Early June 1812 —Worcestershire

Lady Cecily Beauchamp’s face ached with the effort of maintaining her smile. Not for the world would she reveal the sudden misery and doubt that assailed her as she watched her brother, Vernon, walk his new bride back up the aisle of the little country church where they had just made their vows. The happy couple were followed by Cecily’s oldest brother, Leo, Duke of Cheriton, his new Duchess on his arm. In the space of four months both of Cecily’s brothers had found love and wed, totally shaking Cecily’s comfortable, settled world. She had spent her entire adult life in charge of the Beauchamp household and had raised Leo’s three children from his first marriage with as much love and care as if they were her own.

But now...

Cecily stifled a gasp as a touch to her elbow almost catapulted her out of her skin. She glanced sideways into the face of a stranger and pressed her hand to her chest to quell the sudden thump of her heart as a pair of the darkest eyes she had ever seen captured her gaze. Black unruly locks framed his face, harshly handsome with chiselled cheekbones, skin the hue of dark honey and a hint of dark stubble shadowing his jaw, even though it was still before noon. A swift sweep of his body—tall and powerfully built—offered the solution to his unkempt appearance and tanned face. His clothing was clean and serviceable, but well-worn.

No doubt he is a servant of the Markhams, invited to attend the wedding.

Dismissing both the stranger and her own wayward twinge of regret—servants were servants, after all—Cecily smiled graciously and moved out of the pew to allow the man to pass.

She had arrived late at the church, very nearly missing the ceremony entirely after one of the carriage horses threw a shoe that morning, delaying the final leg of their journey. Rather than cause a disturbance, she and Dominic—Leo’s eldest son, who had escorted her on the journey from London to Worcestershire—had slipped quietly into the back pew.

Her gaze swept the interior of the church. Dominic had already gone, as had the remainder of the small congregation. She had barely noticed the exodus, too caught up in her own sudden awareness of the changes that had rocked her world.

‘Are you unwell? Should I fetch someone?’

The rich voice came from behind her. She turned. The stranger, his brooding gaze on her, stood by the open church door. Cecily felt a flush start low on her chest and rise to wash over her face, although she did not know why she should feel embarrassed by what a servant might think of her standing and wool-gathering when she should be outside, congratulating her brother and her new sister-in-law.

‘I am quite well, thank you.’ She walked towards the door. ‘There really was no need for you to wait or to be concerned.’

He filled her vision as she neared him and a glint caught her eye. She blinked. She was not mistaken. She felt her eyes widen. The man had a diamond in his earlobe.

How very...exotic.

Quickly, she wiped any hint of surprise from her expression. The stranger still watched her, his features impassive, but she got the impression he missed nothing with those ebony eyes of his. Sure enough, as her gaze locked with his, amusement glimmered in their depths before he swept a bow.

‘After you,’ he said.

Cecily stalked past him, her nose in the air. Her heels clacked rapidly against the flagstones as she continued through the church porch and outside, blinking as she emerged into bright sunlight.

‘Cecily!’ Vernon swept her into a hug and then kissed her soundly on the cheek. ‘I’m so pleased you decided to come.’

Cecily thrust aside her troubles and doubts. This was Vernon’s day. She loved her brother dearly and she would not cast a shadow by revealing her fears. She could not be that selfish.

‘You gave us very little notice, Brother dear. We only just made it in time.’

‘Did Olivia not accompany you? I have not seen her. Or Alex.’

‘Unfortunately, Livvy took ill the morning we left.’ Cecily still did not quite believe in her eighteen-year-old niece’s sudden bout of sickness, but she’d had no choice other than to leave her behind. ‘We decided it was best for her not to travel. And as for Alex—well—Alex is Alex,’ she added, of Leo’s rebellious younger son. She pushed all thought of her challenging niece and nephew from her thoughts and smiled up at her brother. ‘Congratulations! I never thought I would see the day you trod this path willingly.’

Vernon grinned, and pinched Cecily’s chin. ‘You will understand when you meet her.’ He caught Cecily’s hand and tugged her over to where Leo and Rosalind stood with the bride. ‘Thea! Meet your new sister.’

Cecily was immediately charmed by Vernon’s new wife. She was tiny, with a neat figure and a vibrant face topped by a halo of copper-coloured curls. Her infectious smile invited everyone to share in her joy and she gave the impression of barely contained energy as she moved.

‘I have heard so much about you, Cecily. I hope we can be friends.’ Thea’s voice was unexpectedly deep for a woman and endearingly gruff.

‘I am sure we shall.’ Cecily kissed Thea on both cheeks. ‘Are your parents here?’

She would be staying at Thea’s parents’ home, Stourwell Court, for the next few days and it was only good manners that she should greet her hosts.

The spark in Thea’s eyes seemed to fade. ‘They have gone home. My father had a stroke six years ago. He is not strong and cannot walk. He insisted on attending the wedding in his wheelchair, but Mama took him straight home afterwards. You will meet them later.’

‘I shall look forward to it.’

Vernon’s letter had related the story of Thea’s father’s infirmity and the awful circumstances that were the cause of it. A swindler had courted Thea and then cheated her father out of a fortune before jilting poor Thea at the altar. Her family—not part of the aristocracy or even the landed gentry, but hard-working manufacturers of lead-crystal glassware—had been almost bankrupted and the shock had caused Mr Markham Sr’s stroke. Thea and her younger brother, Daniel, had worked tirelessly to pull both the business and the family back from the brink of ruin.

Cecily glanced around the small group of people gathered outside the church. Apart from Leo and Rosalind, and Rosalind’s grandfather, Mr Allen—all of whom had already been in the Midlands in order to collect Mr Allen’s belongings from his Birmingham home—and Dominic, there were few others. Of the servant with the diamond in his ear, there was no sign and she supposed he had attended the wedding in order to help Mr Markham get to and from the church. A strange sensation stirred her insides at the thought of the man and his dark, unfathomable gaze. Irritated, she cast him from her thoughts.

‘Allow me to introduce you to my brother,’ Thea said and she drew Cecily towards a young man who was talking to Dominic.

Daniel looked nothing like his sister, being tall and dark, but there was little time to talk for Vernon soon ushered them all into motion, urging them ahead of him.

‘Come now, it is time for the wedding breakfast. I intend to spend the rest of this day in celebration of my good fortune in marrying this gorgeous, perfect woman.’

He swept one arm around Thea’s waist and pulled her close for a kiss. The sting of tears took Cecily totally unaware. To see her much-sought-after, handsome brother so utterly smitten with Thea, even though she was not of their world...that was true love. It had been the same with Leo and Rosalind. Almost from the first time Cecily had seen her powerful oldest brother—a duke from the age of nineteen—with Rosalind it had been clear he was besotted. Cecily ducked her head and blinked rapidly until she was sure her emotions were under control again and then she plastered another happy smile upon her face and allowed Dominic to hand her into the coach for the journey to Stourwell Court. She barely noticed the house as they drove up to it, so preoccupied was she. Then the carriage halted and they entered the house and were shown into the dining room where the wedding breakfast was laid out.

The first person she saw was the man from the church. And he was not a servant, as she had first thought, because Leo himself carried out the introductions.

‘Cecily, my dear, this is Mr Gray, a very good friend of Daniel Markham. Absalom—my sister, Lady Cecily Beauchamp.’

Mr Gray bowed. When he straightened there was such a look of bemusement on his face that she almost—but not quite—giggled. And she never giggled. Ladies do not giggle, especially thirty-year-old spinsters who are sisters of a duke. But the giggle bubbled dangerously in her chest nevertheless.

‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Gray,’ she said.

His dark eyes narrowed and she felt a whisper of caution deep down inside, but she could not fathom what it meant.

‘Likewise, Lady Cecily.’

He moved away abruptly and they did not speak again, but her eyes were drawn to him again and again during the wedding breakfast. His stillness. His watchfulness. A quiver ran through her every time his dark gaze touched upon her and she deliberately looked away so she did not meet his eyes. Later, she questioned Thea—casually—about the presence of Absalom Gray and she learned that he was a gipsy—‘or Romany, as he prefers,’ whispered Thea—who had recently saved Daniel’s life. Nothing much else was known about him. He was, Thea had confided, a man who guarded his privacy.

And then the diamond earring, which made him somehow mysterious and dangerous, and the faded, loose-fitting clothing—serviceable but not that of a gentleman—made sense. Cecily noticed that Mr Gray disappeared after the wedding breakfast and the toasts, and she felt at once relieved and disappointed: relieved in that she no longer needed to be on her guard against catching his eye and disappointed in that his brooding presence had at least diverted her from agonising over her own future.

* * *

She maintained her cheerful mask all through the afternoon and on into the evening, when neighbours and friends of the Markhams had been invited to share in the celebrations. Her life had prepared her for just this outward mien of calmness and grace, even when her insides were in tumult and even while her inner voice berated her ceaselessly for her mean-spirited response to both of her brothers’ good fortune in finding love and happiness. She gazed around the drawing room, at the happy, champagne-flushed faces and, of a sudden, it all felt too much. She needed to get away. She needed a few minutes alone where she did not have to act a part.

