Page 30 of A Daring Pursuit

“You seem unusually enamored with Miss Wimbley,” Julius said. The darkened interior hid his expression, but Noah detected the grin in his voice.

He responded with a grunt.

“There is something unusual about her, isn’t there? I mean, she’s friends with a woman of… of foreign ancestry.”

“Of which there is nothing wrong.” Noah’s tone was hard and unrelenting.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” Julius hastened to say. “Lady Abra is very interesting as well.” There was a beat of silence, then, “But what are they doing here?”

Noah stared out at the swaying trees. A question for which he had no answer. “Exactly what I intend to find out,” he murmured.

“So, you don’t believe they are here to pay their respects to Father. I thought as much,” Julius said with a nod in his voice. “Still, it’s quite curious. Does she remind you of anyone?”

“Lady Abra? No.” He refused to speak of Miss Wimbley. Not when thinking of her shifted him so off-balance.

From across the confines, Julius’s snort filled the limited space. “It won’t work, you know. I have eyes. I see how you look at Miss Wimbley.”

Noah leaned against the squabs, folding his arms over his chest. “And justhowdo I look at her?”

“Like she’s an experiment you are determined to evaluate under your microscope. Only she won’t fit on one of your little glass slides.”

That didn’t sound so bad—

“But then your expression changes,” Julius went on. “As if you hadn’t eaten a decent meal for years and she has transformed into a rare delicacy you cannot wait to taste.”

Christ, what a conversation. Noah flattened his palms on his thighs and smoothed them down his legs, gripping his knees and digging his fingers into the trouser-cover flesh. His younger brother was much too observant. The skin at his neck tingled beneath the layers of his clothing. It itched where the wool touched him, stuck to sudden dampness where his lawn shirt clung. And his cravat? Downright choking. “How fanciful you are,” he said, unable to keep the roughness at bay.

“Ah, we’re here.”

The carriage slowed near the portico then stopped. It shook with the removal of the steps. Julius clapped him on the shoulder, his smile gleaming as he moved into the light. He jumped down, bypassing the steps altogether, and dashed inside Chaston Manor without so much as a knock.

Noah shook his head and followed his brother inside, half-wondering if he’d find Docia’s body sprawled from a shove in the back at the foot of the stairs.

Instead, Viscount Chaston, all disheveled six feet of him appeared from the drawing room. “What the devil?”

“Gads, you devil. When did you arrive?” Noah shook his old friend’s hand.

“Barely an hour ago. What’s going on?”

“Julius and I are here to escort your cousin and… er, her friend to Stonemare.”

Chaston was a cousin some-number removed of Docia’s. He rarely bothered with Northumberland, preferring the London residence. He’d given up on domesticizing from the onset. The man waved out a hand. “I’d offer refreshments, but I doubt there are servants in this blasted house.” He turned, inviting Noah and Julius to follow him into the drawing room. The fire had been stoked to blazing. “Hell, my bedchamber is a disaster. My valet is setting it to rights before I can even make use of it.”

“I believe she hires women from Alnmouth to clean weekly,” Noah informed him wryly. “I take it she doesn’t include the master chamber in their duties?”

“I wished she’d get herself married,” he muttered, dropping into a wing-backed chair near the fire. “Unfortunately, she’s too old.”

Docia strolled in from the hall. “We’re all set—” She froze. “What areyoudoing here?” she demanded of her cousin.

“I’m here to pay my respects to my neighbors,” he bit out, his eyes flicking over her latest frock of shimmering emerald.

Noah gave up on following the conversation as anticipation rippled through him. Slippered feet sounded from the hall, and Miss Wimbley entered. He swallowed hard. An urge to study her under a microscope warred with desiring an artist to capture the vision she presented in light-purple chiffon with its violet, satin sash. Her skin had been scrubbed to a rosy blush and her hair was still pulled up, much as it had been the night before.

While Noah didn’t consider himself the least bit fanciful, as he’d accused his brother, he could swear a swirling mix of colors muddied her aura. Grays, purples—except for her eyes. They were clear and brilliant. Sharp and all-seeing. And sapphire, the exact shade of his stickpin. Just as he’d remembered.

He set his squeezed fists at his back and inclined his head. “Ladies.”

A small snort emitted from Docia and Noah could swear his cravat tightened further about his neck.

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