Mercutio’s lean face turned hard. “I am paid to care. And so are you. Do what was asked of you, and no one will be hurt. Fail?” He spread his hands again. “I cannot be responsible for the results. Now, go. Your pretty duke’s daughter will be expecting you.”

  He had little choice. Owen pivoted and went for his mount.

  Frustration sat like a second rider in the saddle with him. Every moment around the duke and his family, and he wondered at his own choices. Was it really worth ruining their lives, destroying their dreams, to save a horse?

  But it wasn’t any horse. It was Jasper. In a way, Owen was merely trading their dreams for his own.

  It still didn’t sound just.

  Chapter Seven

  Owen was in no kind of mood to play the charmer as he procured Petunia’s plums and returned to the castle. At least it now was only an hour until dinner, so he ought to be able to hide in his room until then and regain some semblance of civility. Perhaps this evening he could find a moment in His Grace’s library to look for clues as to his plans regarding Batavaria.

  But he hadn’t even set his foot on the stair when Mrs. Winters bustled down the corridor. White-haired, well-padded, she nodded to him.

  “Mr. Canady. The duchess is expecting you in the withdrawing room, if you please.”

  It pleased him not at all, but he couldn’t very well insult his hostess. He set down the two baskets of plums he’d purchased, put on a smile, and turned for the room she’d indicated.

  Not just the Duchess of Wey but Lady Bateman was waiting for him inside. Her Grace wore a simple blue gown with a few tucks around the modest neck, but anyone looking closely would have noticed the sheen of the fine material. Lady Bateman, in a grass-green frock with puffy sleeves, offered him a smile as he bowed before them.

  “Your Grace,” he said, straightening. “I understand you wished a moment?”

  Belle’s mother patted the empty spot on the sofa beside her. “Not just a moment, Mr. Canady. Several moments. It’s come to our attention that you have been spending time with our girls.”

  It took him a moment to realize she meant Belle and Petunia. Keeping his smile in place, he settled himself beside her. “Lady Abelona and Miss Bateman have been kindness itself to offer their friendship.”

  “And is it friendship you hope to offer in return, Mr. Canady?” Lady Bateman put in, russet brows up in question.

  “What more could a gentleman offer?” he asked.

  “An estate in Surrey,” the duchess suggested.

  “Or a townhouse in London,” Lady Bateman hurried to qualify.

  The duchess nodded. “Just so. Income to support either…”

  “And perhaps a carriage,” her friend added.

  “Character worth emulating,” Belle’s mother said as if building up a head of steam, like the engines being used in so many industries. “Friends who admire you.”

  “A charming presence in public,” Lady Bateman said. “Though I will grant you that one.”

  The duchess grinned. “And the ability to ride well. I’ll grant you that one too.”

  Even Uncle Wentworth had not been so exacting in his expectations. Owen’s cravat seemed unaccountably tight.

  “Tell me, Mr. Canady,” Lady Bateman said, edging forward on her seat as if she feared he was about to bolt like a foal startled by a rabbit. “Do you support the church?”

  “Support the church?” Owen repeated, stalling for time. What sort of support did she have in mind?

  The duchess apparently knew. “Giving of yourself,” she clarified. “Participating in events, tithing from your income, providing gifts to the less fortunate.”

  “Being of service to others,” Lady Bateman agreed.

  They demanded perfection. “I hadn’t considered the matter in that way,” Owen told them.

  The duchess patted his hand. “Time enough in a life well lived, with your wife at your side, Belle or Petunia.” She regarded him, brows up as if encouraging him to share his hopes.

  “You honor me,” Owen said, picking his words with more than his usual care. “Both Lady Abelona and Miss Bateman are fine ladies, and a fellow would be humbled to find himself betrothed to either.”

  The duchess cocked her head. “So, which one do you intend to become betrothed to?”

  If he said a name, he might find himself engaged by dinner. If he said nothing, the duchess could well order him from her home.

  “I cannot find it in myself to choose at the moment,” he said. “Neither has given me sufficient encouragement to assure me a suit would be well received.”

  “Ah.” She straightened and glanced to Lady Bateman. “Well, we can fix that, surely.”

  “Indeed,” Lady Bateman purred. “But I still would like more information about you, Mr. Canady. What is your aim in life?”

  “To live as a gentleman should,” Owen answered easily. That was as close to the truth as he could come.

  The duchess wasn’t content. “And that means?” she asked.

  “A home, a place in the community,” Owen extemporized. “Respect for my contributions and position.”

  “A family?” Lady Bateman asked.

  He had never dared to dream of such. He could not remember a happy family with his father and older brother, both of whom had been killed in the rebellion. His mother had done what she could, but their lives hadn’t been particularly happy either. And only the law required him to consider Uncle Wentworth family instead of master.

