Suzanne Robinson by The Treasure

the fire that had killed his father and Carolina. He thought he’d made peace with himself about their deaths, but lately the old nightmare had returned. Now Miss de Winter threatened his slumber, too.
    Miss de Winter was different. For one thing, she was more sure of herself than a girl sheltered in a boarding school should have been. She behaved toward him with the confidence of a woman twice her age. Such poise in an eligible young lady was unheard-of—and it was fascinating because she couldn’t be more than twenty.
    She had malachite green eyes.…
    Valin sat up in bed. Uttering a wordless sound of disgust, he threw back the covers and got out of bed. The room was dark, made more so by the burgundy damask curtains drawn over the windows. Valin thrust the heavy material aside and looked outside. The garden was still quite dark, but dawn wasn’t far away, because there was enough light to see the gravel paths between the apple trees his grandfather had planted. He laid his forehead against the pane and took a deep breath.
    “Valin North, get hold of yourself.” He had to take the very rich and pretty Miss Philippa Kingsleyriding early this morning. He groaned at the thought. Another callow young lady.
    He’d much rather go riding with Emily de Winter. God forgive him, what he really wanted to do with Emily wasn’t to be thought of. He hadn’t known how utterly miserable he’d been until he met her. He’d been living in a nightmare because he was surrounded by people whose interest in Society he didn’t share. God, he’d wager boredom could be fatal, to the spirit at least. And then Emily de Winter had quoted Shakespeare at him.
    The summer’s flower is to the summer sweet,/ Though to itself it only live and die
.
    She was like that, a summer flower come to grace his barren garden. Valin lifted his head from the windowpane. “Dear God, what am I thinking? I’m waxing poetic about a young lady I barely know.”
    And there was something strange about Miss de Winter. Not just her air of assurance, but something more. He couldn’t quite decide what it was. Perhaps it was her foreign upbringing, although she didn’t have an accent. A young woman raised mostly in France should have an accent. And then there was the way she’d suddenly appeared in Society out of nowhere. Few people knew her. He’d asked around. There was something mysterious about Emily de Winter. Thank Providence. Herewas someone who interested him, intrigued him, and made him feel alive among Society’s dead fish.
    He wanted to solve the mystery of Emily de Winter. Damn! He was mooning over a woman. He never lost sleep over women. They’d fallen into his arms too often for that. This lady intrigued him, but he wouldn’t make a fool of himself over her.
    Yanking the curtain back into place, Valin stomped back to bed. He jerked the covers over his head, annoyed with himself and determined to forget Miss Emily de Winter. At least for now. He had to get some sleep; he could think about her all he wanted in the morning. Then it occurred to him that he didn’t know when he’d see her again. Surely he would see her again. She’d said she was in town to be married off.
    Sighing, Valin sat up and rubbed his burning eyes. He’d have to see her again. Perhaps next time she wouldn’t seem so fascinating or mysterious, and then he could forget about her and get some blasted sleep.

    Emmie—alias Mrs. Apple or Miss Emily Charlotte de Winter—was invited to Agincourt Hall, as she’d intended from the moment she discovered the clues to the hiding place of the Spanish gold.The intervening weeks were barely long enough for her to find a suitable chaperone and a girl who knew enough about the job to be her lady’s maid.
    Emmie located a Society matron who, for a financial remuneration, would use her connections on behalf of a likely young lady. Such arrangements were often made when a family had a daughter to marry off but lacked the social