Sleepless at Midnight (8 page)

“In addition,” Daniel continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “from what I’ve observed, Lady Julianne is shy and amenable. You won’t have any difficulty shunting her off to some far corner of your vast holdings should you so choose.”

“What about Lady Wingate?”

Something flickered in Daniel’s dark blue eyes, something that was gone so quickly Matthew would have missed it had he not known his friend so well. “Lady Wingate isn’t a good choice for two reasons. First, she has nowhere near enough money to rescue your estate.”

Matthew frowned. “I thought Wingate left her financially well off.”

“Thanks again to my conversation with Jennsen, I learned Wingate left her comfortable some money, and a town house in Mayfair he purchased several years before his death his only unentailed property. Rumor had it that he bought the place because, knowing what a scoundrel his brother was, he wanted to assure that Lady Wingate had a place of her own, not tied to the estate in any way, should he die.” His lips tightened. “Based on the way the brother has behaved since Wingate passed, ’tis fortunate he took such precautions.”

“Well, her financial situation certainly is reason enough to make her unacceptable to me,” Matthew said, “but you mentioned two reasons. What is the other?”

“Lady Wingate apparently remains devoted to her dead husband’s memory, in spite of the fact that three years have passed since he died. During our conversations last night and this afternoon, it was glaringly apparent that she believes the man was a paragon, one who could never be matched in her eyes. When I casually brought up the subject of the joys of marriage, she made it clear that she has no intention of ever marrying again. Apparently, she found her one true love and is content to spend the rest of her days reliving the memories she shared with him rather than making new ones.”

Matthew stared at his friend, who was in turn staring into his empty snifter with a brooding expression. “You sound as if you disapprove of her decision.”

Daniel shrugged one shoulder. “Seems a bloody waste to me.”

“She obviously loved him deeply.”

“Yes. Enough to throw away the rest of her life, worshipping him as if he were a saint. And from all accounts, he completely adored her.” He made a humorless sound. “God save me from such misery. I’ll continue to enjoy my shallow love affairs in which my heart remains my own, thank you very much.” He turned toward Matthew. “What about you? Can you imagine giving so much of yourself to another person? Your entire heart and soul?”

Because Daniel sounded genuinely perplexed at the prospect and he rarely asked such probing questions, Matthew seriously pondered before answering. Finally he said, “I’ve enjoyed the company of many beautiful women, but none of them have inspired anything near the sort of deep devotion you’ve just described. I can therefore only say that if one is lucky enough to find it, they’d be a fool to discard it. I, however, do not have the luxury of time to search the world for this one perfect woman who most probably doesn’t exist.”

“In which case, Lady Julianne is who you should set your sights upon.”

An image of the beautiful, blond heiress blinked into Matthew’s mind, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, a wave of weariness swept through him. She was, in every way, the answer to his prayers. All he had to do was act charming, court her, and dangle the lure of his lofty title before her. Surely he could do so, and in an expeditious manner. Based upon the eagerness with which her mother had accepted the invitation to his house party, he believed his attentions wouldn’t be rebuffed.

He blew out a long breath. “Only one viable candidate out of three choices.”

“Yes. You didn’t do a very thorough job researching your potential brides.”

“I was distracted.” Yes. By his damn quest. “I’ll concentrate on Lady Julianne, but I’d best hedge my bets and send out invitations to several more candidates to join the party. Any suggestions?”

Daniel considered, then said, “Lady Prudence Whipple and Miss Jane Carlson both fit your requirements. Neither is particularly accomplished, but what they lack in charm and conversation, they more than make up for in wealth.”

“Excellent. I’ll send the invitations.”

