“It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.”

Sammy moved his finger across the dusty slats of the window, forming the vague image of a bird. It had been a long trip, a few of the roads bone rattling, though much of the bouncing could be attributed to her brother. Grace watched his young, smooth face as he concentrated, his tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth. When he finished, he turned to her with a bright smile. “I did better with the wings this time, didn’t I? They still don’t look like the sketch in the book.”

Grace studied the half dozen birds adorning the walls of the coach. The wings had begun as triangles, but the most recent attempts looked more like an oval that had been hacked repeatedly with an ax. “Practice makes perfect. But in my humble opinion, I do believe they could almost take flight.”

He peered into her face, holding her gaze. “You aren’t just saying that because you’re my sister?”

“Heavens no. I swear”—she held up her hand—“it is the finest depiction of a bird I have ever seen grace this carriage. I can’t imagine what you’ll accomplish by the time you are seven.”

“I’ve been practicing,” he agreed smugly. “I’ll show you my dogs next. I’m still working on the tails though. They’re either too long or too short.”

“Whoa, whoa,” called the driver to the four chestnut horses. The jingle and clink of rein and bridle was followed by Samuel hanging out the door.

“Sit down right now! It hasn’t even stopped yet.” She pulled the cord and peered through the window slits.

“I want to know what’s happening. I don’t see any houses, so something must be wrong.” His eyes widened. “Maybe we’re being set upon by thieves. And Thor is tied up on top. Oh no!” He slapped his forehead and sank dramatically into the dusty velvet.

“I think three days is all you can handle for one journey. It’s broad daylight, you goose. No one robs a coach in the morning. They would at least wait until afternoon.” But she was curious as to why they had stopped.

Opening the door again, her brother jumped out. “But it’s almost afternoon!”

Papa let out a cheery hallo to someone, and then the low murmur of male voices mixed with the snort of horses and stomp of hooves. She brushed off her blue print skirt, tied her matching bonnet on her head, and stepped out into the bright daylight. Her feet sank into the summer grass and the scent of lavender hung lightly in the air. They had just emerged from a patch of woods, and the brightness caused her eyes to water. As she blinked, a shape formed. A tall, dark figure. She blinked again to clear her vision and drew in a breath. Gracious!

The man rode a huge black beast that pranced and threw its head as the pair approached their party. He wore buckskins stretched across muscled thighs, and his boots were dull from travel. Her eyes moved up to the strong hands that held the reins with ease. He had foregone gloves, and pushed up his sleeves, revealing the powerful forearms beneath. With a slight tug and a click of his tongue, the horse obediently settled down and dropped its head.

“Good day, my lady.” Her stomach fluttered at the deep timbre and her fingertips fiddled with her skirt. The voice sounded oddly familiar but…

“Look who we’ve stumbled upon,” said her father, trotting up on his big bay. “I wager we’re heading to the same place.”

Grace held her hand over her eyes and squinted. Her heart was racing, and she wanted to shoosh the roar in her ears. Christopher Roker. The twin she had danced with and thought about for weeks afterward. He turned his eyes on her, and the late morning rays set fire to her face. Oh, why did her legs feel as limp as Mrs. Woolley’s curls after a rain? And why did this man affect her so?

“Lady Grace, I hope you are well. I understand you’re to spend some time at Falsbury.” He gave a half bow from his horse, his shoulders straining the white linen shirt. His dark coat had been discarded, rolled up, and tied behind his saddle. His black waistcoat emphasized his tanned skin. The man was ruggedly attractive. An unbidden smile crept onto her lips.

“Good day, Lord…Sunderland. I’m looking forward to our visit.” She wondered if it upset him to be addressed by his brother’s title so soon. “Are we close, then?”

“Very close,” answered Lord Sunderland. “May I show you?”

He swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. Grace looked away from his backside, her breath caught in her throat. Sammy tugged at her skirt, but she swatted at his hand. “Gracie, who is he?” he whispered loudly. “He doesn’t look like a highwayman.”

“No, I’m afraid I’m just a poor soldier finding his way home,” answered the earl. “And you are?”

“Sammy. I mean…” He put his shoulders back and with a perfect bow, he announced in a regal tone, “Samuel, Viscount of Tyne at your service.”

Grace pressed her lips together to hold in the giggle. Her little brother would be mortified if she laughed at him now. Thank you, my sweet Sammy, for bringing me back to earth, she thought. With a lungful of air and a hand on her stomach to hold in those pesky wings, she turned to face the handsome man in front of her.

“Well, I am in good company. Would you like to see my favorite view of the castle before we continue?”