She caught Rosalind’s eye and gestured, indicating that she was going to relieve herself, before quietly leaving the room. Instead of heading to the ladies’ retiring room, however, she found a side door that opened into the garden and she let herself out into the fresh air. She did not linger by the house, but followed a gravelled path that bisected a formally laid out garden, instinctively heading away from the laughter and the light to a place where, as twilight dimmed to dusk, she would be invisible to any other guest who ventured outside. As she walked, a breeze sprang up and she chafed her arms against its unexpectedly sharp bite, wishing she had thought to fetch her shawl before coming outside. She glanced back at the Court, its every downstairs window blazing with light, wondering if she should return to the celebration, but—just for the moment—she could not face it. The strange agitation that roiled her insides was making her nauseous. Inside the house, joy and congratulations continued to flow as freely as the champagne. And Cecily shared the joy and congratulated the happy couple with all her heart. Truly she did. But...

She needed time alone to sort through her thoughts and her emotions, which felt precariously balanced, as though the slightest nudge might result in a complete loss of control. And one thing Cecily prided herself upon was that she never lost control. She shivered, hugging her arms around her torso, and rubbed again at the gooseflesh on her bare arms, deliberately allowing her deepest fears a free rein as she continued to stroll along the broad path flanked by glorious roses in full bloom, intermingled with sweet-smelling herbs. The moon, brightening by the minute, was already high in the sky and the stars winked on, one by one, as the velvet cloak of the night shrouded the garden.

It wasn’t that she begrudged either Leo or Vernon their happiness. She was thrilled to see them both so wonderfully, ecstatically in love. And she liked both Rosalind and Thea. Very much. But Vernon’s marriage, coming so soon after Leo’s, had left Cecily...where, exactly?

And now she could allow her innermost fears to float up to the surface and form into coherent thoughts, she could pin down the source of her greatest fear: these two momentous changes in the life of the Beauchamp family had left Cecily fast travelling down the road to that unenviable position: the unwed dependant.

The maiden aunt.

The recipient of pitying looks and the butt of snide jokes.

No longer mistress of anything, but a supplicant.

Her life had changed, through no fault of her own, and she had no power to prevent what would, inevitably, come. Her stomach clenched with resentment at the unfairness of the hand life had dealt her and she quickened her pace, as though she could outrun her shame at such mean-spirited and selfish thoughts and feelings. She reached the end of the path, turned a corner and thumped straight into a solid wall of flesh.

‘Oh!’

Cecily teetered for a moment and two hard hands encircled her arms to steady her, the grip powerful and hot against her bare skin. Her heart thundered in her chest as she realised how reckless she had been, wandering around a strange place in the dark, with only the moon and stars to light her way, and she struggled to free herself. The man instantly released her, his hands falling to his sides, and her pulse steadied. She tipped back her head to see a pair of dark fathomless eyes set in a barely visible face, framed by a silhouette of straggling dark curls. The glint of a diamond in among those curls triggered recognition and her breath caught in her chest as her pulse rocketed once again.

Chapter Two

‘Mr Gray. Good evening.’ Cecily smoothed her hair back with hands that trembled slightly. ‘I did not expect to see anyone else out here.’

‘Nor I.’

‘Yes. Well...’ Cecily glanced back towards the house, her heart skittering in her chest. ‘I really must be getting back.’

‘Is that what you wish to do?’

‘I...’ She stared up at him. ‘That is an odd question.’

‘Is it? It is simple to me. Either you wish to return, or you feel you must return. They are different.’

Cecily’s brows twitched into a frown. ‘I shouldn’t be out here alone with you.’

He ran his fingernails along his jaw, the rasp of stubble loud in the hush of the evening. ‘You think you are in danger from me?’

‘I... No. I did not mean that. It is not proper, however. I have my reputation to consider.’

His teeth gleamed in a smile and he gestured at the expanse of garden between them and the house. ‘There is no one to see us. No one to question us. No one to condemn. And we are fellow guests, talking.’

Put like that...he was right, but she found his logic infuriating. Did he not understand? But of course he would not understand...he was a gipsy. What did he know of etiquette and the strictures of society?

‘Let us walk a while. Tell me why you are troubled.’

Cecily gasped at such impertinence. ‘Troubled?’

Outrageous! She should walk away. Now. She should refuse to engage with him. But instead she laughed. It was intended to be a dismissive laugh, but it emerged as a high-pitched squeak and her cheeks grew hot. ‘I am not troubled.’

‘Then why do you walk out here alone?’

‘I needed some air. And you, Mr Gray?’

He tilted his head to the night sky and inhaled. Instead of a tight-fitting neckcloth such as the other gentlemen wore, a simple blue cravat encircled his neck and was loosely knotted at his chest. His neck as he looked skywards was thick and strong, his shoulders wide and straight, his chest broad. The power of the man was undeniable and yet... Cecily consulted her instincts. She had no fear of him. Her only fear—no, that was too strong—her only apprehension was being seen. Mr Gray’s coat gaped open as his chest swelled with his indrawn breath, revealing an unbuttoned, brightly patterned waistcoat with a gold watch chain dangling loose from its top pocket and, beneath that, a pale shirt.

‘I, too, needed air.’

He studied her once more. She saw again the glimmer of white as he huffed a quiet laugh and she suddenly felt rather breathless.

‘It is one thing we have in common then.’ His voice—warm and melodious—seemed to curl around her. ‘I thought there might be...something.’

His eyes were fixed on her face and, her mouth dry, she moistened her lips.

‘I... I do not know what you mean.’

He said nothing, but continued to watch her. Cecily shivered. She really ought to return. If her family realised she was missing, they would worry. She was jolted from her thoughts as Mr Gray shrugged out of his jacket and settled it over her shoulders. If she’d realised his intention, she would have refused the jacket, fretting about dirt, lice and fleas, and unclean practices. Her keen sense of smell, however, detected nothing more than the intermingled scents of woodsmoke, musky male and soap. She felt her tense muscles relax and she hugged the edges of the jacket across her chest as the warmth seeped into her chilled flesh.

‘Thank you.’

‘You are welcome, Lady Cecily.’

‘You disappeared after the breakfast. Where did you go?’

‘I am flattered you noticed.’

‘I believe Mr Markham remarked upon your absence.’ It was a lie, but she would not have him know she had been watching him. Or, in truth, been fascinated by him. ‘Is your...er...tribe staying hereabouts?’

‘No. I have come alone.’

‘So where did you go?’

He stepped back. ‘I am a free man. I go where I please.’

‘Of course you are. I apologise. I did not mean this to sound like an interrogation.’

He inclined his head, but said nothing further.

Cecily frowned. ‘You do not sound like a gipsy.’

‘And how should a gipsy sound, in your vast experience, my lady?’

She stiffened, her chin lifting, irritated by his readiness to take offence.

‘In my experience,’ she said, haughtily, ‘gipsies often speak with a foreign accent. I merely meant you sound as English as I.’

She swung his jacket from her shoulders and thrust it at him. ‘Thank you. I am warm enough now. I must return to the party.’

He reached and in one smooth movement took his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. He then grasped her hand before she could withdraw it, his warm fingers closing around hers.

‘I was born in England. And we prefer to call ourselves Romanies, or the Rom.’

It was not an apology, but she was mollified nevertheless. Mr Gray gave the impression of a man not given to apologies or explanations.

‘I shall endeavour to remember that,’ she said, by way of appeasement.

Although her brain instructed her to snatch her hand from his, she allowed it to remain—intrigued by the unexpected gentleness of his touch as he unhurriedly removed her evening glove, and strangely soothed by the caress of his thumb as it circled her palm.

‘And is your mind now trouble free?’ His intense gaze bored into her. ‘I watched you. In the church.’

His words reignited her fears for her future as she had watched Vernon and Thea exchange their vows and her inner turmoil erupted anew. She pressed her free hand to her belly in a futile attempt to calm her nerves.

‘And now I ask myself why the sister of a rich and powerful duke should have any reason to be unhappy.’

‘Unhappy?’

He shrugged, his thumb still circling her palm in that spellbinding way, and by concentrating on that motion her inner chaos subsided again. His free arm slid around her waist and his hand settled at the small of her back. With a gentle nudge, he turned her to continue to follow the path and she found herself walking side by side with Mr Gray away from the house and deeper into the garden, even though his palm was no longer at her back and he had at some point released her hand. Cecily swallowed.

I should not go with him. I really should not.

‘Walk with me. I will listen.’

He halted and so did she. He touched his finger to her chin...such a fleeting touch. ‘I will not judge.’

Then he began to stroll along the path again.

And so did Cecily.

Yet again, all the precepts of her upbringing screamed at her to return to the house. To surround herself with...normal...people. To do and behave as would be expected of her and as she expected of herself, as she had done her entire life. But the urge to unburden herself was stronger. There was nobody in her life she could confide in. Not about this.

Maybe...

She stole a glance at the man by her side. His expression gave away nothing of his thoughts, but it was relaxed. Not tense, closed off, secretive or eager, just...he was just...

He is present...neither planning tomorrow nor brooding over yesterday.

