“Four, or nothing,” John countered.
“Done. Make good use of it.”
“Thank you, my lord.” He paused. “If I might inquire—”
“My qualifications include several bouts of defense classes from a certain Scot named MacLeod,” Stephen supplied without hesitation. “I think I can manage the odd, decrepit thug without overly exerting myself.”
John sighed lightly. Obviously, he was destined to be haunted by MacLeods for the rest of his life. He also supposed that if Stephen had been dabbling with whatever Scottish mischief those MacLeods combined, he might be equal to guarding a door for an hour or two.
“I’ll return posthaste,” Stephen said, walking away. “We’ll discuss the night’s activities—or lack thereof—over Schnapps in Lord Payneswick’s study tomorrow afternoon. I think between the two of us, we’ll keep the ladies safe until then.”
John watched him go, then looked up at the curtain rod hanging by its lone hook. Perhaps it had been a fluke. Short of fetching a ladder and climbing up to see, he didn’t imagine he would know for sure. He supposed if anyone came to repair it, Stephen could put forth the pertinent questions.
He didn’t like to leave Tess behind, but he wasn’t fool enough to think he could be of any use to her without at least an hour or two of sleep.
He imagined he would have ample things to think on for the rest of the night to keep himself awake.
Chapter 15
T
ess
stood at the doorway to her bedroom and put her hand on the doorknob. She couldn’t bring herself to turn it, though.
She took a deep breath and smoothed her hands down over her dress. The incident the night before had been a fluke, of course, nothing more. What had probably been the worst thing had been winding up on the floor with her skirts torn half off. Or perhaps that had been looking up, stunned, and seeing a heavy curtain rod having taken a trajectory that would have led through her head if she’d still been standing there.
She shivered, but that came from the flimsiness of her gown surely, so she concentrated on that instead of other things that bothered her. She honestly didn’t know how Regency women had survived the winters unless they’d had better sartorial aid than she’d had. Her dress was long-sleeved, true, but better suited to a cool fall day than a chilly winter morning. She walked back to her closet and looked through what she’d been given to wear, hoping for some sort of sweater. The best she could do was a shawl, but since it seemed warm enough, perhaps she couldn’t hope for anything more.
She passed on what Peaches had left her of breakfast and started toward the door. She shifted her shoulders under her shawl, then winced. She wasn’t overly bruised, but she was definitely sore. She would have something to say to that John de Piaget sooner rather than later about his methods of saving her life.
She realized she had come to another stop in front of the door only after her hand started to ache from gripping the doorknob too tightly. She took a deep, steadying breath. There was nothing outside that she couldn’t handle. For all she knew, there was still a de Piaget lad standing there. Peaches had been shut in with her the night before after having been herded back to their room by Stephen. Tess had had no doubt John would relieve him at some point during the night, to soothe his paranoid musings.
She had thought about those for far longer during the night than she likely should have, but the only conclusion that made sense was that something back in the village had spooked him and he’d gone into medieval mode.
That was understandable. He’d had a sword in his hands two days earlier, which had probably put him back in touch with his past in a big way. It was spilling over into his current life. The only problem was, his current life included her current life, and she couldn’t seem to convince him that she wasn’t part of his mystery. He was being stalked by some gal with medieval fantasies run amok. Nothing else seemed reasonable.
She opened the door and walked out into the gallery. She didn’t run bodily into John, which gave her hope that he’d actually been sensible and finally gone to bed.
She refused to be unnerved because she was alone.
She took a deep breath, then started down the hallway. She looked up, but honestly couldn’t tell which of the curtains had almost fallen on them. Everything was in its place; nothing sinister was lurking in the shadows. Just a normal, unremarkable day where she was wearing a gown made from a pattern designed over a hundred years ago. She didn’t have murder and mayhem in her future; she had the potential sight of John de Piaget in a cutaway Regency coat and trousers to look forward to.
Whether he liked it or not, the man had been born to wear hose.
She continued on her way, trying to decide what to do first. Peaches had left an hour earlier full of her own plans. Her sister could make friends out of potted plants, a talent Tess admired but had long ago resigned herself to never having. A fortuitous meeting with a London client, a gaggle of bosom friends made the night before, and a very long list of mesmerized men would keep Peaches busy far into the evening. That was wonderful for her sister, but it left Tess a bit at loose ends. She was quite sure Stephen would be well into Day Two of the assault on Lord Payneswick’s reticence. That left her either pursuing her own flatteries of the man, or looking for John. Since she didn’t imagine he would be far given his actions of the night before, she supposed she could just roam for a bit and eventually wind up with both.
She passed on a rowdy game of billiards, dismissed a serene roomful of stitchers, and settled for the library. There were women inside, so she supposed she wasn’t breaking any taboos. She didn’t dare hope that Lord Payneswick would keep anything of true interest out for public consumption, but she’d been surprised before. No sense in not having a good look on the off chance she was pleasantly surprised again.
She chose a random shelf and clasped her hands behind her back to study the titles there.
“Looking for anything in particular?”
Tess closed her eyes at the sound of that voice approximately three inches from her ear.
“Year Five and still no joy,” she managed. “Hope springs eternal, though, when it comes to original manuscripts.”
“Have you thought about just asking him?” John asked, leaning his shoulder against one of the bookcases and smiling gravely down at her. “Your credentials ought to at least get you a look at what he hides behind glass.”
“Stephen’s been trying for a decade without success.”
“You’re much prettier than he is.”
“You would think that would count for something, wouldn’t you?”