Lord Boldon dismounted and came forward with a bow. “It’s good of you to have us. I must say, I didn’t know if it was good idea for my daughter to visit at this time. But both she and Eliza were insistent. I hope it doesn’t put anyone out.”

The earl shook his head then glanced over his shoulder at Grace, his dark eyes narrowed. The sun glinted off his raven hair, damp wisps curling over his stiff collar. His shirt, not quite closed, revealed the glisten of sweat across his broad chest.

She licked her lips.

He smiled.

Ebony eyes raked over her and sent another wave of heat up her neck. A new sensation stirred low in her belly and her hand hovered protectively over it. Stepping forward, he bowed once more and said, “I hoped we would meet again. I am happy to give you the first glimpse of my childhood home.”

He held out his arm. Grace looked to her father, who nodded his head, and she laid her fingers on the earl’s sleeve. Breathe, you dimwit, breathe. He’s just a man, she told herself. Just a perfect specimen of a man.

The three of them walked to the top of a hill. The trees showed bright green and silver, the wind whistling above their heads. The fresh air was a relief after the stagnant coach.

“Where is your sword, if you are a soldier?”

“Fortunately, we’ve run the enemy off for now so I can take a bit of a holiday. It’s very heavy, you know.” He winked at Grace.

“I hope I’m as good at fighting as I am at sketching.” Sammy ran in front—then in back—then in front of them again. “Oh, Gracie, you’ll like this,” he yelled when he reached the top of the hill.

Below them stood a magnificent building, at least three times the size of Boldon. Four round towers stood sentry on each corner of the enormous structure, a flag flying from each. Between the towers, four stories of windows glittered against the silver stone. Arrow slits, carved from the top of the walls, stirred her imagination. Centuries ago, a group of knights would have cantered up the slope, their banners gently wafting the royal and family crests. Falsbury Castle rose steadfastly over a lush emerald valley, its shadow almost swallowing the small village below. Crushed stone formed the sizeable rectangular drive in front of the building; tiny bodies moved around like ants. Dots of color, most likely large pots of geraniums, added color to the scene. Grace sighed in delight.

“Splendid, isn’t it?” Sunderland asked quietly.

A shrill whistle startled her. Sammy grinned up at them. “You’re a king and a soldier?” he asked.

She heard the rumble of Sunderland’s chuckle as he tousled the boy’s hair. “Far from it. I did imagine myself a Templar knight when I was a boy. My brother and I would climb to the battlement and have sword fights.”

“Let’s go! Let’s go! I want to climb to the top of the palace.” Sammy spun around and went down the hill, his hair shining gold in the afternoon sun.

“I must say, it is an impressive sight, like something from a fairy tale,” her father agreed. He pointed to a small lake to the right of the castle grounds. A graceful willow bowed over the water. “Do you keep it stocked?”

“Of course, bream is my father’s favorite. The cook likes plenty of roach, and there’s pike. They always put up a good fight.”

“Indeed. Almost as good as trout.”

The beauty surrounding them was stunning. Grace peeked at Lord Sunderland’s profile. This was a perfect background for him. She turned to see her father looking at her with an odd expression in his eyes. It made her uncomfortable, as if he knew what was going through her mind. Sammy yelled again, and they returned at a leisurely pace. This time, she took Papa’s arm to better maintain her composure.

* * *

His muscles tensed as he watched the sway of her hips. She was lovely. Bright chestnut curls peeked out from the bonnet, swirling against her alabaster skin. He wanted to reach out and touch one of those soft locks, feel the smoothness of her cheek against his finger. The traveling dress fluttered in the breeze, the thin material caressing long, shapely legs. He imagined those burnished red curls falling down her back.

When Kit met her at the wedding, he’d been attracted by her beauty and the vivacity in her clear green eyes. As they danced, he had enjoyed her intelligence and wit. But seeing her here in his favorite spot—catching her off guard and so approachable, he wanted to gather her in his arms and kiss her. He and Carson had lain on this grassy slope for hours as children, dreaming of knights and battles and rescued maidens. Looking at her face as she took in the castle grounds, Kit swore she had the same images in her head.

Ridiculous. But when she licked those plump lips…

Good god man, he thought. Mind your manners or find yourself a kitchen wench. He needed a diversion before he made a fool of himself. The emotion of the past few weeks must be getting to him.

“Papa, I need to get my toy chest down. I have to show Lord Sunderland my sword.”

“Wait until we get unpacked. Our host may have business matters to deal with. Do not intrude upon his time.” Lord Boldon shook his finger for emphasis.

Kit liked the boy. Samuel was just the distraction he needed and would bring some much-needed joy back into those cold, damp halls.

“Do you ride much, Lord Tyne?” he asked Samuel as the driver helped Lady Grace back into the coach.