Restless, Matthew rose and walked toward the French windows. Bright sunshine streamed through the polished glass, creating wide ribbons upon which dust motes gently floated. From his vantage point he could see a wide arc of velvety, verdant lawn, part of the gardens, and a corner of the terrace. His gaze halted on the latter, on a large, round, wrought-iron table where his guests were enjoying afternoon tea, all chatting and laughing together. All except…

A frown pulled down his brows. Where was Miss Moorehouse? His eye was drawn to a movement on the lawn, and as if the mere thought of her had conjured her up, there she stood, frolicking in the grass with Danforth. He watched her toss a large stick that Danforth sprinted after as if it had a hunk of beef attached to it. His pet leaped upward and neatly caught the sturdy piece of wood in midair, then trotted back to Miss Moorehouse and dropped the stick at her feet. Then his dog, who was nobody’s fool, flopped onto his back and presented his belly for rubbing. Even from this distance he could see Miss Moorehouse’s bright smile, indeed he could almost hear her laughter as she knelt in the grass, heedless of her gown, and gave Danforth a thorough rubdown. Then she stood, picked up the stick and tossed it again.

“What about Miss Moorehouse?” he said.

“Who?” Daniel asked from where he was seated behind him.

“Lady Wingate’s sister.”

He heard the chair squeak as Daniel rose. Seconds later he joined Matthew at the window and followed his gaze to the woman and dog cavorting on the lawn. “The spinster with the spectacles?

The one who sits silently in the corner with her nose buried in her sketch book?”

The nosy one with the wide, doe eyes, deep dimples, and lush lips. “Yes. Do you have any information about her?”

He felt the weight of Daniel’s speculative gaze but ignored it. “What do you wish to know? And more importantly, why would you wish to know? She’s merely Lady Wingate’s traveling companion and is certainly not an heiress. Her father is a physician.”

“That didn’t stop Wingate from marrying her older sister and making her a viscountess.”

“Nooo…” Daniel said slowly, as if speaking to a child. “But Miss Moorehouse, while I’m certain is a nice enough woman, hardly possesses the beauty to inspire the sort of devotion her older sister did. Nor the grace, based on her present hoydenish activity. I can’t imagine that there are any viscounts traipsing about who’d wish to make her their bride. Especially as she hasn’t any money.”

“Money being the great equalizer with regards to beauty.”

“Yes. That and darkness.”

“Fear not. The only interest I have in the woman is in what she may or may not know.” He told Daniel about his morning conversation with Miss Moorehouse, concluding with, “She has…secrets. I want to know what they are.”

“Understandable. But beware, my friend. We’re both acquainted with her sort a lonely, dried-up, desperate spinster who will read far too much into any attention you show her. You’re probably the first man who’s spared her more than five minutes. As a result, she’s no doubt already halfway in love with you.”

“Doubtful. She looked more suspicious than smitten.”

It suddenly occurred to him that with regard to Daniel’s theory about darkness being a great equalizer, he’d yet to see Miss Moorehouse up close in bright light. And for reasons he couldn’t explain, he very much wanted to. No doubt because he’d have to make some sort of effort to befriend her if he hoped to glean any horticultural information from her. Yes, that was the reason. Relieved to have found an explanation for his odd yearning to see her, he turned to Daniel. “I think it’s about time I joined my guests.”

Sarah was aware of him the instant he stepped from the house onto the terrace, followed by his friend, Lord Surbrooke. No matter how she tried to concentrate on her game with Danforth, her errant gaze continually wandered to the terrace. And it seemed every time she looked, she discovered Lord Langston looking at her, which rippled an uncomfortable heat through her. Botheration, even her scalp felt hot, which, as she knew, would make her already uncontrollable curls frizz even tighter. Even when she turned her back on the group to toss the stick, she found her ears straining to identify the rumble of his deep voice among the indistinct murmurs drifting across the lawn.

Determined to put some space between herself and the temptation to further exert her eyes or ears, she threw the stick toward the corner of the house, then picking up her skirts so as not to trip, ran after Danforth, who streaked forward. By the time she made three more tosses, she’d turned the corner and could no longer see the terrace.

Relieved, for reasons she didn’t quite understand, she crouched down and gave the belly-up Danforth the rubdown he now expected every time he retrieved the stick.

