Philip, with Andrew’s help, had just removed the wooden tops from two crates when the squeak of hinges announced that someone had arrived. To his annoyance, Philip’s heart galloped off like a horse out of the gate when Miss Chilton-Grizedale called out, “Lord Greybourne, are you here?”

“Yes, I’m here.” Bloody hell, was that rusty, croaky sound his voice? He cleared his throat, then tried again. “In the same place as yesterday.”

To his surprise he heard the low murmur of voices, as if she were conversing with someone. The tap of ladylike footfalls sounded upon the wooden floor, accompanied by another set of heavier footsteps. A man’s, he decided. A man with a limp.

Seconds later Miss Chilton-Grizedale, followed by Albert Goddard, appeared from around a stack of boxes. Goddard, Philip noted, stood behind Miss Chilton-Grizedale like a scowling sentinel guarding the crown jewels.

Today she wore a plain brown gown, clearly in deference to the dusty task at hand. Her bright blue gaze met his, and for one insane second it felt as if he’d been punched in the heart. She, however, clearly experienced no such battering, as she merely inclined her head in his direction. “Lord Greybourne.” Her gaze shifted to where Andrew stood, several yards away, and to Philip’s annoyance, her face lit up like a bloody gas lamp.

“Mr. Stanton, how nice to see you again.”

“Likewise, Miss Chilton-Grizedale.”

She shifted to the side to make room for Goddard, who stepped forward with a decided limp. “May I present my friend Mr. Albert Goddard, who, as I mentioned yesterday, offered to help us search for the stone. Albert, this is Lord Greybourne’s colleague, Mr. Stanton. You met Lord Greybourne yesterday.”

“Good to see you again, Goddard,” Philip said, offering the young man a smile. He extended his hand, and to his surprise Goddard looked at him with a narrow-eyed glare. Just when Philip thought Goddard meant to ignore him, he reached out and gave Philip’s hand a perfunctory shake. “Lord Greybourne,” he said, or rather snarled.

Goddard’s greeting to Andrew, Philip noted, was much friendlier. Clearly Andrew was to be on the receiving end of all the friendly greetings.

“I thought perhaps Albert and I could work on the same crate so I might show him our system, Lord Greybourne,” Miss Chilton-Grizedale said, “if that meets with your approval.”

“Of course.” An excellent plan. It would keep her well away from him. Indeed, with both Goddard and Andrew here, the work would move at a rapid pace, and there would be no reason to come into close contact with Miss Chilton-Grizedale at all. He should be very pleased. So why the devil wasn’t he?

They moved into their respective work areas, but Philip quickly realized that rather than concentrating solely on the contents of his crate, most of his attention was focused on the low murmur of conversation, interspersed with her occasional sultry laugh, taking place between Miss Chilton-Grizedale and Goddard. In fact, so intent was he upon eavesdropping on them, he failed to note that Andrew stood directly next to him-until he turned his head and practically found himself nose to nose with his friend.

“Egad, Andrew,” he said, taking several hasty steps backward. “What are you doing, sneaking up on me like that?”

“Sneaking? I was standing beside you for better than a minute, attempting-to no avail, I might add-to gain your attention. In another brown study, were you?”

“Yes.” Another bloody Miss Chilton-Grizedale-induced brown study.

Andrew stepped closer and nodded toward the couple, whose heads were bent close together. “What do you make of the friend?” Andrew whispered.

Pretending to examine the bronze oil lamp he held, Philip whispered back, “He’s her butler.”

“Her friend and her butler,” Andrew said in a musing tone. “He also loves her.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He loves her. Can you not see it?”

Philip turned his attention back to Goddard and Miss Chilton-Grizedale, and swallowed the denial that hovered on his tongue. For as much as he wanted to refute Andrew’s statement, he could not. It was there for the world to see, in the way Goddard looked at her, smiled at her, laughed with her, was so solicitous of her. He wore his feelings on his sleeve like a badge of honor that proclaimed, I love this woman, and will do my utmost to protect and defend her.

“I can see it,” Philip said quietly. “And she obviously cares deeply for him as well.” The words made his heart ache with a hurt he couldn’t name.

Andrew shot him a meaningful look. “Yes, yet I sense that she brought him here today for the same reason you dragged me here.”

Philip stilled. Could Andrew be right? Had she brought along Goddard to ensure they would not be alone together? If so, had she done so merely for propriety’s sake-or did she, like him, feel this unsettling… whatever it was, between them? Could she possibly be as attracted to him as he was to her?


