“I would tell you.”
He nodded, then shooed her inside. “Bolt the door, Tess. I want to hear you do it.”
“How have I lived here so safely this long without you to make sure I locked the doors?” she asked lightly.
“I’ve only been here since the end of summer,” he said seriously. “I would have come sooner if I’d known.”
“That I needed my doors checked?”
“That, too.”
She caught her breath, then managed a smile. “Go home, you awful man.”
Perhaps she was not as unaffected as he feared. “Am I bothering you?”
She rolled her eyes, then stepped back inside. “Thank you for the dancing and the rescue. Now, go away.”
He kept his hands in his pockets and his feet on her courtyard, because it was safer that way. He waited until she’d shut the door, listened for the bolt to be thrown home, then turned and walked slowly across her courtyard. He didn’t dare take as many deep breaths as he might have wanted to at another time, because he feared he might begin to hyperventilate if he did. So he simply walked slowly and ignored all the reasons that dating Tess Alexander was a very bad idea indeed.
If she had any idea who he was, she would—
He stopped in mid-step as the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
He looked up, but there were no lads on the battlements, no glint of sword or spear in the moonlight, no beeping of a watch or mobile phone. He was tempted to go back inside and insist that he would be sleeping on Tess’s floor, but he supposed that would only frighten the lady of the house unnecessarily.
He walked around the courtyard just the same, until he was sure it was empty.
It was late and his imagination was running away with him.
He had a final look about, glanced at the front door to make sure it was still locked, then took himself through the barbican gate and across the bridge. He continued to look about himself casually, but saw nothing untoward.
There were no additional cars in the car park and no modern torches flickering in the forest. Tess was behind impenetrable walls, and he was no more than a phone call away.
He took a deep breath, put his unease behind him, and walked out to the car park. It was empty save his Vanquish and Tess’s little red Ford.
Still ...
He took a deep breath and shrugged aside his unease. Tess’s doors were all locked, and hopefully she would have the good sense to lock her bedchamber door. She would be safe enough for the night.
And he would be there perhaps earlier than he’d intended to on the morrow, just to see if there might be something inadvertently left behind that might explain his unease.
If not, Tess might find herself having an extra houseguest for the foreseeable future.
Chapter 11
T
ess
had always wondered what it had felt like to be in a pitched battle. She’d just never expected to learn while standing on her own property.
She clasped her hands behind her back, realizing only as she did so that it was what John did when he was trying to be unassuming. She was surprised to find she wished he were standing next to her at the moment. Not even Mrs. Tippets could possibly be immune to his charming smile.
Mrs. Tippets, however, was apparently not finding anything overly charming about
her
smile.
“Mr. Beagle,” Mrs. Tippets said stiffly, “is the gentlest of beasts. He is beloved by all the young people in my neighborhood.”
Tess looked at the small terrier baring his fangs and looking at her ankles as if he’d just bellied up to a tasty Texas barbeque. She looked at Mrs. Tippets and put on her best deal-with-crotchety-tenured-professors voice.
“I can see that,” she said soothingly, “and I’m sure he’s very loving in his home environment. I’m afraid, though, that here he might be less than comfortable.”
“What can you possibly mean?” Mrs. Tippets demanded.
“He’s chasing off customers,” Tess said as politely as she could. “He does seem to like children, but not their parents. I’m having complaints about rips in trousers and stockings.”
“Perhaps they’re lingering a bit too long, looking at my wares,” Mrs. Tippets said, her back ramrod straight. “I don’t like lingerers.”
Tess took a deep breath and waded into the breach, because she had no choice. “Mrs. Tippets, the truth is, these wares are meant to be sold. It’s how I help keep the castle in the black. Mr. Beagle is getting in the way of that, so I must insist that you either keep him crated during your time here or leave him at home. I’m going to be faced with a lawsuit one of these days, or a hefty bill for emergency stitching and rabies shots.”
“He does not have rabies!”
Tess glanced briefly around the shop. It was immaculately kept, true, but overstuffed with things that didn’t seem to be selling very well. She had the feeling that was because Mrs. Tippets didn’t
want
to sell anything very well. She didn’t really want to fire the woman, but she was starting to think she didn’t have a choice. At the moment, she had ample money to keep the lights on in the hall, but that might not always be the case. If there was money she could make in the gift shop, it didn’t make business sense not to make it.
She looked at Mrs. Tippets pointedly. “Crate or home, Mrs. Tippets. With all due respect.”
Mrs. Tippets sniffed. Tess wouldn’t have been surprised if the woman barricaded herself into the shop and collected a stash of resin figurines to lob at her if she dared walk through the door. Perhaps she would leave that delight for another day. She nodded firmly, then walked out of the shop and back across her bridge.
She realized as she was halfway across it, that she wasn’t dreading going inside.
The realization was so overwhelming, she had to stop and think about it for a minute. It wasn’t that the pain of losing Pippa was any less, it was just . . . well, she had one gigantic distraction in the person of Pippa’s husband’s brother, that’s what it was.
She continued on her way thoughtfully, then stopped on the edge of her courtyard, surprised at the sight that greeted her.
John was walking slowly around the courtyard, looking down at the ground at his feet as if he looked for something in particular. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was looking for clues.
Odd.
She walked across the grass, but he was apparently very focused on what he was doing because he didn’t turn around when she reached him. And since he was so busy being otherwise occupied, she thought it might be an opportunity to look at him.