The words whispered out of nowhere and she recognised them as the truth. He was calm and unhurried. Not impatiently waiting for her to respond, like most men of her acquaintance would be—wanting to deal with whatever she was fretting about so they could then get on with their more important lives.

He is content to wait and for me to speak or not speak as I choose. What harm can there be? He is a gip—Romany—and in a few days I shall return to my normal life. Our paths will never cross again.

And, somehow, that freedom to choose, the magic of the night, the scent of the roses and Mr Gray’s calming presence combined to induce a trancelike state in which the normal rules by which Cecily always lived did not apply.

‘I was thinking about my future.’

‘And you see unhappiness ahead for you?’

‘I... Yes.’

Silence reigned.

‘My brothers’ marriages...so close together... I did not expect...’

Her throat tightened, holding her words inside. They had reached the end of the path, arriving at an open area paved with flagstones, bordered on the far side by a stone wall as high as a man, with an arched gateway. Cecily crossed the area to a raised pool set in the middle and gazed into the still, black water at the reflection of the moon—a silvery sphere that, as she trailed her fingers in the water, shimmered and danced. She turned to face Absalom Gray. Here was her opportunity to sort out her tangled thoughts and feelings—to speak her concerns out loud and to think over her choices for her future. Mr Gray remained at the edge of the square, but the weight of his gaze upon her made him feel closer. Gave a feeling of intimacy. Cecily took a breath.

‘I never expected my brothers to marry. Leo...he was married before and it was not a happy experience for him, although the marriage did give him two sons and a daughter.’ She paced across the square, and back again to the pool. ‘He is forty years old now and has been a widower for thirteen years. He has been pursued by endless females with the desire to be a duchess. I never...ever...’

‘You never expected he would fall in love?’

There was no condemnation in his tone, but she felt her defences rise up.

‘I am happy for him. I love my brother and I liked Rosalind from the moment I met her. We became friends. But... I was seventeen when Leo’s first wife died. I raised his children and I ran our household. And now...and now...’

* * *

Lady Cecily’s voice faded into silence and Zachary Absalom Graystoke waited, content to allow her to unburden herself in her own time, knowing she would feel better once she had released whatever was troubling her. He was happy to help this duke’s sister to face up to and resolve whatever was troubling her. Beyond that, he had no intentions. No ulterior motives. These people were as far removed from his life as it was possible to be. Facts were facts and a half-blood Romany was no more acceptable to the society in which the high-born Beauchamps moved than a full-blood Rom, no matter who his father had been.

Lady Cecily Beauchamp had fascinated him from the very first moment he set eyes upon her. She had arrived late in the church and had slipped into the back pew, next to him. Someone else had come in with her, sitting on her far side, but Zach had not the smallest interest in the young man, who was clearly related to the Duke. But the woman—he did not know her identity at the time—had captured his attention with her intoxicating scent and her tightly controlled emotions and her luscious curves. She sat there, next to him, all prim and proper and ladylike—a perfect lady—dressed in a gown the colour of bluebells, with a bonnet to match, and she did not see him. She had no concept of his presence until—with the need to move past her to go and help Daniel’s father into his carriage—he had touched her elbow.

He had felt the jolt of connection deep in his gut: an emotional connection that continued to bridge the physical distance between the two of them even when they no longer touched, shimmering between them. And he had recognised then, and later at the wedding breakfast, the disquiet she was at pains to conceal from everyone around her, using her perfect, ladylike manners as a shield. And he had suffered another jolt, this time one of disappointment, when the Duke had introduced her as his sister, Lady Cecily. And although the distance between them had become a chasm, that connection lingered, even though Zach knew damned well he had nothing to offer any woman, given the way he had chosen to live his life.

‘And now...’ her voice as she continued drew Zach back to the present ‘...here I am, thirty years of age, and—as Vernon would say—at my last prayers.’

He had thought her a similar age to him, but she was the older by four years. Another gulf yawned between them, but it barely mattered—a hundred such gulfs could make no difference.

‘I have never had a great ambition to marry, but then I thought I would always have the Abbey to run; I thought I would always be at the helm of the family, helping Leo.’ Her voice shook and she sucked in a deep breath. ‘I feel usurped. There. You asked why the sister of a rich and powerful duke should have any reason to be unhappy and now you know. You may see what a horrible person I am, beneath all this.’ She indicated herself with an abrupt sweep of her hand.

‘You fear the change your brother’s marriage will bring?’

‘Yes. And I know that is selfish. The strange thing is...Leo has been married a month already, so I knew everything had changed, but I pushed it from my mind. There was Olivia’s come out to manage—’

‘Olivia?’

‘My niece. Leo’s youngest. She made her debut into society this spring.’ She perched on the low wall surrounding the pool and trailed her fingers through the water again. ‘It was not until I saw Vernon and Thea together in the church that the truth hit me...’ She surged to her feet once more and again she paced. To and fro. ‘In my world—’ she halted in front of him, and he tamped down the urge to touch her; to soothe her ‘—if a lady does not marry, she eventually becomes...oh, I don’t know how to explain it...invisible. Unnecessary. She fulfils no useful function but to run occasional errands or to carry out the tasks nobody else cares to fulfil.’ She fixed him with eyes that glinted fiercely. ‘I do not want to be that supplicant living in other people’s homes; tolerated rather than wanted or needed; dependent upon others for her very existence.’

‘Let us walk.’ Movement would help him to resist her.

She nodded, once, and glanced back towards the house. She turned, resolutely, and set off towards the archway in the wall. Through there was an expanse of meadow and a small ornamental lake that had been formed when a stream was dammed.

‘You believe that is what your future now holds?’

‘It is inevitable, but I cannot talk to my family about it. They would ridicule such fears—especially Leo and Vernon. They will reassure me that I am loved and that my home will always be with the family at the Abbey. But Rosalind is the lady of the house now and she, like me, is accustomed to being in charge, having raised her younger brothers and sister. And I value our friendship... I do not wish to clash with Rosalind over anything when we all return home for the summer.’

‘Do you have choices?’

‘Choices for ladies who do not wed are limited and they are neither enviable nor easy.’

‘But you would not have to earn your living?’

‘No.’ They strolled down the gentle slope of grass towards the lake. He heard her sigh. ‘No, I would not. Leo would give me an allowance. A generous one. And I am fully aware that makes me sound ungrateful for my life of privilege.’

He sensed her eyes upon him, but kept his attention straight ahead, on the stretch of water ahead, gleaming in the light of the moon.

‘I am aware of how fortunate I am.’

‘Yes. You at least do have choices, unlike some.’

Unlike Mama.

His mother’s face materialised in his mind’s eye and a wave of grief rolled through him. He did not fight it, nor did he succumb to it. Grief was a part of life and living and he had learned to accept its appearance, knowing it would recede soon enough.

They paused at the water’s edge.

‘It may help you to decide what to do if you speak your choices out loud.’

There was a lilt of humour in her voice as she said, ‘You mean you are not going to advise me what my choices are?’

‘Should I?’

‘You are a man. In my world, most men would fall over themselves to prove they know the best way for me to proceed.’

‘I am not most men.’

There was a pause. ‘No. That appears to be true.’

‘So tell me then—in your world, what choices are there for an unmarried lady of your birth?’

‘For a respectable lady with a need to earn a living, she might choose the role of a companion or a governess.’

‘And for a respectable lady with no need to earn her living?’

She sighed. ‘Nothing. There is nothing to look forward to but that slow descent into the role of dependent relative, as I said.’

‘But if you have an allowance, does that not give you a choice?’

‘Such as?’

‘If you could choose your ideal life, what would it be?’

She laughed, but it turned into a sob, quickly choked off. He couldn’t help himself. He put his arm around her shoulders, and smoothed his hand down the bare flesh of her arm. Her head tipped towards him and rested for a moment against his shoulder before she pulled away.

‘And that proves how pathetic I am. You ask me about my ideal life and all I can think is that I want my life to continue as it has always been. I want to care for my family and I want to run a large, happy household. It is what I have always done and what I always expected to do. I want nothing else.’ She bowed her head, pressing her fingers against her eyes. ‘But that is the one thing I cannot have, is it not? My brothers are now married and our family has already changed, and I can only selfishly dwell upon how those changes will affect me and my life.’

He touched her nape and stroked, relishing the silky warmth of her skin and the delicate bumps of her spine.

‘Change is like that, is it not?’ His mind drifted back to his own past and he brought it swiftly back to heel. ‘It is the nature of the beast; it can affect our lives in ways we cannot begin to imagine.’

She turned her head to look up at him. She was so close he could hear the quiet sough of her breathing, and her scent—reminding him of sweet apple blossom—mingled with the night air until he felt full of her. He forced his hand from her and crouched down, feeling around in the damp soil at the edge of the lake. His fingertips found the smooth surface of a large pebble and he picked it up, smoothing his thumb over it as he regained his feet.

‘It is like the change a pebble makes when it is thrown into a pond.’ He tossed the stone high and long, aiming for the middle of the lake. ‘It sinks below the surface to lie unseen on the bottom, but the ripples it causes touch every inch of the shoreline.’