“Oh, you are simply the complete opposite of ferocious,” she crooned with a laugh to the ecstatic dog. “I wish my Desdemona were here. I think you two would hit it off famously.”

“Matchmaking are you, Miss Moorehouse?”

Her heart jumped at the sound of the familiar masculine voice directly behind her. She glanced over her shoulder but couldn’t make out his features, as the sun glared directly into her eyes. Turning back to the dog, she said, “I was merely suggesting to Danforth that he and my Desdemona would like each other.”

He hunkered down beside her and patted Danforth’s sturdy side, much to the dog’s squirming delight. “And why is that?”

Her gaze riveted on the sight of his large, long-fingered hand brushing against the dog’s dark fur. It was a very strong, capable-looking hand. One surprisingly sunbrowned for a gentleman. One that was clearly capable of tenderness as it glided over the dog’s flank. Was it also a hand capable of sinister acts? Seeing the affection he lavished on his dog, it was difficult to imagine. Still, she suspected him capable of deceit with regards to his claims of proficiency in the garden, so she needed to be wary.

“They are of similar temperament. I miss her very much.”

“You should have brought her.”

Sarah couldn’t help but laugh. “She is hardly a lapdog, my lord although she attempts to convince me that she is at least twice a day. There was barely room enough in the carriage for my sister and I and our luggage, let alone a dog that weighs ten stone.”

“You didn’t join the others for tea. Why not?”

She felt the weight of his stare and turned to look at him. And stilled at the impact of his steady gaze through compelling hazel eyes that were a fascinating mixture of brown, green, and blue, dotted with intriguing flecks of gold. They were intelligent eyes, sharp and alert, yet she detected an underlying hint of weariness in them. The result of some burden that saddened him? Or perhaps it was guilt? Guilt associated with his nocturnal shovel-toting outdoor walks?

Impossible to tell. But what was clear was that based on his current quizzical expression, he’d asked her a question. She had no idea what. One look into those eyes, which were no more than three feet away from hers, and she’d completely lost the thread of the conversation. Heat eased up the back of her neck as it always did when she was embarrassed. She knew that in seconds the heat would produce blotches that would spread to her cheeks, alerting him to her embarrassment. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Why didn’t you join the others for tea?”

“The day was too lovely to sit and sip tea. I was actually headed into the gardens in hopes of finding your groundskeeper when I ran into Danforth. He asked me to play fetch and I complied.”

The tiniest hint of a smile ghosted over his face. “He asked you?”

“He dashed off, returned with that stick, dropped it at my feet, then made pleading noises. Perhaps there is a person in the kingdom who could resist such an invitation, but I am not that person.”

“Most ladies are quite put off by his size.”

“I’m afraid I’m not like ‘most ladies.’”

He frowned and nodded slowly, clearly agreeing with her, and she shoved away the ridiculous sense of hurt that piqued her.

After another pat to Danforth’s sturdy flank, he rose then extended his hand to her. Sarah stared at that bare, masculine hand for several seconds, and for some insane reason her heart began to beat in slow, hard thumps. As if in a trance, she slowly lifted her hand and slipped it into his. The feel of his bare palm against hers, his long fingers closing over hers, stunned her. His skin felt so…warm. And his hand was so…large. She’d always believed her own hands oversized and ungainly, but it looked quite small nestled in his. Almost dainty.

He gave her arm a gentle tug and she rose. The instant she gained her feet, he released her, and she found herself curling her fingers inward and pressing her palm against her skirt to retain the almost magical warmth of his touch.

“Shall we walk?” he asked, nodding toward a copse of trees in the distance. She had to swallow to locate her voice. “By all means.”

They strolled in silence for nearly a minute, then Lord Langston said, “You claimed you’re not like most ladies. In what way?”

She shrugged. “I don’t mind getting dirty in the garden, or while frolicking with my animals. I detest embroidery, adore walking in the rain, don’t mind sun freckles on my nose, can’t sing worth a jot, and I’m abysmal at polite conversation.”