from one to the other.
“Von Hautt has been a thorn in my side for many years,” Valentine admitted, grim-faced. “Do you remember the manuscript I told you about, the one discovered in the antiquarian bookshop? It was sold to a private collector and kept in his house under lock and key, but last year it was inexplicably stolen. It just so happened that Von Hautt had been a houseguest a week before. He’d shown great interest in the manuscript while he was there, and seemed to think he could restore the illegible name with some chemicals he’d brought with him. Understandably, the owner refused to allow him to tamper with the document.”
“So he took it anyway,” Marissa murmured.
“Oh, he denied the theft, and it couldn’t be proved, but only a fool would believe him innocent. There have been times when I thought I had a clue to the rose and set off to follow it, only to find Von Hautt had arrived before me. It would not surprise meto hear he’d paid someone to spy at Abbey Thorne Manor. That would explain how he always manages to be one step ahead of me.”
Lady Bethany finished her brandy and heaved herself out of her chair. “I believe I will retire. Marissa?”
With one final glance at Valentine, Marissa came to her side, tucking her grandmother’s arm into her own. They murmured their goodnights and left the room.
“Good Gad, I don’t know if I can stomach too much more excitement,” Lady Bethany murmured, as they climbed the stairs. “One moment we were enjoying a quiet moment in the garden and the next Jasper took off like a hound after a hare. I swear for a man his age he is very fit.”
Marissa eyed her grandmother sideways. “I hope you are not planning to seduce Lord Jasper, Grandmamma. It could make things very awkward.”
“Why? Because you have your sights set on George Kent?” Lady Bethany retorted. Her mouth twitched into a wicked smile. “Or is it Valentine Kent? I’ll grant you he is very manly, but take care, Marissa. He is a man of the world and you are barely more than a schoolroom miss.”
“I thought men of the world liked schoolroom misses,” she said airily.
“In romance novels, perhaps.”
“I am not at all interested in Valentine Kent, Grandmamma, so you needn’t worry. He is George’s brother, that is my sole consideration.”
Lady Bethany paused outside her door and took her granddaughter’s hands in hers. “That remindsme, my dear. Jasper was speaking of Valentine’s wife. It seems she made him miserable—one of those cold, puritanical women—and he has sworn never to marry again.”
Marissa felt inexplicably low, but told herself it was empathy for Valentine’s misery, as she kissed her grandmother goodnight and retired to her bedchamber. The candlelight flickered over the beams on the ceiling and the draperies around the bed, as she settled back against the pillows.
Why did everything suddenly seem so complicated? Why couldn’t George have been waiting to greet her when she arrived? If he’d been here she wouldn’t have noticed Valentine and she wouldn’t be having these thoughts about him. Intensely physical thoughts.
There was a definite spark between them. Perhaps their expedition tomorrow would give her a chance to practice her feminine wiles on him. In preparation for her hunting of George, she hurriedly reminded herself. A rehearsal. Because, of course, George was the one she planned to marry.
Marissa closed her eyes, smiling, allowing her imagination free reign. She pictured herself touching George, kissing him, rolling naked with him across a vast bed.
She began to giggle.
That was the trouble with George, it was impossible to imagine herself being serious in his company.
She closed her eyes again and suddenly it was Valentine with her on the vast bed. She was no longer giggling, in fact she felt breathless and excited.
Shaking off the fantasy, she blew out the candle and shimmied under the covers.
George was the man for her,
“Von Hautt has been a thorn in my side for many years,” Valentine admitted, grim-faced. “Do you remember the manuscript I told you about, the one discovered in the antiquarian bookshop? It was sold to a private collector and kept in his house under lock and key, but last year it was inexplicably stolen. It just so happened that Von Hautt had been a houseguest a week before. He’d shown great interest in the manuscript while he was there, and seemed to think he could restore the illegible name with some chemicals he’d brought with him. Understandably, the owner refused to allow him to tamper with the document.”
“So he took it anyway,” Marissa murmured.
“Oh, he denied the theft, and it couldn’t be proved, but only a fool would believe him innocent. There have been times when I thought I had a clue to the rose and set off to follow it, only to find Von Hautt had arrived before me. It would not surprise meto hear he’d paid someone to spy at Abbey Thorne Manor. That would explain how he always manages to be one step ahead of me.”
Lady Bethany finished her brandy and heaved herself out of her chair. “I believe I will retire. Marissa?”
With one final glance at Valentine, Marissa came to her side, tucking her grandmother’s arm into her own. They murmured their goodnights and left the room.
“Good Gad, I don’t know if I can stomach too much more excitement,” Lady Bethany murmured, as they climbed the stairs. “One moment we were enjoying a quiet moment in the garden and the next Jasper took off like a hound after a hare. I swear for a man his age he is very fit.”
Marissa eyed her grandmother sideways. “I hope you are not planning to seduce Lord Jasper, Grandmamma. It could make things very awkward.”
“Why? Because you have your sights set on George Kent?” Lady Bethany retorted. Her mouth twitched into a wicked smile. “Or is it Valentine Kent? I’ll grant you he is very manly, but take care, Marissa. He is a man of the world and you are barely more than a schoolroom miss.”
“I thought men of the world liked schoolroom misses,” she said airily.
“In romance novels, perhaps.”
“I am not at all interested in Valentine Kent, Grandmamma, so you needn’t worry. He is George’s brother, that is my sole consideration.”
Lady Bethany paused outside her door and took her granddaughter’s hands in hers. “That remindsme, my dear. Jasper was speaking of Valentine’s wife. It seems she made him miserable—one of those cold, puritanical women—and he has sworn never to marry again.”
Marissa felt inexplicably low, but told herself it was empathy for Valentine’s misery, as she kissed her grandmother goodnight and retired to her bedchamber. The candlelight flickered over the beams on the ceiling and the draperies around the bed, as she settled back against the pillows.
Why did everything suddenly seem so complicated? Why couldn’t George have been waiting to greet her when she arrived? If he’d been here she wouldn’t have noticed Valentine and she wouldn’t be having these thoughts about him. Intensely physical thoughts.
There was a definite spark between them. Perhaps their expedition tomorrow would give her a chance to practice her feminine wiles on him. In preparation for her hunting of George, she hurriedly reminded herself. A rehearsal. Because, of course, George was the one she planned to marry.
Marissa closed her eyes, smiling, allowing her imagination free reign. She pictured herself touching George, kissing him, rolling naked with him across a vast bed.
She began to giggle.
That was the trouble with George, it was impossible to imagine herself being serious in his company.
She closed her eyes again and suddenly it was Valentine with her on the vast bed. She was no longer giggling, in fact she felt breathless and excited.
Shaking off the fantasy, she blew out the candle and shimmied under the covers.
George was the man for her,
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