Page 28 of Miss Devon’s Choice

She gave the dog a last, firm pat on his chest. “A Greek hero. A perfect name for you, Ajax.” She lifted her hand to Christian.

He grasped it instinctively, to assist her back to her feet, but the touch of her smooth bare skin to his sent a strange jolt from her fingertips up to his head. His thoughts went fuzzy even while his awareness of her heightened. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks were a shade of pink that made her look fresh as the morning dew, and nothing in her cheerful expression even hinted at displeasure. He couldn’t recall feeling half so happy as she looked at that very moment.

“Good morning, my lord,” she said, her voice as soft as the skin resting in his palm, her smile turning almost shy.

Why am I still holding her hand?

Christian dropped it quickly and stepped back.

“Good morning.” He couldn’t think what else to say, and the way her eyes sparkled up at him wasn’t helping matters. He cleared his throat and turned his attention to Ajax, who now rolled about in the grass. Attempting to impress Rebecca with his antics, no doubt.

It seemed to work, as she regarded the dog with a wider smile. “Is he a hunting dog? I don’t think I’ve ever seen his sort before.”

“Yes.” Why wasn’t his tongue working? Christian forced himself to continue. “He’s a Vizsla. A Hungarian breed.” It was the stupidest sort of conversation to have with a society woman. He folded his arms across his chest, his mind lighting on another topic. The one they were actually meant to be discussing. “Have you given thought to the riddle?”

“I have.” She reached up to tuck an errant curl back behind her ear, her nose wrinkled. “I’m afraid I have several solutions in mind, but I’m not certain how close I’ve come to an answer. There is a secret passage in the music room. I doubt Lucas would hide anything there, as no one knows about it but family.”

“That wouldn’t be sporting of him,” Christian agreed, noting the very curl she’d pushed away was already starting to fall forward again. His fingers twitched but he curbed the impulse to push it back more securely for her.

He directed his eyes elsewhere, out to the lake. “My first thought was that we ought to check the pianoforte. Lift the lid.” Thinking on the instrument turned his thoughts to finding her there, weeping as though her heart was broken. Of course, he couldn’t remember that without also remembering her pronouncement.

“A pianoforte. That would fit the riddle. I also thought we might check the stables. A stall is a sort of room, without really being a room.” Her tone was thoughtful and he saw, from the corner of her eye, that she raised a finger to tap her bottom lip thoughtfully.

He looked away, sharply, back at the lake. That body of water had certainly grown more interesting. Another idea struck him. “The boathouse might be another option. I imagine there is an opening that faces the water—a door that isn’t a door.”

“That is a clever idea.”

Ajax, miffed at the absence of their attention, whined quietly, his eyes directed at Rebecca.

“Ajax, stai calmo.” He spoke the command without thinking; it was one the dog knew well. Christian had given it again and again in his grandfather’s presence, urging the animal to behave.

Rebecca’s lilting voice repeated the phrase. He looked at her, noting the curiosity in her expression. “I’m afraid I wasn’t instructed in Italian enough to understand it. Are you completely fluent? I was told your mother was from Italy. And you spent a great many years there, didn’t you?” The curve of her lips hinted at the slightest of smiles, but he didn’t see any derisiveness. Not yet.

“I lived in Italy for ten years,” he said, watching her carefully.

“That is a long time. And your mother, did she enjoy having you in her native country?” The question would’ve pained him had he not seen the innocence with which she asked. He had agreed to be honest with her. And truly, as his future wife, she ought to know, and had every right to know, about his past. Society would likely inform her before long of whatever he neglected to explain.

“She died before I went to live there.” He could say it easily, could even keep the regret from his voice.

Rebecca’s entire countenance changed. Not to one of pity. He knew what pity looked like. But her eyes softened and took on a depth he didn’t understand. Her smile faded, and she reached for him. Her fingertips brushed his sleeve, hesitantly.

“I am sorry. I was young when I lost my mother. Do you think she would’ve been happy, to know you were able to go and spend so much time in her country?”

No one had ever asked him that question, though it was one he immediately knew the answer to. “Yes.” His eyes remained on her lovely face, studying it carefully as he spoke. “She wasn’t fond of England.” That was putting it mildly.

“I cannot say I blame her. If she loved her home, it would be difficult to be uprooted.” Rebecca withdrew her hand, the exact spot where it had rested suddenly tingling in its absence, and let her eyes sweep the horizon before them. “I miss my home, and it is within the same countryside we stand in now. Just over those hills, really.” She pointed in the direction he had ridden with the earl and Mr. Gilbert the day previous. “I cannot imagine what it would be like to be parted from it by a greater distance—by a sea.”

Her expression remained somber when she faced him again. “Which has greater claim on you? England or Italy?”

The question, presented simply, had a more complicated answer than he cared to give. He opted to shrug. “Both are a part of who I am.” He gestured to the house behind them. “Would you care to go inside? We can check the music room.”

She raised her eyebrows at the change in topic, then looked back down at the dog sitting patiently at their feet. “What about Ajax? Has he had breakfast?”

The dog, recognizing his name, started beating his tail against the ground again. Rebecca giggled and held her hand out, perhaps to offer another pat on the head, but Ajax had grown impatient and jumped up, his paws landing on the skirts of her gown.

Christian drew in a breath. “Giù, ora,” he commanded the dog to get down, his tone sharp. “Miss Devon, I apologize. He hasn’t jumped on anyone like that since he was a puppy. I don’t know what—”

Rebecca laughed. A musical, light, joyful laugh that stopped his words at once. “It’s quite all right.” She held her skirt in one hand, examining the muddy pawprints left by the offending beast. “I do hope he’s ruined it.” After that odd comment, she dropped the fabric and gestured to the house. “Shall we? Or would you like to see to Ajax first?”