“Good day, ladies.” He bowed. “Lady Abigail,” he said in a quieter voice.

She gave him a little smile and a nod then went to a shelf and pulled down a book.

“Is this the one ye showed me afore, sir?” she said.

“Yes.” He hurried to her. “Yes. That’s the one.”

Una, Moira, and Lily wandered deeper into the shop. Teresa took her brother’s arm to detain him.

“You went off so swiftly yesterday after our ride in the park that I hadn’t the opportunity to speak with you privately,” she whispered.

“Ah, yes. Sorry about that.” He seemed distracted.

“And . . .?”

“And?”

“It’s been three days and you haven’t said a word about your conversation with Lord Eads. Did you speak with him?” The earl had not accepted the invitation to walk in the park with his sisters the previous day, and the day before that had been taken up entirely with measuring and hemming gowns.

Teresa was rather desperate to see him again. But she supposed he saw no reason for that unless he owed her payment on their wager.

Abigail and the shopkeeper stood with their heads bent close, whispering earnestly. He gestured with the book as though to emphasize a point. She laughed. Abigail—serious, bookish, quiet Abigail who had not spoken a single syllable at Lady B’s drawing room— laughed aloud. It sounded like rusty bells tinkling. But the shopkeeper smiled as though he’d won a prize.

Teresa stared. Then, as the shopkeeper moved half a step closer to Abigail, her belly filled with butterflies.

“Toby?” she whispered. “Did Lord Eads meet with your approval? I must assume he did or you would not be ferrying his sisters about in a carriage you hired.”

“I didn’t hire it. Eads did, of course.” Tobias was still facing her but his gaze was fixed deeper into the shop. Teresa didn’t have to follow his attention to know where it rested.

Her nerves sang. Abigail and the bookseller! And Lily and Tobias? Teresa hadn’t seen any sign of her brother’s especial interest in that twin as yet. But he had given away his most cherished keepsake for her. Could it be love already? It must at least be strong admiration.

She drew in a steadying breath. She mustn’t get ahead of herself. But now Abigail was looking straight into the shopkeeper’s face and her hand rested beside his on the open page.

“Tell me, Toby.” Nerves cracked her voice.

Tobias’s attention came back to her a little dazedly. She resisted turning to see if Lily’s eyes were likewise hazy.

“I spoke with Yale,” he said. “He admitted that Eads has an unsavory past, but before that there was a tragedy in the family.” He looked grave. “It seems his full sister perished under peculiar circumstances while he was in the East Indies. It drove his father into the grave. Soon after that, when Yale met Eads in the Indies, the earl was in mourning over the death of his wife—a French girl.” Tobias shook his head. “Poor fellow, losing both his sister and wife in so short a time.”

“I should say so,” she uttered, the butterflies hardening into a lump in her midsection.

“But Yale did make one thing clear, T. The earl is a man of honor. He said he hadn’t always liked Eads, but he’d trust him with the welfare of a woman any day.”

Teresa’s heart thudded very fast. “Does that mean that you will allow the wager?”

Tobias nodded reluctantly. “I’ll allow it.”

“And you won’t tell Papa or Mama?”

“I’d be as insane as you to tell them.”

Abigail was all private smiles and soft blushes on the carriage ride back to the hotel. Lily teased her and Teresa looked for some telltale sign of similar infatuation in the twin’s bright eyes. She found none. For his part, Tobias displayed no more symptoms of love-struck distraction.

As though he had been watching for their carriage, Lord Eads met them before the hotel. A boy holding a saddled horse waited nearby.

Lily and Effie told their brother of their activities while still standing on the street like the veriest hoydens, but Teresa couldn’t bring herself to hurry them inside. She liked simply watching him. His whiskers were gone, leaving his jaw smooth and hard. A new coat stretched across his wide shoulders, his buckskins were fine, his boots shone, and his cravat was beautifully starched.

He looked like a gentleman. But even without his rough Highland patina he made her pulse quicken.

“Are you coming or going, my lord?” she said as the others finally climbed the stairs to go inside.

He was staring at the hotel door through which his sisters had disappeared. “What did ye do to Abby?”

“I don’t mind it that you have just ignored my question. I know you are discourteous to me because you don’t like me. As for Abigail, I did nothing.

The bookseller did. We stopped at the bookshop, which apparently she has already visited several times. I think they’ve developed a tendre for each other.”