‘Yes. Yes, it is just like that. And I am on the shore, and the ripples are...oh, I don’t know...unsettling...disturbing...and they force me to acknowledge that even good changes...wonderful changes...can have negative consequences.’

‘And one of those negative consequences is how your brother’s marriage will affect you?’

‘Yes. No.’ A sound of frustration, like a low growl, emerged from her and Zach hid his smile at the idea of Lady Perfect growling. ‘I ought not to be talking to you like this.’

‘But you wish to—need to—or you would not be doing it. Life is more content if we all follow what we choose to do rather than what we ought, should or must do.’

‘If everyone did that, chaos would ensue. There has to be some discipline. Some law. Some obligation.’

‘Of course there must, in wider society. I meant on a personal level. You are so bound by the etiquette and rules of your world that you cannot look beyond those boundaries.’

‘That is easy for you to say.’ Bitterness laced her words. ‘But that is my—oh!’

Lady Perfect fell silent as a familiar ghostly shape swooped towards them. She did not scream as he feared she might. Rather, she watched, entranced, as the barn owl flew low across the pond, her flight silent, and landed on Zach’s outstretched arm.

‘What...?’ Cecily’s voice was a whisper, full of wonderment.

‘Lady Cecily Beauchamp, meet Athena.’

Chapter Three

Cecily had never been this close to an owl before. Athena stunned her, with her heart-shaped face and huge dark eyes and the contrast between the buff-coloured feathers on her wings and back with the snowy white of her face and breast. Mr Gray took Cecily’s ungloved hand and raised it to the bird’s breast. Her fingers sank into the soft feathers, more deeply than she anticipated.

‘She is beautiful,’ she whispered. ‘Why is she so tame?’

Mr Gray touched the owl’s head with his forehead, then lifted his arm high. The bird launched into flight and glided away as silently as it had arrived.

‘I reared her from a fledgling.’ His hands cupped in an unconscious gesture, as though he remembered the finding of her and as though he still protected her.

‘How old is she?’

‘She is nine now.’

‘Do you keep other animals, Mr Gray?’

He rubbed his hand across his jaw. ‘I do not keep them. They are free to leave if they so wish.’

‘Will you tell me about them?’

‘Another time. Maybe.’

He began to walk back across the grass towards the garden and regret swirled through her. She followed him, hurrying to keep up with his long strides.

‘I am sorry. I did not mean to pry. I should not have questioned you.’

‘There you go again, with your “I should not have...”’ he growled.

He slammed to a halt and pivoted to face her with such suddenness that she almost cannoned into him. Her feet, still clad in her satin dancing slippers, skidded from under her and she reached out, clutching his lapels to steady herself. His arms came around her, hauling her close, and she found her cheek pressed to his chest, the steady beat of his heart thumping in her ear...far steadier than her own erratic heartbeat which flittered, soared and swooped.

‘Steady.’

His voice rumbled through her. His arms still held her captive, but they loosened a little, allowing her to tip her head back to look at him. His eyes flashed and a muscle leapt in his jaw as one hand slid lower and settled at the small of her back, fitting her snugly into the warm contours of his body. His breath caressed her skin as his free hand came up to cradle her cheek, his thumb drifting across her lower lip. Her breath quickened as his head lowered and, without volition, she rose on her toes to close the gap between them.

His warm lips were soft and smooth, exhilarating and yet soothing. She had only been kissed once in her life and the experience had been...forgettable. This...

Oh, this...

She pressed closer, slipping her arms around his waist, revelling in the sensual glide of his mouth on hers, lost in the moment. She tensed as his tongue probed her lips, but he murmured deep in his throat, a calming sound, and she parted her lips and let him in. Their tongues slid together as he entered repeatedly, exploring her mouth, delicately and without haste. An unfamiliar sensation gathered deep in her stomach, a growing ache of yearning...of desire. She settled deeper into his embrace, his male scent surrounding her as her pulse ran riot and her toes curled with pure pleasure.

It was he who ended the kiss, lifting his lips from hers and drifting them across her cheek. He nibbled her earlobe, then traced the outer rim with his tongue as she tilted her head to ease his access. Her wits were reassembling but, although she was shocked by her wanton behaviour, she felt no shame. His hands framed her waist and lifted her, setting her away from him. She resisted the urge to seek again the heat of his body, the security of his arms.

‘That should not have happened.’ The wicked glitter in his eyes belied his words.

‘Should not?’ she teased, even though he was right. Of course it should never have happened. But she challenged him nevertheless. ‘Why not?’

He barked a laugh. ‘That, my Lady Perfect, is a foolish question.’ He raised his arm, gesturing at the night sky. ‘Let us blame the magic of the moonlight and come the dawn we shall forget it ever happened.’

‘Did you not enjoy kissing me?’

He reached for her hand, holding it in both of his, playing gently with her fingers. Then he raised it to his mouth and pressed hot lips briefly into her palm before folding her fingers over as though to hold his kiss in place.

‘I did.’ His voice was low. Sincere. ‘But you know as well as I that a boundary was crossed. Until that moment, we were indeed fellow guests merely talking. Now...our consciences know the truth, but it can never be revealed to anybody else. Ever. It would be the ruin of you, were it known you kissed a Romany.’

She knew he was right and she still could hardly believe she—who prided herself on always being ladylike and correct—had behaved so out of character.

‘Mayhap you are right and it was the effects of the moonlight,’ she said. ‘You were not thinking clearly. You were angry with me for prying into your life.’

Thea had already warned her that Mr Gray was a very private man. She should have taken heed.

He laughed. ‘That, sweet dove, was not an angry kiss. It was not a punishment; it was self-indulgence. I have wanted to kiss you ever since I first set eyes on you in the church.’

Her insides lurched and heat washed over her face at the thought that such a virile man—such an intelligent and thoughtful man—could look at her in such a way.

‘And I was not angry with you for prying,’ he went on. ‘You wanted to know something about me and you are entitled to ask. But, likewise, I am entitled not to answer.’ He smiled, taking the sting from his words. ‘I should not have walked away from you as I did.’

‘Walked? That was very nearly a run.’ She was desperate to lighten the mood. ‘But I shall accept you do not wish to tell me about your life.’

‘It is not—’

He stiffened, tilting his head to one side. Cecily listened, but could hear nothing.

‘They are calling for you,’ he said. ‘You had better make haste.’ He pointed at the archway that led back into the garden.

Guilt intertwined with the dread that her brothers would find her out. They would be furious, but with Mr Gray, not with her. They would blame him entirely. She would not allow that to happen. He had helped her and she would protect him in return. Somehow, she now felt better able to cope with the changes in her life.

She faced him, and held out her hand. ‘Thank you for listening, Mr Gray.’

He stilled. He stared down at Cecily’s outthrust hand for so long, she feared she had transgressed another of his unwritten laws. As she began to withdraw it, though, he grasped it and closed his fingers around it, saying, ‘Zach. Call me Zach.’

His touch sent tingles racing up her arm and another flush to heat her cheeks. The memory of his lips on hers seared her brain.

‘Zach?’

‘Zachary. That is my name.’

‘But...Absalom. They said you are Absalom Gray.’

She stared up at him. At the intensity of his expression.

‘Absalom is my middle name. I should like to hear my given name on your lips, but I shall not insist. You must do as you wish.’

As I wish... It reinforced the message he had tried to convey about her future. She could choose.

She smiled. ‘Zachary, then. Thank you for listening, Zach.’

He bowed over her hand, turned it and feathered warm, soft lips across the sensitive skin at her wrist and then, in that same calm, unhurried manner, he reached into his pocket, withdrawing her lace glove. He slid it on to her hand and smoothed it along her forearm. Tingles changed into sparks that radiated throughout her body and a feeling of nervy anticipation coiled in the pit of her stomach.

‘You are welcome, Cecily.’

His voice, again, flowed around and through her, melting and comforting. Flustered, she snatched her hand from his and, grabbing at her skirts, she dashed through the archway and past the raised pool, towards the voices she could now hear clearly, raised in worry as they called her name.

She was out of breath by the time she met the first of the searchers, Leo, his brow creased and his eyes full of fear in the light of the lantern he held aloft.

‘Cecily! Thank God! I thought... I thought...’ His voice cracked. ‘Where have you been?’ He raised his voice. ‘It’s all right. I’ve found her.’

He reached for her and pulled her into a tight hug. Guilt pressed on Cecily. She knew, better than most, how Leo worried about his family. How responsible he felt. His first wife had been murdered—in a summer house at Cheriton Abbey—and he had never forgiven himself for his failure to protect her.

‘Leo. I am safe. I’m sorry. I wandered further than I realised. I did not mean to be gone for so long, but it is such a lovely evening and...’

She shrugged. She could say no more. She had wandered too far and forgotten the time. He would have to accept that.

The sound of feet running grew louder, then Vernon, Dominic and Daniel Markham burst into view as Leo released her.

‘Cecily!’ Vernon grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. ‘What happened? This isn’t like you, going off on your own.’