It was with a huge sigh of relief that Philip entered his townhouse early that afternoon. Andrew had continued on to the museum, but Philip felt the strong need for a little time alone. They’d searched through a half dozen more crates and had been unsuccessful.

He’d endured all he could of avoiding looking at Miss Chilton-Grizedale, keeping himself away from her, forcing himself not to breathe too deeply when in her vicinity so as not to smell the delightful scent of fresh-baked goods-muffins this morning-that seemed to surround her like a halo of deliciousness. And damn it all, he’d grown weary of Goddard’s sharp-eyed stares as well. If the man’s eyeballs had been equipped with daggers, Philip would have bled to death on the warehouse floor.

Yet even after enjoying a savory meal of poached fish and creamy peas, he remained restless, unable to relax. When Bakari entered the dining room, Philip asked, “How is the dog feeling today?”

“Better.” He harrumphed. “Restless.”

I know exactly how he feels. “Do you suppose he’s up for a walk in the park?”

Bakari studied him for several seconds through solemn dark eyes, then inclined his head. “Walk in park do you both much good.”

Twenty minutes later found Philip entering Hyde Park, or rather being pulled into the park by an energetic ball of floppy-eared, golden-haired fur who was clearly so ecstatic at being outdoors, he did not know where to look or what to smell first. At first the pup had balked at the leather lead, but once they exited the townhouse, the lead was clearly forgotten, except as a way to pull Philip along.

“I don’t believe you’ve quite gotten the hang of this,” Philip said, tucking his walking stick under his arm and breaking into a jog to keep up. “I’m the master. You’re supposed to follow my commands. I’m supposed to lead you about.”

The dog paid absolutely no heed, dashing from one tree to the next, his tongue lolling in canine joy. A bandage still surrounded his hind leg, but obviously he’d suffered no permanent damage, for he was a whirling dervish of activity. And after being cooped up for the past several days in Bakari’s chamber, Philip didn’t have the heart to try to curb his enthusiasm today. The dog-whom he absolutely did need to name-caught sight of a colorful butterfly, and the chase was on. With a chuckle, Philip broke into a run. “Let’s go show that butterfly who’s faster,” he said. The dog needed no second invitation.


“A perfect day for the park,” Meredith said to Charlotte as they walked along the shady path in Hyde Park. Hope, clutching her favorite doll, skipped several yards ahead.

“Perfect,” Charlotte agreed.

Yes, it was a lovely afternoon, the sun’s warmth tempered by a cool breeze that brought the scent of flowers and the rustling of oak leaves. Exactly the sort of afternoon to forget one’s worries for a little while by strolling through the park. So surely she would soon forget her worries.

Like the fact that in spite of Albert’s and Mr. Stanton’s presence in the warehouse, she’d remained painfully aware of Lord Greybourne. Surely she must have suffered some form of ear strain-if there were such a thing- from trying to catch bits of his conversations with Mr. Stanton. The deep timbre of his voice elicited a reaction in her she could not understand. How could the mere sound of him ripple pleasure down her spine?

“I’m sorry Albert did not feel up to joining us,” she said, desperate to direct her attention elsewhere. “I’m afraid all that standing he did at the warehouse tired his leg. It must be particularly paining him, to refuse a visit to the park. I feel terrible about it, as I’d asked him to accompany me to the warehouse.”

“He was happy to go, Meredith.”

A fond smile curved Meredith’s lips. “He is such a dear boy.” She chuckled and turned toward Charlotte. “I must remember to begin saying he is a dear man. ”

Charlotte jerked her head in a nod. “Yes, he is.”

“It is nearly impossible to fathom that in only a few short months he will turn one and twenty. We must plan a special celebration for him.”

“Speaking of special celebrations, how are the plans for tomorrow evening’s party progressing? Did Lady Bickley say in the note she sent you this morning?”

Surprise filled Meredith at the almost desperate note in Charlotte’s voice, not to mention her uncharacteristic query regarding Meredith’s correspondence. Clearly she wished to change the subject-but why? And why did she have to choose a topic that would only remind Meredith of the man she was trying desperately to forget?

“Lady Bickley wrote that the invitations were delivered this morning, and she’d already received two affirmative replies. I am confident that I shall soon find a suitable bride for Lord Greybourne and have him happily married off.”