He turned his beautiful gaze upon her. “I niver said I didna like ye.”

Her heart stumbled. “Then why do you speak to me as you do? And why didn’t you come to the park with us yesterday or to Lady B’s today?”

He shook his head. “Yer a meddlesome woman.”

“You’ve just insulted me again.”

“I’ve no tact, Miss Finch-Freeworth.”

“That isn’t true. At least, not when you speak to your sisters. You are gracious and solicitous with them. It’s only with me that you are rude. You are trying to frighten me off.”

“Mebbe.”

“Well you cannot. Not yet, at least. Now you owe me on our wager, my lord.”

His cheek creased. “Aye?”

“Abigail and the bookseller.” She lifted a forefinger. “That is one. I demand payment.”

“They’re no betrothed yet.” His eyes twinkled.

“Not yet.” She couldn’t help smiling. “But clearly they like each other. I thought . . .”

“Ye thought to collect in advance?”

She was a little breathless. He stood close and she could not now hear the carriages passing or the shouts of an apple vendor on the corner over the pounding of her heart. “I hoped you might consider it.”

“What? Here in the street?” he said in a low voice.

Yes. “In private, if you will.”

“I will.”

“You will?”

“I’m a man o’ my word, miss.” His mouth tilted up at one side.

“Would you say my name again?” she breathed.

“Miss Finch-Freeworth.”

“Teresa, that is.”

The twinkle in his eyes seemed entirely for her. “That wouldna be proper, would it?”

“Perhaps not, but I should like it quite a lot.”

He moved a half step closer. “What have ye got in that bonnie head o’ yers, lass, that makes ye believe ye’ve got leave to make demands as ye do?”

Dreams. Hopes. The desperate wish for somebody to understand her. “I am a distant relation to the king and imperiousness is in my blood.”

“I dinna believe ye.”

“Hm.” She could not hold his gaze any longer. “Lord Eads, Mr. Yale says you can be trusted with a woman’s safety,” she said to her gloved fingers twined together. “But, it is the most curious thing, you see: It turns out that I do not feel in the least bit safe with you.”

“That surprises ye?”

“Eighteen months ago I thought I knew . . . something. Even the other day when I went to your flat I thought I did. But the more I see of you the less . . . the less . . .”

“The less like a game it seems to ye.”

She looked up. His handsome face was sober.

“No,” she said. “It was never a game. Only . . . I wish you would speak to me.”

“I’m speaking to ye nou.”

“About something that matters. About something real.”

He did not look at her as though she were queer. He did not scowl or frown or shake his head in confusion like everybody in Harrows Court Crossing always did when she spoke her heart.

“I did remember ye,” he said quietly. “Hou can a man forget the sweetest smile he’s ever seen?”

Oh. “Sweetest?”

His gaze traced her features. “Aye.”

“Why did you pretend you didn’t recognize me?”

“I wanted ye to go away. I want ye to go away nou. I’m praying ye’ll go away o’ yer own accord so I willna have to make ye.”

“I cannot,” she said through the clog in her throat. “I made a promise to your sisters.”

He paused a moment. “Will ye have a ride aboot the park?” He gestured to the boy with the horse.

She blinked in surprise. “With you?”

“Aye.”

“Now?”

His cheek dented again. “Aye.”

“I haven’t got a mount here, and I am not dressed for it.”

“Tomorrow morning, then?”

“My lord, are you . . .” It was not possible, not after what he’d said. “Are you courting me?”

He laughed. “Ye’ve no patience for uncertainty, do ye, lass?”

“Please don’t call me lass. And no. But . . . are you?”

“I anly wish to thank ye for the day ye’ve given ma sisters.”

She sucked in her disappointment. “In that case I had better go inside and see what’s what. The day I gave them wasn’t quite ideal.” Teresa started up the steps. The earl followed.

She halted two steps above him. “Lady Beaufetheringstone is holding a ball three evenings from tonight. Will you escort your sisters?” She fully expected him to decline this invitation above all. To him there could be no good in returning to the place she had first seen him.

“Aye, I’ll do it,” he said, took the two steps in one, and looked down at her.

“Teresa Finch-Freeworth o’ Brennon Manor in Harrows Court Crossing,” he said quietly, as though savoring the syllables upon his tongue. “Ye’ve no idea the sort o’ man I am or the deeds I’ve done.”