“Such a pragmatic, unromantic statement from a woman whose occupation it is to arrange marriages.”

“The successful arrangement of marriages has nothing to do with romance, my lord, as I’d think a man in your position would know. My understanding of that concept is what has enabled me to be successful in my matchmaking endeavors. The advantageous combining of estates, political aspirations, families, and titles is what is important. Couples can develop a fondness for each other over time.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then they should strive for civility, with each pursuing their own interests.”

“My interests lie in studying antiquities. In learning about people and civilizations from other corners of the world. I plan to be very involved with displays at the British Museum, and it is my intention to found a museum of my own. For me to pursue those interests alone sounds very… isolated. Lonely. As was much of my work abroad. I would much prefer a partner with whom I could share all things.”

His deep voice wrapped around her like a cloak, seducing her with its warmth. She moistened her dry lips, and noted that his gaze flickered briefly down to her mouth. “Are you saying that you wish for me to make a love match for you? Because you must remember that due to your father’s illness, our time is limited.”

“According to Andrew, it does not take long to fall in love.”

She raised her brows. “He is an expert in such matters?”

“I don’t know that I would call him that, but he is in love with someone.”

They passed under a gas lamp, and Meredith saw he regarded her with a speculative expression. “You look disappointed at that news, Miss Chilton-Grizedale.”

“I am, Lord Greybourne.”

“May I inquire why?”

She raised her chin a notch. “I’d hoped to offer Mr. Stanton my services to find him a bride.”

For the space of half a dozen heartbeats, the only sound was the squeak of the carriage making its way slowly down the street. Then, to her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. Whatever she’d expected his reaction to be, it certainly hadn’t been amusement.

Annoyance flooded her, an emotion that actually pleased her. Good. Certainly I cannot find an annoying man attractive.

“I fail to see what is so amusing, my lord. Although it may not seem so to you, I assure you that prior to the debacle caused by your curse, my services as a matchmaker were highly sought after. Last year alone I arranged seven successful unions. The most notable of those, Miss Lydia Weymouth and Sir Percy Carmenster, was what convinced your father to seek out my services on your behalf.”

His laughter tapered off, and shaking his head, he said, “Forgive me. I was not laughing at you, dear lady. Indeed, I was laughing at myself. Laughing because your words made me happy.”

Meredith frowned. Happy? What had she said that could have possibly made him happy? She cast her mind back, but before she could reach an answer, he said, “With Andrew’s affections already spoken for, I’d say that means that you’ll simply have to devote all your attention to me.”

Unfortunately, Meredith did not think that devoting all her attention to Lord Greybourne would prove difficult.

And that scared her to death.


When Philip arrived back home, he was greeted by an empty foyer. “Hello?” he said, removing his hat.

A harrumph sounded behind him, startling him. Turning swiftly, he found himself facing Bakari. Damn, the man moved like a cat-silent and stealthy. It was a talent that had stood them in good stead during numerous adventures over the years-such as the time Bakari had furtively rescued Philip from that band of artifact thieves-but one that was quite disconcerting in the foyer.

Philip noted the man seemed a bit out of breath. “Is all well?”

Bakari grunted. “Dog.”

“Ah. I see.” Philip hid a smile. Apparently, under Bakari’s tutelage, the puppy, whom he’d yet to name, was recovering. Excellent.

The sound of footfalls upon the stairs drew Philip’s attention. Andrew, who still wore the same garments he’d worn to dinner, and whose face bore a slight sheen of perspiration as if he’d been exerting himself, joined them in the foyer.

Philip raised his brows. “I thought you’d retired-or are breeches, boots, and cutaway jackets a sleeping-wear fashion trend I’ve missed?”

“Not at all,” Andrew said. “I decided to wait until you arrived home, to see how your carriage ride with Miss Chilton-Grizedale went.” Tilting his head left, then right, he made a great show of studying Philip’s face. Then he shook his head. “Just as I suspected.”

“What?”

“Your time alone with her did not go as you wanted.”

“Meaning?”

“You did not kiss her.”

Bakari harrumphed.

Annoyance slithered down Philip’s spine. “First of all, how could you possibly know that, and secondly, why would you think I would do such a thing? Allow me to remind you that we are now in England-staid, proper, and all that. One simply does not go about kissing ladies. There are rules. Propriety.”

