voice sounded perfectly normal.
Crosby appeared in the doorway. “My lord,” he said formally, “there is a message for you from his grace of Cartington. I put it on your desk in the library.”
A flash of some emotion I couldn’t identify went across his lordship’s face, and then he nodded, said, “Thank you, Crosby,” and left the room with his characteristic swift grace. I fled up the stairs to my room.
I understood at last why I had been so distressed by the news that Lord Leyburn was thinking of marriage. I understood at last the nature of my own feelings for him.
There had been between us, almost from the first, an affinity that I had known with no one else. My boyish guise had allowed us to learn about each other with no physical awareness to get in our way.
But now all that was changed—or at least it was changed for me. There was still that sense of spiritual affinity, but the physical was there as well. It was there in the darkness of his eyes, the fine modeling of his head, the strong slender sinews of his hands, the shape of his mouth.
God help me, I was in love with the Earl of Leyburn . And he thought I was a boy.
It would have been funny if it had not been so painful.
It was a pain that would get worse with every passing day. It was pain that I felt when I heard the sound of his voice, when I caught sight of his tall, lean figure, heard the sound of his footsteps coming up behind me.
I was terrified that I would betray myself. I could keep my face expressionless, my voice steady, but I could not keep myself from feeling. And the earl was intuitive. He was able to sense things that someone like Mr. Fitzallan, who operated solely on good sense and logic, would never apprehend. I supposed it was why his lordship was so marvelous with animals. But it was a danger to me; I knew it was. I was petrified he would sense the change in me. It wasn’t a logical fear, but then the earl wasn’t always logical. He was worse than logical. He was accurate.
I could, of course, tell him the truth. I thought of the scene, of his face when he discovered how I had deceived him. I thought of how his temper had flared at Mr. Fitzallan, and I prayed to God he would never look thus at me.
It was an impossible situation. My only comfort was the thought that the only person being hurt by it was myself.
Chapter 9
“When we go into York,” his lordship said to me the day after he arrived home, “we’ll have to see about getting you some decent clothes. It should have been done long ago, as Ned pointed out to me last night.” He smiled a little ruefully. “I’m afraid I’m not always as observant as I should be, lad.”
Mr. Fitzallan came in on the end of this remark. “The problem, Diccon, is that most of your clothes are as old and as worn as Valentine’s.”
The earl grinned. “True enough.”
“And if you are going to go up to London, you need some clothes, too,” Mr. Fitzallan went on relentlessly.
“Ah.” A black eyebrow was very slightly raised. “But I don’t know yet if I am going up to London.”
Mr. Fitzallan looked as if he would like to say something further but hadn’t the nerve.
“Just so,” his lordship said with amusement.
“There is a pile of papers on your desk that needs your attention,” his cousin said stoically.
The earl looked suddenly alert. “The court papers I wanted prepared?"
"Yes."
‘‘ Good. I'l1 look at them now.’’
When he left, I looked up at Mr. Fitzallan. “Why will his lordship be going to London?” I asked.
“Lady Barbara is there for the Season. When Diccon didn’t make an immediate offer, the duke decided to let her make her come-out. She is only eighteen. And very lovely. And an heiress. Diccon is a fool if he lets her get away.”
I tried to speak lightly. “Surely there are other beautiful young heiresses in England.”
“She is a Bevil, Valentine. From Northumberland. It would be a union of the two greatest families in
Crosby appeared in the doorway. “My lord,” he said formally, “there is a message for you from his grace of Cartington. I put it on your desk in the library.”
A flash of some emotion I couldn’t identify went across his lordship’s face, and then he nodded, said, “Thank you, Crosby,” and left the room with his characteristic swift grace. I fled up the stairs to my room.
I understood at last why I had been so distressed by the news that Lord Leyburn was thinking of marriage. I understood at last the nature of my own feelings for him.
There had been between us, almost from the first, an affinity that I had known with no one else. My boyish guise had allowed us to learn about each other with no physical awareness to get in our way.
But now all that was changed—or at least it was changed for me. There was still that sense of spiritual affinity, but the physical was there as well. It was there in the darkness of his eyes, the fine modeling of his head, the strong slender sinews of his hands, the shape of his mouth.
God help me, I was in love with the Earl of Leyburn . And he thought I was a boy.
It would have been funny if it had not been so painful.
It was a pain that would get worse with every passing day. It was pain that I felt when I heard the sound of his voice, when I caught sight of his tall, lean figure, heard the sound of his footsteps coming up behind me.
I was terrified that I would betray myself. I could keep my face expressionless, my voice steady, but I could not keep myself from feeling. And the earl was intuitive. He was able to sense things that someone like Mr. Fitzallan, who operated solely on good sense and logic, would never apprehend. I supposed it was why his lordship was so marvelous with animals. But it was a danger to me; I knew it was. I was petrified he would sense the change in me. It wasn’t a logical fear, but then the earl wasn’t always logical. He was worse than logical. He was accurate.
I could, of course, tell him the truth. I thought of the scene, of his face when he discovered how I had deceived him. I thought of how his temper had flared at Mr. Fitzallan, and I prayed to God he would never look thus at me.
It was an impossible situation. My only comfort was the thought that the only person being hurt by it was myself.
Chapter 9
“When we go into York,” his lordship said to me the day after he arrived home, “we’ll have to see about getting you some decent clothes. It should have been done long ago, as Ned pointed out to me last night.” He smiled a little ruefully. “I’m afraid I’m not always as observant as I should be, lad.”
Mr. Fitzallan came in on the end of this remark. “The problem, Diccon, is that most of your clothes are as old and as worn as Valentine’s.”
The earl grinned. “True enough.”
“And if you are going to go up to London, you need some clothes, too,” Mr. Fitzallan went on relentlessly.
“Ah.” A black eyebrow was very slightly raised. “But I don’t know yet if I am going up to London.”
Mr. Fitzallan looked as if he would like to say something further but hadn’t the nerve.
“Just so,” his lordship said with amusement.
“There is a pile of papers on your desk that needs your attention,” his cousin said stoically.
The earl looked suddenly alert. “The court papers I wanted prepared?"
"Yes."
‘‘ Good. I'l1 look at them now.’’
When he left, I looked up at Mr. Fitzallan. “Why will his lordship be going to London?” I asked.
“Lady Barbara is there for the Season. When Diccon didn’t make an immediate offer, the duke decided to let her make her come-out. She is only eighteen. And very lovely. And an heiress. Diccon is a fool if he lets her get away.”
I tried to speak lightly. “Surely there are other beautiful young heiresses in England.”
“She is a Bevil, Valentine. From Northumberland. It would be a union of the two greatest families in
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