She bit back the irritated riposte that threatened to burst from her lips. Her brothers would never see her as anything other than their little sister. Someone who needed their protection, even though she had been the one to keep the family strong when Margaret died, leaving three young children motherless.

‘I was too warm indoors, Vernon, and I chose to come outside and breathe the fresh air.’ Her choice of words brought Zach’s image into her mind: his dark, chiselled face with its straight nose and slashed brows. Those brooding eyes. That exotic diamond in his ear.

Yes. I chose to go outside. He has a point...so many times I only do as expected and allowed.

‘The scent of the roses lured me into the garden,’ she continued. ‘There is no harm done.’ Her gaze swept across the faces of the four men. Three of them looked mollified, to varying degrees. Leo, though—it was never an easy thing to fool her perceptive oldest brother. ‘Come. Let us go indoors before you contrive to set everyone else into an unnecessary panic.’

Vernon slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, dropping a kiss on to her hair. ‘Pleased it was a false alarm, Cilly.’

Cecily shrugged his arm away. ‘And don’t call me Cilly.’

Trust Vernon; he never missed an opportunity to tease and he knew only too well how she detested that stupid childhood nickname. They had reached the terrace, then they were inside the brightly lit drawing room and Cecily donned her accustomed mantle of perfect society lady and mingled and chatted, but there was a tiny part of her that remained separate and secluded from the hubbub, and in her mind’s eye she saw Zach’s hands, cupped in that unconscious gesture of protection and that tiny part of her felt...safe.

* * *

Zach hunkered down as he fed sticks into the fire two mornings later. Shades of pink and orange brushed the horizon as dawn approached. Another restless night had seen him up even earlier than usual, intent on moving on. No good could come of lingering, of seeing her again. Cecily. Lady Perfect. The name he had dubbed her with sounded harsh, but it served a useful purpose. Its use whenever he thought of her—as he had frequently since their encounter in the moonlight two nights ago—kept the impossibility of anything other than a brief friendship to the forefront of his mind. It would help to stop him indulging in the fantasy of anything more.

He set a tripod frame over the flames and placed a skillet on top, adding a sliver of butter. When it melted, he swirled it around and cracked one egg and then another into the pan. He did it without thought. This had been his life for ten years. The life he had chosen.

As he ate the eggs, mopping up the yolk with a hunk of bread—Mrs Green, the cook at Stourwell Court, was nothing if not generous—he set his mind to the journey he must take to rejoin his family. He had left them camped on the outskirts of Worcester, but they had plans to move on, and he knew their path lay to the south and east, picking up harvesting work and odd jobs along the way.

I must leave today...

The same thought that had plagued him yesterday morning and throughout the day. He had glimpsed Lady Perfect from afar, with her family, but he’d deliberately stayed away from the house. Yes. He would be wise to leave; he ought to leave. He stilled. Ought to... He had chosen not to live his life by the conventions. To follow his heart, not the demands of his brain. How could he tell Lady Perfect to choose what she wished to do, rather than to slavishly follow the edicts of society or her family, and then ignore his own advice?

Do I want to leave today?

The answer was clear and strong. No. He did not want to leave. Not yet. He knew he ought to go, but he chose to stay. It was his way of letting the fates decide his future...and he preferred it to tossing a coin or throwing a dice.

Decision made, he unfolded his body, stood upright and stretched his arms high, arching back as his lungs filled. This would be a good day. He could feel it in his bones.

An eager whine caught his attention. Myrtle sat at his feet, gazing up with adoring eyes, tongue lolling. He reached down to fondle her ear and her eyes half-closed in ecstasy. Dogs were simple beings. Easy to please. Loving and faithful, although they did not always have cause to be. Zach walked to the cart and rummaged through the basket sent out to him by Mrs Green last night after he had declined to join the family and their guests for dinner. Sure enough, there was cold beef and Zach tossed a slice to Myrtle, who jumped awkwardly to catch it. His heart twisted as he watched her lurch away from the cart on three legs and he perched on the cart steps as the memories took hold.

He had found Myrtle a year ago, trapped by her hind leg in a snare in the woods, close to death. It was soon after his mother’s death and caring for Myrtle had helped ease the pain of Mama’s passing and given him a purpose. He hadn’t been able to save her leg, but he had saved her. And, in a way, she had saved him, too, in the same way that caring for Athena had helped him cope with the catastrophic change in his life as he—at sixteen years of age—had struggled to adjust to life among his mother’s people.

Sixteen years old. A boy. He and his mother cast out after his father’s death, with nowhere to go and no one who cared. From that day forward, he’d locked the door on his past, changing his name from Zachary Graystoke to Absalom Gray. Even his mother had called him Absalom, the name of his Romany grandfather. And that memory led inexorably back to Lady Perfect and the question of why he had felt impelled to tell her his real name. Why it had been so very important to him to hear his name on her lips. And the only answer was that he wanted her to know something about him that was the truth. Not the half-truth known by everybody else in the non-Romany world. The gadje world.

Eventually, the swish of footsteps through long grass and the low murmur of voices interrupted his thoughts. His camp was close to a small copse, at the point where a brook entered the River Stour, and on the edge of a field which—Daniel had told him—would be cut for hay later in the season. Zach pushed himself upright and rounded his cart, to see Daniel, the Duke and his son walking to the river, fishing rods in hand. Daniel saw him watching and raised his hand in greeting.

‘Morning, Absalom. Care to join us? We thought we’d take advantage of the peace while the ladies recuperate after another late night.’

The ladies... Lady Perfect... Without volition, he looked in the direction of the house, even though he knew it was out of sight. Was she awake? Did she think of him—wonder what he was doing—as he did her? He thrust down that thought. Of course she did not. She was a lady. He was a Romany. Why would she think of him? But maybe his listening, and his advice, such as it was, had helped to ease her mind. At least she had not succumbed to a fit of the vapours when he had so far forgotten himself as to kiss her.

With that he must be satisfied.

‘Thank you, but no,’ he replied to Daniel. ‘I promised your sister I would look at her lame mare this morning.’

‘Oh, good man,’ Daniel said. ‘Thea dotes on Star. She’d be broken-hearted to lose her and Pritchard seems at a loss to know what’s wrong.’ Pritchard was the Markhams’ head groom. ‘Absalom here is something of a natural healer, your Grace.’

‘Leo. I told you to call me Leo. After all, we’re family now.’

Zach could see by the pink that tinged Daniel’s cheeks how pleased he was by the Duke’s remark. He bit back a smile as he imagined the man’s reaction if he were to have the gall to call him Leo.

‘Well, enjoy your fishing,’ he said. The sun was fully up now, revealing a cloudless, periwinkle sky. ‘You have perfect weather for it.’

‘Indeed we have.’ It was the Duke’s son who responded, with a grin. He slapped Daniel on the back as he continued, ‘Markham’s promised some great sport. He’s boasting of barbel the size of seals.’

Daniel laughed. ‘That’s something of an exaggeration, but we do catch the occasional whopper.’

The three men continued to the river bank and turned to walk downstream, jumping across the brook. Zach watched them go with a touch of envy prompted by their sureness of their own places in the world: Daniel as comfortable with his own life as a manufacturer as the Duke and his son—his eldest son and therefore his heir—were with their privileged position. He swatted away that errant feeling. He might not belong quite as solidly to the life he had chosen, but it was his choice after all. Those other men...they had simply followed in their fathers’ footsteps. He tidied his campsite and threw dirt on the fire to extinguish the flame, then, with Myrtle at his heels, he headed for the stables.

He followed the brook upstream to the point where, at some time in the past, it had been dammed to create the lake where he and Lady Perfect had talked the night before last. He skirted around the shore and then continued to follow the brook upstream, knowing it would lead him close to the stable yard. He could not help but glance over at the rear view of Stourwell Court—its three-storeyed, stuccoed block, topped with a hipped roof, visible on the far side of the flower garden—but he caught no glimpse of Lady Perfect. Or of anyone else. The curtains were still drawn at several windows on the first floor and it was likely she was still in bed.

How long had she remained at the party after she left him the other night? Had she danced? Laughed? Indulged in fascinating conversations with the other guests—conversations that would put their unlikely encounter straight out of her head? She had made no effort to seek him out yesterday. Had she even noticed him, in the distance, when he had seen her? His lips tightened. Such thoughts would help no one. Least of all him. He must let them go. He cut across the grass to the stables and rounded the outer wall to the yard entrance. And stopped short.

Her smile dazzled him. Her silky chestnut hair gleamed in the sun and her eyes—a glorious green, the colour of fresh, damp moss—sparkled. She was dressed for riding, in a riding habit that exactly matched her eyes, and she held a matching hat, trimmed with two curling ostrich feathers, by her side.

Chapter Four

‘Good morning, Mr Gray.’

Lady Cecily’s gaze flicked to one side and Zach recognised Bickling—Lord Vernon’s groom, whom he had met in Worcester—standing nearby. She was warning him to maintain the formalities in front of others, kindling a warm glow in his chest. She had not forgotten their conversation.

‘Good morning, my lady. I did not expect to see anyone up and about so early.’