Andrew’s face was the picture of skepticism. “Since when are you such a stickler for rules and propriety? Need I remind you what happened the last time you strictly adhered to the rules?”

Bakari drew in a sharp breath and, waving his hands about, muttered some incantation. Then he shook his head. “Bad. Very bad.”

Philip raked his hands through his hair. “No, you need not remind me, and yes, it was bad.”

“Very bad,” Bakari insisted.

“I damn near drowned because you insisted we cross the river as the ancients had-in a damn tippy canoe,” Andrew said with a dark scowl, clearly ignoring the ‘you need not remind me’ part.

“Bloody hell, you should have told me you could not swim! Before we left the shore. Did I not pull you safely to land-in spite of your flailing arms and legs, which if I may remind you, inflicted numerous bruising blows to my body, several of them to very tender areas?”

“Got in a few good ones,” Andrew agreed. “But it was no less than you deserved. The entire incident shaved a decade from my life.”

“And would have been avoided if you’d told me the truth.”

“Saying he can’t swim is not the sort of thing a man goes around bragging about,” Andrew insisted. “And it wouldn’t have come up if you hadn’t insisted on following the ‘cross the river in the canoe’ rules.” His eyes narrowed. “And don’t be thinking you’ve changed the subject. I know you didn’t kiss her because, as I said earlier, I can read you very well, my friend, and that frustration I see simmering below the surface is not that which you would bear had you kissed her. And second, I thought you would do such a thing because it is so clearly obvious you want to.”

Bakari harrumphed and cleared his throat.

Philip clenched his jaw. Damn, but it was irritating when Andrew was right. Bloody hell, he’d wanted to kiss her. Desperately. Why hadn’t he? It was just a simple kiss, after all. But the instant that thought entered his mind, he realized the answer-he hadn’t kissed her because some instinct told him that there wouldn’t have been anything even remotely resembling simple in kissing her. “And I suppose you would have kissed her.”

If Andrew heard the tightness in his tone, he ignored it. “Yes. If I were that attracted to a woman and was presented with the opportunity, I would kiss her.”

“And the fact that I am to-I hope-soon be married to someone else?”

Andrew shrugged. “You’re not married yet, old man. And that’s not why you didn’t kiss her, and we both know it.”

Philip narrowed his eyes. “I’m certain there’s a ship departing for America within the hour,” he said-a comment about which Andrew looked completely unconcerned.

“Should kiss girl you want,” Bakari said softly. “Girl might want you, too.” Then, after a low bow, Bakari left the foyer heading toward his chambers, his soft leather slippers silent on the marble floor.

Girl might want you, too. Bloody hell. Bakari normally only spoke on average a dozen words a month. Which meant he’d already surpassed his usual quota with that speech. Excellent. Philip was not anxious to hear anything else.

He looked toward Andrew, whose face bore a suspiciously innocent expression. “Don’t say a word,” Philip warned.

“I wasn’t going to. Bakari said it all. In amazingly few words. A rather scary talent, don’t you agree?”

“One that you might wish to emulate-uttering fewer words, that is.”

“As you wish. I’m off to bed.” He started toward the stairs. At the landing, he turned around and issued Philip a mock salute. “Sweet dreams, my friend.”

Sweet dreams, indeed. With his muscles tense and his thoughts racing, sleep was nowhere in his immediate future. Deciding a brandy might relax him, Philip walked down the corridor toward his study. Entering the room, he headed immediately for the decanters and poured himself a fingerful of the potent liquor. As he raised the snifter to his lips, his gaze fell upon his desk. His hand froze halfway to his mouth, and he stared.

One of his journals lay open on his desk, with several more volumes stacked in a haphazard pile near the inkwell. He didn’t recall leaving the books in such a manner; indeed, he wouldn’t, as he was very careful with them. Setting his drink down next to the decanters, he strode toward the mahogany desk.

The journal was opened to a page upon which he’d sketched a detailed picture of the hieroglyphics and drawings on a tomb in Alexandria. His gaze skipped over the page, noting it appeared undamaged, then settled on the stack of journals.

A frown tugged his brows downward. Had one of the servants been looking through his belongings? It must be so, as neither Andrew nor Bakari would do so without asking his permission, nor would either not carefully replace the journals upon the shelf.