Page 32 of A Figure of Love

“You do not approve of animals in the house, Mrs. Lombard?”

“It is not that.”

Lockheart took his coat off the handle of a shovel which was jammed upright into a pile of dirt, and shrugged into it, his perfect cravat disheveled and his lovely, expensive boots covered in mud.

“What is the reason?”

In the sunlight she could see his eyes had a dark gray ring around the paler gray of his iris. His lashes were dark brown like his hair and were unfairly long.

“It is not my house, Mr. Lockheart.”

He merely looked at her.

“I would not wish to take such liberties with bringing pets into the house,” she explained.

“I have never had a pet. Do most other people keep them in the house?” As was usual with this man, he managed to say words she was not quite expecting.

“Well—”

“My grandpapa, His Grace of Remington has over twenty dogs. And they all live in his chambers, some even sleep on his bed,” Oliver offered, pointedly avoiding Serena’s glare.

Lockheart appeared to find this intriguing. “Is that so?”

“They are not, however, hunting dogs, Oliver.”

“Neither are these, Mama.”

Serena sighed.

“I have no objection to dogs in the house, Mrs. Lombard, but the decision is yours.” He continued with hardly a pause. “I have something in mind to move this stone and also to position it where you would like it. It will take me a few days to assemble the necessary materials. I hope you will not mind if we extend our visit a few days more?”

Serena was about to remind him that it was his house when her son took the issue out of her hands.

“You mean you will stay, Mr. Lockheart?”

He gave Oliver his characteristic blank stare. “Until the stone had been moved.”

“Will you show me how to build an automaton?”

This time Serena got the first word in. “Mr. Lockheart is here to work, Oliver, not play.” She spoke gently, but with the firmness she knew he required once his high spirits had taken charge. Because Oliver had been raised in so much love and showered with so much affection that he believed everyone wished to spend their time with him. Serena usually allowed him the comfort of his assumptions. After all, life would come along soon enough and deal him its share of pain. She wanted him to know only joy for as long as she could contrive.

“When are your studies over for the day?” Lockheart asked, walking up the hill with them.

“Three o’clock. Except Sunday, which is a day of rest. Except we have to go to church.”

“Come to the library at three every day and we will work on it.” His lips twitched. “Except Sunday, of course.”

“Hurrah! Hurrah!” Luckily Oliver was already halfway up the hill when he began shouting, the dogs leaped and danced around him, not caring what they were celebrating.

She smiled up at her employer. “That was very kind, Mr. Lockheart, but you don’t need to indulge him.”

“It is something I will enjoy.”

Before she could thank him, he asked a question about the position of the pavilion. It wasn’t until they were riding home that she realized he’d once again deflected any words of thanks or gratitude.

Chapter Nine

Gareth was in the cellar again. The darkness was total; not even a pinprick of light. The floor was damp, cold, and slimy and the sound of things skittering and slithering around him was deafening in the suffocating closeness. He screamed, but he knew nobody would come; they never came. His voice was gone, his throat hurt and his mouth was flooded with the metallic taste of blood. Something heavy and furry brushed past his naked ankle and teeth like needles sank into his big toe.