Page 45 of Unmasking the Earl

“I believe you are familiar with my quest to find my sister, Mrs. Fiennes,” he said. “I hope I can rely on your discretion.”

“Of course, my lord. Please, help yourself to a piece of game pie.”

“Ned, please. Let’s not stand on ceremony. I’ve been just plain Ganstridge for months. The pie looks delicious, thank you.”

Cassie couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. It was in some ways a relief to see him safely dressed and respectable—his saddle bags containing spare clothing had been brought across from the inn—but also a disappointment. His hair was toweled dry and combed back from his face, revealing more of the chiseled bone structure which had always made her think him striking.

No. More than striking. In a masculine way, he was quite…beautiful.

Her knees trembled again. What had he done to her with those searing kisses?

He said, “Before that unfortunate misunderstanding at the inn, I was going to inquire if a young lady has moved to this area recently. My sister looks not at all like me, but is light of hair and medium height.”

His gaze met Cassie’s as he spoke, his eyes looking almost black in the dim evening light. She stirred uncomfortably in her seat, then, as he continued to subject her to his intense scrutiny, her discomfort turned to heat, collecting in the lower part of her abdomen, making her body feel heavy and languorous. She shifted again and looked away.

“I regret, no,” said Portia. “The only new arrival came four or five months ago. An elderly lady now living by herself in a tiny cottage on the lane leading to the next village.”

“You’re sure of her age?”

“Well… She has white hair.”

“Might it be a wig?” suggested Cassie. “Maybe your sister wishes to conceal her identity.”

“Possibly. Has anyone actually seen her close up? Her face?”

“On the rare occasions she comes to Aston, she always wears a veil and a very broad-brimmed hat. I wondered if she had weak eyes and was trying to protect them.”

“Has no one managed to get a good look at her, then?”

“Achilles, the constable, was walking past when she was in the garden with the veil pushed up so she could attend to her roses. He only saw the side of her face before she pulled the veil down, but he said her skin was most definitely wrinkled and creased, not that of a young woman.”

“Hmm. It doesn’t sound like a disguise,” Ned mused. “But maybe I should call on her anyway, just to make sure.”

“Achilles could take you there,” Portia offered.

Ned grimaced. “Thank you, but I’m quite happy to avoid that gentleman’s company. Just give me the direction, and I will make my way thither tomorrow.”

“I’m terrible with directions,” Portia said with a frown. “Cassie knows where the place is, though, don’t you, dear? We walked that way the last time you came to visit. The little lane on our way back from the manor.”

“Yes, I suppose—”

“I have to wait in tomorrow morning for the butcher’s boy, so you must show his lordship the way,” said Portia, beaming at her.

“Ned,” he reminded her friend.

It was a conspiracy. Cassie conceded defeat. “Of course.”

But she would certainly take Ella as a chaperone. Even walking out in broad daylight along a country lane seemed a dangerous business, given her inexplicable weakness for the handsome Earl of Stranraer’s kisses.

She was going to have to be very careful from now on.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ned had been much too long without a woman.

It was not due to lack of opportunity—he could have offered his services as a lover to any number of his female acquaintances, and would doubtless have been accepted. Even in his guise as a servant he knew he’d turned a few heads. He’d caught even proper ladies running their eyes over his physique, calculating his proportions and his looks, and finding a sum which apparently pleased them.

Nevertheless, the fire, the loss of Georgiana, and the awful rumors of her fate had eaten away at him, taken away his interest in the pursuit of pleasure.