He wrapped one of the tendrils hanging down her neck very carefully around his finger, then let it slide away. “I’m convinced, even if Lord Payneswick isn’t.”
She laughed uncomfortably. “You’re daft.”
“Besotted, rather.”
“Sleep-deprived,” she countered, “especially since I imagine you didn’t sleep any last night.”
“Oh, I did,” he conceded. “When Lord Haulton threatened me with bodily harm.”
She looked into his lovely gray eyes and thought she just might have to find somewhere to sit down soon. something she should worry about. “I think you and Stephen have overactive imaginations.”
“More than likely,” he agreed, “and since that is the case, why don’t you allow me to be your escort for the day out of pity, not unease?”
“Are you going to watch me look for books all morning?” she asked politely.
“I can imagine much worse things,” he said seriously, “but I thought that since we are in this lovely little cottage with nothing but time on our hands, you might be interested in a little explore. If your shoes are up to the challenge, there is a very well-tended path through lovely gardens. Or,” he said casually, “I understand Lord Payneswick keeps several private chambers dedicated to particular time periods.”
She caught her breath. “Really?”
“Aye,” he said, his eyes beginning to twinkle. “I believe he’s out this morning on a pheasant hunt. We might have the morning at our disposal if we hurry.”
She was horribly torn. “We shouldn’t.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes, that I’ll be banned forever from his estate if we’re caught.”
He leaned closer to her. “I imagine he’ll be gone at least three hours. You could thumb through quite a few texts in three hours, don’t you think?”
She took a deep breath, then shoved the book she was holding back into its slot. If Pippa could brave the wilds of medieval England, she could venture a peek into Lord Payneswick’s private books. “Let’s go.”
John offered his arm and wasted no time escorting her from the library and down the hallway. She wasn’t sure she dared ask how he knew where he was going, but her curiosity got the better of her.
“Whom did you pay for the information?” she asked.
“I managed it all myself,” he said easily. “I pulled up his website on my mobile and looked to see if there might be anything he was particularly proud of. Imagine my surprise at finding that that was indeed the case. It would appear that an entire floor of one wing of his lovely country house is a veritable treasure trove of history.”
Considering how much history John had no doubt been gobsmacked by, she imagined his surprise was fairly extensive.
She also admired his technique of getting them past inquisitive staff and other guests. He might have been masquerading as a normal modern guy most of the time, but he could definitely pull out the lord’s son stops when necessary. After he looked down his autocratic nose at a final pair of lads dressed in regimentals and sent them on their way, curiosity unsatisfied, she had to laugh a little.
“You are as autocratic as Stephen.”
“It’s the cravat,” he said, sticking his finger between it and his neck and tugging uncomfortably. “Keeps me nose in the air, lassie, don’t ye see?”
She smiled, because the man was utterly charming. She didn’t even protest when he almost pulled her off her feet and hid with her behind a heavy curtain. He put his finger to his lips, then peeked around after the footsteps had passed.
“You’re going to get us thrown out,” she breathed.
“He has a harpsichord,” he whispered back, “and I daresay it isn’t a reproduction.”
“You’re going to get us thrown in
jail
.”
“Not today,” he said cheerfully, pulling aside the curtain and letting her duck under his arm.
“John,” she began, prepared to make one last stab at reason and caution, “I think—”
“Payneswick will be gone for the whole of the morning?” he finished. “I’m not convinced of that, but I think we’ll manage a couple of hours, at least.” He smiled. “If we’re caught, you dazzle them with your beauty and I’ll plead insanity. We’ll manage well enough.”
She wasn’t at all sure either would be enough, but John was already picking the lock with tools he had produced from somewhere upon his person. He made very quick work of it, which left her wondering just where he’d learned such a thing. He pocketed his tools, glanced at her, then froze.
“What?” he asked.
“You picked that lock,” she managed.
“I’ve a bad habit of locking my keys in the car,” he said as he opened the door. “Ah, Georgian from top to bottom.” He glanced at her. “Lovely, isn’t it?”
It was, which was just the distraction she needed from questions she probably didn’t want to have answered. She was tempted to ask him which of the eras he liked the best, but she was afraid she wouldn’t have been able to sound as casual about the question as she probably should have. She simply watched him hop over the rope that separated the room from the little vestibule where gawkers were no doubt contained, unsatisfied and tethered. He unhooked the velvet rope for her, then hooked it back into its brass stand. He looked around the chamber, then rubbed his hands together.
“What first?” he asked, his eyes bright with unwholesome excitement. “Books or music?”
“Whichever will be worth the humiliation of getting caught,” she said darkly.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Have you never done anything dangerous, my lady?”
“I’ve kept library books past their due dates,” she said defensively. “I’ve walked on the wild side.”
He laughed at her, then reached out and pulled her into his arms. He held her close for a moment, then took her face in his hands and kissed her on both cheeks.
“I won’t let him send you to jail. Go look around with your hands behind your back if you don’t want to leave any fingerprints.”
“And you?”
He flexed his fingers. “I’ll entertain you whilst you’re about your looking.”
She would have said she didn’t imagine that would calm the butterflies in her stomach, but she found she was wrong. He was only partway into a fugue before she found herself standing at the side of the quite lovely harpsichord, listening to him with her mouth hanging open. Apparently his unwholesome musical skills weren’t limited to guitar-like instruments. Tess found herself torn between looking at his unwholesomely handsome face and listening in astonishment to his remarkably fine Bach. She found that with enough effort, she could do both.