Page 81 of Sir Durham’s Disarming Asset

“We have a short ride,” he told her as she snuggled next to him. “But we change carriages soon.” When she looked alarmed, he said, “Not to worry. It is only a bluff.”

She bit her lip and traced his cheek with her fingertip. “I brought warm nightclothes.”

“Wise of you,” he said as he removed her little toque hat and pushed tendrils of her hair away from her ear.

“It is December.”

He thumbed her lower lip. “You won’t have to wear them.”

She giggled. “I did not plan to.”

Some long minutes later, they arrived at a small cottage nestled near a small stream and hill.

Dinner was brought to them by the local innkeeper, who promised to provide them with their meals for the next three weeks. The roast of beef, potatoes, and carrots warmed them both. Afterward, they washed their dishes together and sat on a settee before their salon fire. It was not long before they agreed they needed their bed…and each other.

“I have something for you,” she told him as he poured two cognacs. They were in their large but cozy bedroom off the great room. A huge fire blazed behind the grate.

He handed her the glass. “To us, Mrs. Durham. I hope you realize I want no gifts. You alone are my prize.”

“Hmm. Perhaps.” She took a sip, closed her eyes, put her bare feet in his lap as he sat in an oversized chair, and pulled her to him. “But this is rare.”

“I would not have you buying me things.” He had told her that all her wealth would remain hers. He would not touch a penny. They would live on his income always.

“Well, I will. But what I give you cannot be purchased. It is incomparable. So unique you will marvel at it.”

He had a look of wonder in his sweet green eyes. “Tell me, then.”

She took another hearty sip and got to her feet. “Do not move.”

Off she pattered to her trunk. Opened by the innkeeper’s daughter earlier, the trunk was still half full. Zeph dug to the bottom and pulled out a small, locked box. With a key she retrieved from her reticule on the bench, she opened the box and extracted her little red surprise.

She plodded back into their sitting room and put the book into his hands.

He was bemused. “What is this? A book?”

She sat near him, her surprise for him amusing her to no end. “More than.”

He searched her eyes—and opened the leather cover. He turned one page, then another. Then a few more. What he saw there gave him pause.

He blinked and frowned.

At length, he looked at her. “Numbers. Not in your hand.”

“No, not mine.”

He put the book to his lap. “Whose is this?”

“Mine now.”

His eyes grew black with worry. “How is that so?”

“I stole it.”

He sucked in air. “Zeph.”

She could not decide if he was happy or wild or stricken.

Once more, he turned one page after another. “All numbers.”