‘I could not sleep once daylight came. I felt the need for exercise after two idle days so I thought I might ride around the estate. I can find no one to accompany me, however, even though I was told Leo and Dominic have already broken their fast.’

‘They are fishing, with Daniel.’ Zach pointed in the direction of the river. ‘I am happy to accompany you, if Pritchard can supply a horse.’

The offer slipped out before he could censor his words. He sensed Bickling’s uneasy stir, but ignored him.

‘That would be splendid. Oh, Bickling, do wipe that disapproving expression from your face. Mr Gray is a guest here. There is no impropriety.’

‘Milady, I was about to suggest I ride with you. It’s not proper, you going out unchaperoned.’

She laughed and the sound trickled through Zach, awakening the strongest urge to hear her laugh again and again.

‘Oh, Bickling! That is absurd. It is no more improper for me to ride out with Mr Gray than it is to ride out with only you as my escort. We shall not go far. Now, Lady Vernon said last night she was happy for me to ride her mare Polly, so please go and speak to Pritchard and ask him to saddle her and also one of Mr Markham’s horses for Mr Gray.’

Bickling stalked off, grumbling beneath his breath.

‘The Good Lord deliver me from protective men.’ Cecily smiled up at Zach, tiny laughter lines creasing the outer corners of her lovely eyes. ‘It is bad enough with two brothers and two nephews who all consider it their duty to monitor my every move without the servants joining in as well.’

‘He is only doing as he thinks best,’ Zach said. ‘I need to speak to Pritchard before we go; I promised Lady Vernon I’d look at her favourite mare. She’s gone lame.’

‘Oh, the poor thing. Of course you must see to her before we go, Zach.’

Pleasure flared at her use of his name.

‘I shan’t be long. From Lady Vernon’s description, I suspect the problem is in her back, not her legs. She might benefit from massage but she’ll need the area warmed and relaxed first and that will take a while.’

He was soon back, having examined the mare and given instructions to Pritchard to rug her up using a lightweight blanket over a thatch of straw to help relax her. Cecily was crouching down, attempting to coax Myrtle to her. She looked up at Zach’s approach.

‘Look at this poor dog,’ she said. ‘Do you think she’s a stray? How can she survive on only three legs?’

Myrtle lurched over to him and leaned against his leg, nudging him with her head. He bent to fondle her ear as Cecily stood upright.

‘She went straight to you. Is she yours?’

‘I care for her.’

‘Of course. As you told me, you do not keep animals. They are free to leave if they wish. That is correct, isn’t it?’

‘It is. Apart from Titan, that is.’

‘Titan?’

‘He pulls my wagon. I cannot allow him to wander off, or I would never be able to move on.’

‘And is that important to you? The ability to move on?’ She tilted her face to the sky. ‘It sounds idyllic and uncomplicated in this weather, but it must be less pleasant in the rain and in the winter.’

He shrugged. ‘It is what I have chosen.’

Bad choice of words. He knew it as soon as they left his mouth. Her eyes sharpened as she studied him.

‘Chosen? You make it sound as though you do have an alternative if you wish it.’

The clip-clop of hooves announced the arrival of their horses—a pretty chestnut mare for Lady Perfect and a bay gelding for him—and Myrtle, wary of horses, slunk out of the yard to hide behind the stone entrance pillar. Zach was grateful for the interruption, but he answered Lady Perfect’s comment anyway, hoping it would be enough to stop her probing further.

‘Everyone has an alternative.’

* * *

Cecily eyed Zach thoughtfully. Did his comment have some deeper meaning? Wondering what alternative he had to his Romany way of life, she settled her hat onto her head and turned her attention to Polly, looking her over with a knowledgeable eye as she smoothed her gloved hand down the gleaming chestnut neck. Bickling laced his fingers to provide a step for her to mount and she quickly settled in the side saddle, waiting while Zach mounted the bay.

His loose trousers and short boots looked decidedly odd as riding attire, accustomed as she was to breeches and shiny top boots, but the loose fit did not detract from his sculpted thighs as he settled in the saddle. She averted her gaze and diverted her thoughts from a sudden mental image of Zach’s muscular thighs clad in form-fitting breeches. An image that dried her mouth.

‘We shouldn’t be long, Bickling, so do not worry.’ And with that, she touched the mare with her heel and they clattered out of the yard, her seat secure even as Polly shied away from Myrtle, still hovering by the entrance.

‘I’ll be back soon, Myrtle,’ Zach said as he passed the dog, a brindled brown and white bull-terrier type, short-legged and stocky—the type of animal often used in dog fights.

Cecily suppressed a shudder at the thought—she loathed some of the so-called sports that even civilised men indulged in. Thankfully, her brothers did not enjoy dog fighting, cock fighting and the like, but... She cast a sidelong look at Zach as his horse ranged alongside hers as they followed a track that led away from the house, behind the stables. Did Romanys indulge in such sports?

‘How did she lose her leg?’

‘A snare. Set by a gamekeeper.’

‘Oh. I thought... I wondered...’

His dark brows lifted.

‘Well, she is the sort of dog used in dog fighting. I thought that might be how she was injured.’

His mouth settled into a tight line and she cursed herself for such clumsiness. He had demonstrated his love for animals in the short time she had known him and yet she had practically accused him of involvement in a horrid blood sport. How she wished she’d thought before opening her mouth.

‘Why do you call her Myrtle?’

‘Why not?’

Cecily tamped down the urge to snap at him for rejecting her olive branch. Her own mood was also a touch fragile this morning after a restless couple of nights, and she was tired and a little headachy with all the thoughts and—yes, alternatives—that had pounded relentlessly at her brain since their conversation in the moonlight. She had only reached a conclusion as this day dawned—a conclusion prompted partly by the memory of Zach’s kiss—and she had imagined telling Zach all about her plans for her future the next time she saw him. Her decision to go for a ride this early had in part been to clear her head, but she knew, deep down, that she also had hoped to see Zach. And that had worked better than she imagined, although now she was well on her way to quarrelling with him and that would only ruin their ride.

Before she could say anything to smooth the conversation, Zach spoke.

‘I call her Myrtle for the plant. When I found her, there was a lady who lived in a cottage on that estate who helped. She grew herbs and medicinal plants in her glasshouse and she made a poultice of crushed myrtle leaves to help heal the wound after we amputated her leg.’

‘Thank you for telling me.’ Cecily reached between them and touched his arm. ‘And thank you, again, for the other night. You helped me more than you know and I am happy to have this chance to tell you of my decision.’

‘You do sound less troubled today, although you look in need of sleep.’

‘I have had much to think about.’

‘And your decision?’

‘You said earlier that everyone has an alternative and that is true for me, too. I can remain in my present circumstances and allow my life to dwindle and fade, or I can grasp my future with both hands. So I thought about what I truly want and that is my own household to run. I love the busyness and I love having family around and seeing the tenants and helping where I can, so the obvious solution is for me to marry. That way I shall get my own household and I will also avoid becoming a burden on my family in the future.’

There was a long pause, the only sound the occasional chink of a horseshoe against stone. His profile was harsh, his brows gathered in a frown at the bridge of his nose.

‘You implied that wasn’t an option when we spoke before.’

‘I did not believe it was an option. Not then.’

‘And what changed your mind?’

She could never admit the truth: that his kiss had awakened a delicious urge to experience more. Intimacy—it had never been a factor in her thoughts before. Her life had given her the domesticity and child-rearing aspects of marriage and she had been content with that. She had done her duty. That kiss had served as a reminder that there was a third element to marriage and the only way for her to experience more of that would be to marry. And she even had a candidate in mind. She had tried not to dwell on the suspicion that kissing Lord Kilburn might prove less enticing than kissing Zach.

‘The deciding factor was that I know just the man.’

He faced her, his eyes turbulent with emotion. ‘You have a sweetheart?’

‘Not a sweetheart. But there is someone. He is a neighbour of my aunt in Oxfordshire, who I first met a few years ago, soon after his wife died. We met again earlier this year, in London. He proposed, but I turned him down because I was needed at home.’

She had been unable to fathom his lordship’s feelings for her... There had been little of the lover in his courtship—if that is what such a restrained pursuit could be called—and yet the flash of desperation in his eyes when she had refused him had made her wonder. She could not decide, however, if it was the loss of her or of her dowry that sparked that single glimpse of deep emotion.

‘He is a widower with young children, so I shall be doing him a favour at the same time.’

Saying it out loud sounded a touch cold-blooded, but Lord Kilburn seemed a pleasant enough gentleman and surely would prove the perfect solution to her dilemma. She suffered no delusions—at the age of thirty there would be few options open to her. There was no queue of gentlemen clamouring to marry her and, having met his lordship again at various events during the recent Season, she knew he was still interested in her.

Or, possibly, in my dowry.

She dismissed that cynical voice. That was the world she lived in, and the old saying a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush could hardly be more apt. It would be foolish to expect love to find her as it had her brothers. It was different for women.

Except Rosalind is the same age as you. She found love.

She brushed her misgivings aside. The thought of leaving her beloved family brought an aching lump to her throat, but she forced it down, concentrating on the positive aspects of marriage. She would have her own household to run, stepchildren to care for and maybe even her own children. That, surely, would bring her happiness and contentment. It was the lot of many women in her position and, besides, what other choice did she have?