Well, what she wanted to do was put her arms around him and not let go, but maybe that was premature. She honestly wasn’t sure what he was thinking. He’d stood inside her hall door the night before and looked at her as if he might have wanted to kiss her. She’d fully expected his next reaction to be abrupt flight out of her courtyard. That he’d lingered said something, didn’t it? And that he’d shown back up several days before he’d said he would said something else, didn’t it?
She supposed it did.
She reached out to touch his shoulder—
And found herself with her clock not cleaned only because she had good reflexes and she ducked before he decked her. Or, rather, chopped her head off with a sword he fortunately wasn’t holding in his hands.
He reached out and helped her straighten, then closed his eyes briefly and blew out his breath. “Sorry.”
“You’re on edge.”
He looked as if he were—and not at all happy about it. He considered, then carefully gathered her into his arms. She closed her eyes and enjoyed it for not nearly as long as she would have liked. Cooler heads had to prevail, she supposed.
She sighed and stepped away from him. “Bad habit to start, probably.”
He nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Right.” He looked at her gravely. “Ready?”
“Yes, after you tell me what you were doing.”
“Nothing much,” he said with a shrug.
He was a terrible liar, really. She would have pushed him on it, but she supposed it wouldn’t be a good way to start her day. “I promised Peaches I’d look through my mail, but I can do that quickly.” She paused. “You can keep looking out here for whatever you weren’t looking for, if you want.”
He pursed his lips. “I’ll carry on my non-investigations inside, if you don’t mind.”
She didn’t mind. She also didn’t mind when he merely walked with her instead of taking her hand. It was hard enough to keep herself grounded when she was too close to him. Holding his hand might have been just too much.
She left him wandering around the great hall and went into the lord’s solar to quickly dig through the pile of mail that had been staring at her resentfully for days. She was happy to find there were no bills—her accountant was obviously doing his job—and that the catalogs had been kept to a minimum. She set aside what she could see were inquiries about booking her hall, then found herself with a final letter in her hands.
A very official-looking letter, actually.
She opened it, read it, then had to feel her way down against her desk. She reread it again, then was almost positive she started to see stars. She looked up for help only to find John de Piaget standing in the doorway, leaning against it casually, watching her. He must have seen something he didn’t care for in her expression because he pushed away from the door and walked over to her quickly.
“What is it?”
She realized to her horror that the reason she was holding what she held in her hands was because Roland of Sedgwick had somehow figured out how to prove she was related to one of the early lords of Sedgwick, no doubt through his wife.
Not exactly something she wanted John to see.
Unfortunately, he relieved her of her letter before she could hide it behind her back. She clapped her hand over her eyes and wondered if that was going to spell the beginning of the end for her just as meeting Stephen had likely signaled the same for John. She took a deep breath, then peeked at him through her fingers to see if he was wearing that look that said he’d come just a little too close to his past.
He wasn’t. He was simply reading, a faint smile on his face. He finished, then turned to lean against the desk next to her. “Well, it looks as if the ranks of British nobility have been infiltrated by a dastardly Yank.”
“So it seems,” she managed. And it wasn’t the first time those ranks had been breached, she could guarantee that.
“Tess Alexander, Countess of Sedgwick,” he mused. “I like it. And an hereditary honor. I wonder how—”
“Don’t know,” she said briskly, taking the letter from him. “All I
do
know is that I’m going to be a laughingstock at school.”
He smiled, a little smile that she had to pause in mid-rant to admire. “I don’t know why. I’m very impressed. Now, if milady would permit me, I would be pleased to escort her to one of our national treasures. Perhaps you can flash your nobility card and earn us an entrance gratis.”
She folded the letter up and counted herself well-escaped from a slew of questions she wasn’t about to answer. She looked at him with mock disgust. “I’m not going anywhere with you if you don’t knock that off.”
He laughed a little, which was almost enough to do in what was left of her last vestiges of sanity, then took her hand. “Let’s go. We’ll just pay like regular rabble, and I won’t poke at you about it.”
Tess let him pull her across the solar, then shoved the letter at Peaches on her way by. “Read that.” She shot her sister a very brief look of warning she was sure Peaches didn’t miss.
There was silence as they walked the great hall, then a gasp.
“I’m not trading places with you anymore!” Peaches hollered.
“I wouldn’t blame you,” Tess threw over her shoulder, though she hoped Peaches wasn’t serious. Having a double came in handy now and again. She looked up at John. “I don’t want to think about this.” Hopefully, he wouldn’t want to, either.
“Perhaps today we could both put aside things that trouble us,” he said gravely.
“Are there things that trouble you, John?” she asked, happy to turn the scrutiny away from herself.
“Besides you?” he asked with a grave smile. “Yes. A thing or two.”
“Going to tell me about them?”
“Not yet.” He nodded toward the door. “Let’s be off on our escape before the thought overwhelms us both.”
She had already left the hall in Peaches’s care, so she concentrated on doing her best to not think about the complete improbability of walking through the courtyard of her keep with a man related to one of the early lords of Sedgwick. And now she found herself wearing the female version of that title.
She was definitely going to get in touch with Lord Roland and find out just what he’d been up to while sunning himself on some beach.
She settled herself in the absolute luxury of John’s car and watched him as he got in, started it up, and backed out of her car park without thought. She continued to watch him as he drove away from the keep and turned onto the main road leading through the village. If he slowed down to eye his shop on the way by, she couldn’t blame him. He frowned thoughtfully and continued on without saying anything.