“Yes, very well my father says,” he announced proudly. “Do you?”

“I believe I’m adequate,” he admitted with a solemn nod. “Would you like to ride with me the rest of the way? I’ve been traveling alone since London and would appreciate the company.”

Sammy looked at his father, his eyes pleading.

“If you promise to behave and not wiggle too much.” Lord Boldon looked again at Sunderland. “Are you sure? You can drop him to the ground any time you’ve had enough. He’d still arrive before us.”

Kit laughed. “I think we’ll be fast friends.”

“And remember your manners in conversation. Give Lord Sunderland time to answer before you move on to another subject,” Grace added through one of the slits of the window.

She held his gaze for a moment then the slats snapped shut. An innocent, to be sure. He’d realized that when he danced with her. Today, she had taken in his appearance with wide eyes. He recognized the appreciative gaze, had seen it enough times in his bachelor life. The pink in her cheeks and the sudden aversion of her eyes told him she was naïve in the ways of seduction. An experienced flirt would not have gaped so openly or looked away with such haste. She would reveal more in the coming weeks. For now, the castle was calling him.

He rolled his stiff shoulders and neck to ease the soreness from a long day travel. It was time to trade the saddle in for a brandy and a bath. Then he would enjoy his Italian wet and dry sweetmeats at supper tonight. His mouth watered. Their old cook, Mrs. Whitten, was an angel in the kitchen.

His leg jiggled. Kit looked down to see Samuel pulling on his stirrup irons with the same urgency he had tugged on his sister’s skirt. “Papa says I’m big enough to ride pillion instead of in front.”

“I agree. You look strong, but we’ll see if your arms are long enough.”

Lord Boldon swung Samuel onto the back of the horse. The boy stretched his arms around Kit’s waist as far as possible then clutched the hem of his waistcoat. “Hold on, now. And tell me if I need to slow down,” Kit instructed as the boy settled into a comfortable position.

“I like to go fast. My legs are strong too. I can hold on tight, I promise.”

As the party ambled down the road, Samuel kept up a stream of one-sided conversation. The familiar landscape brought back so many memories to Kit. He and Carson hiding out in the woods, eating the cherry pie they’d stolen from the kitchen. They had raced up and down this hill on their ponies. Carson always kicked his so furiously to win that the pony had bucked him off once. Kit had laughed so hard he too had fallen on his backside. The brook below gurgled and sparkled, where they had fished with bamboo poles and concocted daring adventures. I feel you here, brother. I’m glad I came back, he thought. This was where he could mend his body, heal his heart. Death, in battle and at home, had drained the life from him. He needed to replenish his faith in mankind and restore the optimism that had always kept him balanced.

Kit suppressed a smile as the youngster provided a steady stream of interesting tidbits. Lord Boldon liked to sit in front of the fire every night with his port and remember Mama. In the mornings, he washed with very cold water to invinegar himself and yelled like a banshee. Mrs. Woolley always had a silly look on her face when she brought tea or a repast for his tutor. But when Mr. Chenwick smiled at her, she would scowl at him and pretend she didn’t like him. Girls were strange and contrary. They would cry when they were happy.

Excellent trout were stocked in the lake at Boldon, he informed Kit as he dashed from one subject to another in the same breath. Samuel’s favorite lure was a green and white silk minnow with feathers for the tail and fins. His father preferred lobworms, and they tricked Gracie once and he pretended to eat one. His sister was also like his mother because Lady Boldon had died when he was born. But Papa and Gracie told him everything about Mama and kept pictures of her so she would live on in their hearts until they were all reunited.

And no, Gracie didn’t care for any man except Papa, who said she would be a spinster if he didn’t get her to London and find her a husband.

“Your sister is looking for a husband?” Perhaps he should keep his distance. A wife remained optional for him if an heir was born in December. He had written his commander and explained the situation, hoping to be back in uniform the following year.

“No, that’s what makes Papa grumble. She says she has no use for another man. Her hands are full with the two she already has. That’s us,” Samuel explained, poking his thumb at his chest.

“Indeed. I’m sure you keep your sister busy.”

The boy grinned. “I do my best.”

“I must say, Lord Tyne, we’ve become fast friends on this ride.” He chuckled, imagining the horror in Lady Grace’s forest green eyes if she’d heard their conversation. She may be a safe diversion after all. Nothing wrong with a little harmless flirtation with a beautiful woman, who seemed willing enough.

“You can call me Sammy. Oh, Papa made me promise not to do all the talking. What’s your favorite thing to do?”

“Listen to young men divulge their family secrets.” He grinned and clucked to the horse. Yes, it was good to be home.