Luc grimaced; Amelia smiled.
Miss Pink, sufficiently restored from the rigors of the journey, rose and quietly excused herself; Emily and Anne, having finished their tea, decided to retire to their rooms.
"I've set dinner for six," Amelia said, as they bobbed to her.
"Oh, good!" Emily said. "We'll be famished by then."
Anne smiled softly. "It's so good to be home."
The instant they'd quit the room, Minerva glanced at Luc. "You may expect a letter from Kirkpatrick — by my guess, within the week."
Luc raised a brow. "He's that serious?"
Minerva's lips twitched. "Impatient, my dear, as I would have thought you'd appreciate."
He let that comment lie.
Minerva added, more seriously, "An invitation to visit here would be appropriate, but I didn't want to say anything until I'd consulted with you."
Her gaze had shifted to Amelia — who suddenly realized the implication; she waved. "Of course." She glanced at Luc. "Late July or early August, perhaps?"
He met her gaze. "Whatever you decide. We'll be here until late September."
Amelia looked back at Minerva.
Who relaxed in her chair. "We can decide once he writes — he definitely will." Her lips curved. "So that's Emily all but settled." Minerva glanced at Luc, then back at Amelia, her smile deepening. "I won't ask how you two are getting on — I'm sure you've been settling in and finding your feet without any great difficulty. Has it been very warm up here?"
Cursing her memory, which immediately focused on that long afternoon she and Luc had spent rolling on their bed, Amelia prayed she wouldn't blush. "We did have a day or two when it was quite hot." She fought not to glance at Luc.
Minerva rose. "The chaos must have subsided by now. Time for me to go up and rest for an hour or so. Six, you said?"
Amelia nodded.
Minerva inclined her head to them both. "I'll see you in the drawing room."
She glided toward the door, then halted. Turned back, frowning. "Actually, while we're alone…" She glanced briefly at the door, then continued, her tone serious, "While I was packing, I found I was missing two items. A grisaille snuffbox — you know it, Luc — and a perfume flagon with a gold collar. They're both small things, but old and quite valuable." She looked at Luc. "Both were in my sitting room, and yes, they're definitely gone, not misplaced. Do you have any ideas?"
Luc frowned. "We haven't taken on any new staff."
"No. That was my first thought, too, but what with running shorthanded for years, everyone still with us has been with us all those years. It seems inconceivable it could be anyone within the house."
Luc nodded. "I'll check with Cottsloe and Higgs — it's possible we had someone through for the chimneys, or something similar."
Minerva's face cleared. "Of course — you're quite right. That's sure to be it. Still, it's a sad day when one has to guard such items every time someone unknown steps over the threshold."
"I'll look into it," Luc said. Minerva nodded and left.
Amelia set aside her empty cup and rose. Both she and Luc remained standing, watching until his mother had passed out of sight beyond the open drawing room door.
Then they glanced at each other; their gazes met, held. They stood a foot apart. Luc reached out, sliding his fingers down over her wrist to twine with hers.
This close, in this light, and because he let her see, the desire that prowled behind his dark eyes was impossible to mistake.
Again she sensed his welling need to kiss her, to touch her — to take her in his arms; like a wash of heat against her skin, it awakened her, drew her to him. A shimmering aura, desire hung between them until, once again, she sensed him rein it in, suppress it.
His gaze still locked with hers, he lifted her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I'd better go and check what's going on in the kennels. Portia and Penelope have their own ideas about everything, and they're both termagants at heart. And then I really have to do some work in the Office."
She accepted what he was telling her with an easy smile, but when he released her hand, she linked her arm with his and turned toward the French doors. "I'll come to the kennels with you — I want to make sure your sisters don't spoil Galahad."
When they stepped onto the terrace, she murmured, "Let's go via the shrubbery."
It was the longer way to the kennels; Luc hesitated, but acquiesced.
She let him lead her into the courtyards surrounded by the high hedges. Let him lead her past the fountain, to the courtyard where the pool lay limpid under the last of the day's sunshine, where fish flickered and swished, silver flashes in the water.
Convinced him that taking her in his arms and kissing her — just for a little while — was something that despite the advent of his sisters could, with a little determination, still be squeezed into his schedule.
That evening, the magnitude of what Luc faced within his family became clear.
Sitting at the end of the long table, now comfortably filled, Amelia watched, and learned, and, despite having to struggle to keep her lips straight, felt for him.
He was out of his depth.
She'd never imagined seeing him like that — that such a situation could ever be — yet here he was, manfully trying to cope with four very different females, all of whom were under his protection. He was their guardian.
And his evening had got off to an unsettling start.
Handing a platter of beans to Emily, seated on her right, Amelia noted again the abstracted quality of Luc's eldest sister's gaze. Emily's thoughts were very definitely elsewhere, dwelling on exceedingly pleasant memories.
She'd had her suspicions of just what such memories might be; a nonchalant question when they'd gathered in the drawing room earlier and she'd drawn Emily a little apart, concerning Lord Kirkpatrick and Emily's feelings for him, had elicited such a glow in Emily's eyes, and her words, as to confirm just how definite matters had become between Emily and his lordship. Hardly a problem given Minerva was expecting an offer any day.
Squeezing Emily's hand, she'd smiled with feminine comprehension, then turned — to find Luc's dark blue gaze fixed on them. He'd excused himself to his mother and Miss Pink, and come prowling over; she'd been ready to step in should he attempt to interrogate Emily, but that damsel, a light blush to her cheeks, simply put her nose in the air and refused to be meek.
Instead, greatly daring, Emily had confessed that she found his lordship quite manly, indeed, all she could wish for in a husband.
Amelia saw Luc clench his jaw, probably wisely biting back a demand to be told all. She doubted he'd enjoy hearing it.
Emily's comment, and the fact she'd looked at Luc in its wake, evoked the inevitable comparison. Kirkpatrick was well enough, well set up and decently handsome, but to rhapsodize him when one had grown up with Luc — that was a clear demonstration of Emily's state.
It was Luc who was masculine beauty personified — grace, elegance and aristocratic polish doing nothing to hide the hard, sharp, darkly menacing qualities of steely strength and inflexible, arrogant will. It was Luc who had always sent a shiver down her spine. And still did.
He'd noticed — his gaze had swung to her, sharpened. "Dinner is served, my lord, my ladies." Cottsloe had bowed in the doorway, struggling not to beam. The whole family bar Edward was here, at home once more, and all was perfect in Cottsloe's world.
She'd been grateful for the interruption. Placing her hand on Luc's sleeve, she'd let him lead her in. Let him seat her at the end of the table, at the place she hadn't occupied since their wedding night.
The touch of his fingers trailing over her bare arm evoked a memory of past thrills; she'd considered sending him a frowning glance — instead, she got distracted, wondering… Luckily, the meal provided a diversion, especially with Portia and Penelope present. Portia, fourteen, was a hedonist, bright, cheery, and sharply intelligent. With her looks and her tongue, and her quick wits, she was so much like Luc that of the four, he found her most difficult to deal with.