She could not bear to resign herself to life as the dependent relation.

‘Marriage is not something to be entered into with the head. What about the heart?’

Zach’s comment stung. Why should he care about her decision?

‘On the contrary, in my world, marriage is often entered into with the head.’

And Kilburn will make for a safe, steady, unexciting husband.

She raised her chin. ‘The Earl will be the perfect choice. We shall be perfectly content together.’

‘An earl. Of course—the perfect choice for Lady Perfect.’

‘Is that how you see me? Lady Perfect?’

‘It is the image you present to the world.’

She stared at him. ‘The image I present? You think me, somehow, false?’

He shook his head, his dark locks shining in the sun, and she had a sudden urge to run her fingers through those heavy, satiny curls.

‘No. I do not think you false. Rather, I see you as dutiful and restrained, just as a perfect lady should be and who behaves just as she ought.’

‘And shallow, I surmise.’

‘Oh, no.’ He turned his head to look at her and his eyes gleamed. ‘You are not shallow, my lady.’

‘And you deduce this from one brief encounter? You flatter yourself you know me because I was unwise enough to confide in you when I was feeling uncommonly low.’

‘I hope you will look back upon our meeting with pleasure, my lady. And you are right. I do not know you. Not all of you. But I saw a different woman emerge in the moonlight when you allowed yourself to forget your status. That woman is still beneath, with her dreams and her passions, if you will only give her a voice.’

Cecily swallowed. She did not want more uncertainty. She had made her decision. His words rattled her... Was it really possible he understood more of what lay in her heart than she did?

‘Heavens.’ She forced a tinkling laugh. ‘I do not believe I have ever heard such a lengthy speech from you, Mr Gray.’

‘I limit my words to when I have something to say.’

‘An admirable trait, I am sure.’ They had reached a river. ‘I should like to return now, if you please,’ she said.

‘As you wish. If we follow upstream, it will bring us close to the lake where we spoke the other night and that is not far from the stable yard.’

The lake...the moonlight...the touch of his lips. Her pulse quickened at the memory and she slid a sidelong glance at his impassive profile. Did he remember? Of course he did...it was an idiotic question. More pertinent—might he snatch this opportunity to kiss her again? And, if he did, would she allow it?

The sight of three figures on the bank ahead of them answered her question as to whether he might snatch a kiss. Zach had told her Leo, Dominic and Daniel were fishing and he must have known, by riding in this direction, they would meet them. He had no wish to prolong their private talk or to kiss her again, that was abundantly clear, and knowing that made her feel...deflated, somehow.

And what did you expect? Have you given him reason to think you have enjoyed this conversation or his company this morning?

‘Zach.’ The other men had yet to notice their approach and she must say this before it was too late. ‘I should like you to know—I might not have shown it, but I have valued our conversations. They have helped me.’

He smiled. ‘Thank you. I did not mean to annoy you, but please think about what I have said before you finally decide upon your future. You owe yourself that much.’

‘I promise I shall. And I shall visit my aunt and meet his lordship again before making any commitment.’

The three men ahead had now caught sight of them and Cecily waved. She interpreted the reason behind Leo’s frown so, to forestall any negative remark concerning her choice of escort, as soon as they were within earshot, she called, ‘There you are! Mr Gray offered to show me where you were fishing. Isn’t it a glorious day?’

Chapter Five

Leo’s frown lifted slightly, but he still looked stern enough to make Cecily anxious. Her brother was nothing if not protective and she would not have chosen to meet him in this way. She wished Zach had shown more discretion—a glance at his expression showed no apprehension. Did he not realise their social blunder?

Of course he does not. He is a Romany.

‘I understood you said there was a horse needing your treatment, Gray.’ Leo’s voice was clipped with annoyance. His gaze flicked to Cecily and, to her chagrin, she felt her cheeks heat. ‘I trust my sister did not distract you from your errand of mercy?’

He strode towards them. As he reached for Cecily, ready to help her dismount, a loud braying noise rent the air. Polly laid back her ears and skittered sideways, away from Leo. Cecily, her leg already lifted over the pommel and her foot free of the stirrup, was taken unawares and she lurched across the horse’s neck, her hat falling to the ground. As her arms flailed in an attempt to grab the pommel, a strong arm wrapped around her waist from behind, plucking her from the saddle and onto Zach’s lap. Before her brain could even register the sequence of events, Cecily felt her body relax back into the solid strength of Zach’s as though she belonged, safe and secure in his arms. His lips pressed momentarily to her hair. Then he swung his right leg across his horse’s neck, so he was sitting sideways on the horse, and he held Cecily close as he slid to the ground. There was no stumble as he landed—graceful as a cat—and he gently set Cecily on her own two feet. Only then did he release her, with a slide of his hand and a brief squeeze at the side of her waist.

Leo’s face was like thunder but, before he could speak, Daniel said, ‘Oh, well caught, Absalom. Lucky you were there, or Lady Cecily might have come a cropper.’

‘My sister is an accomplished horsewoman.’ The manner in which Leo bit out his words told Cecily of the effort it cost him to keep his temper in check. ‘She would have recovered her seat without help, I assure you.’

Cecily cast an imploring look at Dominic, who ghosted a wink in reply to show he understood her silent plea to defuse the tension. He walked over, picking up Cecily’s fallen hat on the way.

‘Was that a donkey?’ he asked, as he handed the hat to Cecily.

He gazed in the direction of the sound, as though expecting one to materialise from among the trees further along the riverbank and beyond a narrow brook.

‘It was,’ Zach said. ‘He will—there he is.’

And, sure enough, a donkey emerged from the nearby copse and stared, ears stiffly upright, in their direction.

‘Why is he not tethered? Does he belong to you?’ Leo still scowled, his attention still locked on Zach.

‘He is not tethered because he is free.’ Daniel slapped Zach on the back. ‘That’s one of the first things I learned about my friend here.’

He emphasised the word ‘friend’ ever so slightly, and Leo’s gaze switched to him. With a barely perceptible nod, he signalled he had taken Daniel’s point and Cecily breathed more easily.

‘He can charm the birds out of the trees,’ Daniel continued. ‘Creatures love him and he allows them to stay or go as they please.’

The donkey—brownish-grey with ludicrously long ears and huge eyes—had crossed the brook and wandered over to them as they talked. He nudged his head against Zach, who scratched behind his ears. Cecily reached out and stroked his velvet-smooth nose.

‘Does he have a name?’

‘Sancho.’ She caught the quick glint of humour in Zach’s dark eyes—not black as they sometimes appeared, but the deepest, darkest brown she had ever seen. ‘Sancho Panza.’

Dominic guffawed. ‘Sancho Panza! Did you hear that, Father?’

Leo’s lips twitched in a half-smile. ‘And you see yourself as a modern-day Don Quixote, do you, Gray? You and your faithful squire on a quest to revive chivalry, undo wrongs and bring justice to the world?’

There was challenge and a hint of mockery in his tone, but Zach seemed not to notice. He stood, completely relaxed, the donkey by his side.

‘I have yet to mistake a windmill for a ferocious giant,’ he said, with a smile, ‘but it seemed a fitting name.’

Leo acknowledged the comment with a tilt of his chin. ‘Come, Cecily,’ he said. ‘I shall escort you back to the house.’

Before he could move, however, Zach was by Cecily’s side, lacing his fingers for her to step into.

‘Permit me, my lady.’

She stepped into his cupped hands and he effortlessly hoisted her on to Polly’s back. Then he faced Leo.

‘You may entrust Lady Cecily to my care, your Grace. The mare will be ready to treat by now, so it is time I returned. We’ll leave you to enjoy your fishing.’

To Cecily’s surprise, Leo accepted this with a curt nod, but the look he sent her warned she was likely to suffer a lecture on the wisdom of riding around the countryside accompanied only by a Romany. The hypocrisy of his attitude fired her sense of injustice. She knew only too well that Vernon and Thea had, prior to their marriage, spent several unchaperoned days and nights together on the road as they searched for Daniel, who had gone missing. Compared to that, a short morning ride around the Markhams’ estate was completely harmless. She batted away the nagging voice that reminded her that the difference was that she was female.

Thea is a woman, too. And Leo does not think any the less of her for her behaviour.

‘Your brother disapproves,’ Zach said as they rode away, Sancho following behind at a trot.

They crossed over the same little brook and headed towards the copse from which Sancho had emerged.

‘He is protective. It is who he is.’ Cecily might find Leo’s attitude exasperating, but she was allowed to criticise him and be irritated by him. He was her brother.

‘My opinion of him would be less if he were not. He is a strong man and he cares for those he feels responsible for.’

‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

His expression blanked and she cursed herself for asking such a direct question. Had she not already established that he did not respond well to curiosity? They rode along the edge of the copse until it gave way to a large hayfield. Between the edge of the uncut grass and the trees was a camp, with a tent and a cart. Standing next to the dead ashes of the fire was Myrtle, tail wagging so hard she was almost wriggling with joy.

‘Why is Myrtle here? We left her at the stables.’

‘She would not remain there on her own. This is her home. She will always return.’ Zach turned his head and caught Cecily’s eye. ‘It is where she feels safe, where she is loved.’

Cecily’s heart squeezed at Zach’s words. Home. That is exactly how she felt about her home and her family—safe and loved. But hankering over the past was pointless. She accepted that now. Everything had changed and she was determined to find her new place in the world.

Zach leapt from his horse’s back and crouched down to fondle the dog, murmuring, his voice too quiet for Cecily to make out his words. Then he sprang once more on to his horse and Myrtle settled down, her head on her outstretched paws, and heaved a sigh. As they rode away, Cecily looked back, seeing that the donkey, too, remained at the camp, cropping at the grass.

‘What did you say to Myrtle?’

He sent her a sharp glance. ‘You think it odd that I talk to her?’

She did, a bit. But she did not say so. ‘I have never had a pet dog. Rosalind—the Duchess—she has a dog. He is huge, almost up to my waist, and she talks to him all the time. He lives with us now.’

‘You are a good horsewoman. Do you not talk to your horse?’

‘Not really. Only if they need calming down.’

He shook his head. ‘I find that odd.’

‘Is it because you live alone, do you think?’

He laughed, tilting his head to the sky and breathing deeply, as he had the other night. ‘I am not lonely, if that is what you wish to know. I am content. I enjoy this life and being outdoors. I love nature. I am a fortunate man.’

A picture of his campsite formed in her head. He had so little, compared to the riches and the opulence she and her family took for granted: the huge, sprawling Cheriton Abbey in Devonshire, minor estates scattered around the country, each one of them with a house at least as big as Stourwell Court, and a full contingent of staff to keep them in readiness for family visits, plus a magnificent town house in Grosvenor Square in London. And yet he was content, and she...she...

I have done nothing but complain. Poor little me: my brother got married and I am no longer the mistress of the Abbey and all his other properties.

Zach’s attitude was humbling.

‘You are fortunate to be so content. I hope to be as settled and as happy as you in the future.’

‘True contentment comes from following your heart and in appreciating what you have, not hankering after that which you have not.’

She pondered his words. ‘That is true, but only to an extent.’

She pictured Leo’s bleak expression as she had ridden away with Zach. She knew her brother well enough to know he used his anger to mask his concern, as well as any hint of weakness, and she also knew she had upset him by following her own inclination—her heart—and returning to the Court with Zach rather than with Leo.

‘What if, by following your heart, you cause pain to someone you love?’

Zach’s mouth twitched. ‘Then you have a choice to make about which is more important to you.’

‘Mayhap that is why you are so content. You only have yourself to please.’

Pain flashed across his face and was as quickly gone.

‘What is it?’

‘My mother—she died last summer.’ He raised his hand to the diamond in his ear.

She touched his arm. ‘I am sorry. Is...is your earring a traditional Romany adornment?’ Her fascination with that glinting diamond prompted her to risk the question.

‘It was part of a wedding gift from my father to my mother. She had to sell her jewellery after he died.’ Bitterness lit his eyes. ‘But she gave me the ring and I had the stone made into this.’

Diamonds? Cecily hid her surprise that a Romany could lavish such an expensive gift upon his bride, but she felt the poignancy that Zach’s mother had been forced to part with such a treasured gift. ‘It is a lovely memento of both of them.’

They had arrived back at the stable yard and a groom emerged to take charge of the horses.

‘I shall see you later,’ said Zach after he had helped Cecily to the ground. His dark gaze roamed her face, then drifted down her body, conjuring heat wherever it lingered. Her corset grew tight, restricting her lungs. ‘I am invited to dinner. I refused the invitation last night, but I shall accept tonight.’

The news pleased her. She longed to learn more about this enigmatic man and watching him interact with the others at Stourwell Court would hopefully allow her to do so.

‘Are you going to treat Thea’s mare now?’

‘Star? Yes, I am.’

‘I should like to watch.’

He held her gaze. ‘Your brother will not approve.’

She smiled. ‘But my heart is telling me I wish to see how you help her even though my head tells me I ought to return to the house.’

* * *

And he could not argue with that, because it was how he had encouraged her to think. Zach shook his head at her, smiling, then strode into the stable, where Star was tethered in a large pen at the far end, rather than in one of the stalls. The heels of Lady Perfect’s boots rang on the cobbled floor as she followed behind.

‘Wait outside,’ he said, hoping she would not chatter and distract him while he worked.

He stripped off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and entered the pen, where he was joined by Pritchard, the head man, and an older groom called Malky, who went to the mare’s head to hold her. Zach stripped the blanket from her back and brushed away the wisps of straw, listening to the low murmur of Malky’s voice as he kept Star calm and replied to Lady Perfect’s question about what was wrong with her.

First, Zach felt gently along either side of the mare’s spine, probing the tension of her muscles. He tried hard to keep his full attention on the mare, but found it wandering all too often to Lady Perfect who—to his surprise—now stood quietly on the spot he had indicated, doing nothing to distract him... It was his own visceral awareness of her presence to blame for that. He began to gently massage the knotted muscles either side of her spine.

A shadow fell across him and he looked around. It was the Duke, his countenance even more forbidding than before. Zach returned his attention to his task.

‘Leo!’ Cecily spoke in a hushed voice behind him. ‘Thea’s horse is lame, but they can’t find out which leg it is. Bleeding and purging have failed to help and so they have asked Mr Gray to try and help her.’

Zach watched Star’s ears closely for signs of pain. ‘There is no heat in her legs or hooves,’ he said, sparing a glance at the Duke, who stepped closer, his interest unmistakable. ‘The pain appears to be in her back—it is making her tense and she naturally restricts her stride to protect herself.’

‘Thea will be very grateful if you can help her, Absalom,’ Daniel said. ‘Star is her favourite...the horse she rode when she and Vernon set out to search for me.’

Zach listened to the murmured conversation with half an ear as he continued to massage Star. Then he took a carrot and a knife from his pocket. He cut a chunk and crouched by her foreleg, holding the carrot beneath Star’s nose, just out of her reach. As she followed the carrot, Zach lowered his hand, bringing it back between her forelegs. When he judged she had stretched sufficiently, he rewarded her with the carrot.

He straightened. ‘If it is done slowly and steadily, it will help to stretch her back,’ he said to Malky, who nodded. ‘Lead her out, then. I’d like to see her walk.’

The onlookers moved aside as Malky led Star from the pen and out of a rear door in the barn that led straight out on to the stretch of grass between the stable and the lake. Admiration glowed in Cecily’s mossy eyes as Zach passed her, sparking a flame of awareness and need deep in his gut. Then he caught the Duke’s eye and that smothered the flame more effectively than a shovelful of earth would extinguish his campfire. She was Lady Perfect. Sister of a duke. And the warning in his Grace’s silvery eyes promised dire retribution if Zach forgot his place.

He concentrated on keeping the churn of anger and resentment deep inside, letting nothing of his feelings show. There was no point in provoking such a man when his own conscience told him there was no future for him and Lady Perfect, no matter how fascinated he was by this prim and proper lady. No matter how she called to his soul.

‘That’ll do.’ After five minutes, Zach motioned to Malky to return Star to the stable. ‘Walk her in hand several times a day, just five minutes at a time to begin with. I’ll bring down some belladonna salve for her and massage her again this afternoon. And I’ll look in on her again before I go up to the house for dinner tonight.’

As he spoke, he happened to glance at the Duke, whose lips thinned at Zach’s words. His clear disapproval prompted an urge to tweak the man’s tail, despite Zach’s earlier resolve not to provoke such a powerful man needlessly.

‘I will update you on her progress when I see you tonight, my lady.’

He smiled directly at Cecily, noting both the flare of her eyes and her flicker of unease. He felt, rather than saw, the Duke’s irritation.

‘It is time we returned to the house.’ The Duke took Cecily’s arm and began walking. ‘I am sure Thea will be eager to hear how her horse fares.’

Cecily accompanied her brother without protest. Daniel let out a low whistle.

‘That is a high-risk strategy, my friend.’

Zach raised his brows and Daniel grinned.

‘No point in playing the innocent with me, but do take care. You might not realise it, but Cheriton is one of the most powerful men in the country. Cross him at your peril.’

‘If he is as powerful as you say, he can have no fear of a humble Romany.’

‘Humble?’ Daniel laughed. ‘I could describe you in many ways, Absalom, but humble ain’t one of ’em. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re every bit as high-born as most of the nobs I’ve encountered. Not Cheriton and his family, of course. They’re a breed apart.’

His words—although spoken in jest—jabbed deep at Zach. If only Daniel knew... He schooled his expression as he saw his friend’s eyes sharpen.

‘I’ve never known a man so reluctant to reveal anything of himself,’ said Daniel. ‘I’m willing to bet you have a colourful past, but...’ he held his hands up, palms out, as Zach frowned ‘...have no fear. I know better than to probe further.’

‘I see no point in revisiting the past. It is best left behind, that way it can wield no power over you.’

Daniel slapped Zach on the back. ‘If you say so, my friend. If you say so.’

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