  “I can see family is important to you both,” he told them. “As it is to Lady Abelona and your sister-in-law, Lady Bateman.”

  “Family is important to everyone,” the duchess said, “whether they know it or not. I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Mr. Canady. I see great potential, but I think you may need to prove yourself, if only to yourself, before you’re ready to wed my Belle or Petunia.”

  ^^^

  Belle was pleased that Owen presented Tuny with a basket of plums, a red satin ribbon tied around the handle, as they were waiting to go into dinner that evening.

  “A gentleman who pays his debts, I see,” her brother commented with a nod of approval.

  “Particularly when the debt is owed to such a lovely and talented lady,” Owen acknowledged with a bow to Tuny.

  “Best I get these to the cook,” Tuny said, cheeks turning red, before hurrying to take them to Davis, who was on duty along the wall.

  “Nicely done,” Belle murmured to Owen as he watched Tuny.

  “I left another for you with your maid,” he murmured back.

  Now she was sure her cheeks were turning color as well.

  He was the perfect gentleman at dinner, dividing his time between Belle and Tuny on either side, and he took part in the games that evening in the withdrawing room. Her mother had taught them various entertainments over the years, so they had a set of family favorites. The Bateman girls, Peter, and Thal were invited to join them, and much merriment and laughter was to be had.

  They all headed upstairs together, and Belle could only smile at the tender looks flashing between Larissa and Leo and Callie and Fritz as they bid their betrotheds goodnight. Owen bowed over Tuny’s hand, and her friend blushed, but he didn’t even attempt to kiss her knuckles. And Tuny entered her room without a backward glance.

  Oh!

  How was she to ever find her own true love if she couldn’t see Tuny settled first? Perhaps it was her frustration that made sleep hard to find. The clock chimed midnight before she rose and lit a candle. What she needed was a good story, preferably with a happy ending, to see herself to sleep. She pulled on her quilted satin wrapper and padded down the stairs to the library.

  The cavernous space with its bookshelves along the walls and at right angles was like a maze, but she knew where the adventure novels were found. Thal had mentioned Mother had recently acquired a bound edition of The Talisman by the author of the Waverly novels, just the sort of thing for tonight. She lifted her candle with one hand and her nightgown with the other and ventured deeper among the treasure trove of knowledge.

  She had just located the book, the leather cover warming in her grip, when she heard a noise. She straightened, frowning. Were those furtive footsteps across the wood floor? The sound of a drawer opening? The only drawers were in her father’s desk, and surely he would have lit a lamp by now.

  Who was in the library with her?

  She blew out her candle and waited as the darkness wrapped around her. With the shutters closed on the windows, not even moonlight trickled in. Still, her father must have had a fire lit in the hearth at some point, for she made out its red glow as she peered around the bookcase.

  Silhouetted in the light, a man was standing beside her father’s desk. She could make out no features or even clothing. Belle crept closer.

  ^^^

  Owen hugged the wall as he slipped down the stairs. Very likely the duke kept his home in better repair than Uncle Wentworth had, but he was taking no chances a squeaking tread might awake a servant. The last thing he needed was someone offering to help him find his way.

  At least the duke left a wall sconce lit here and there so his guests could find their way if needed. He started down the corridor for the doors a footman had pointed out earlier to him. The library must have been huge, for he could not make out neither walls nor ceiling as he entered. By the light of a dying fire, he spied something large hunkering some ten feet distant. The desk, perhaps?

  He tiptoed across the floor. He had just reached the piece of furniture, which was indeed a desk, when a lamp sprang to life.

  Owen froze, lie ready on his lips.

  “Did you see him?” Belle asked, shaking out the sliver of kindling she must have lit from the coals.

  “Him?” Owen asked, willing his galloping heart to slow.

  “The fellow who was in here before you,” she explained. “I came downstairs for a book, but I heard someone else enter after me.”

  “A footman checking all was settled for the night?” Owen suggested. Anything to keep her from wondering why he’d suddenly appeared.

  “A footman who opens desk drawers? And any of our staff would have brought a lamp along.” She shook her head, and the light caught on her tousled curls. Belatedly he realized she was dressed for bed, a quilted robe hugging her curves. He made himself focus on her face.

  Immediately, she turned for the door. “We must find him.”

  If she had surprised an intruder instead of a staff person too busy to light a lamp and too frightened to admit as much, Owen could think of only one person it might have been. Mercutio’s man, the one who rode the chestnut horse. Surely he would react badly if Belle discovered him.

  In three steps, he put himself ahead of her. “Might I suggest we call for your head footman? You do not appear to be dressed for the occasion.”

  She tugged on her sash, tightening the satin around her. “I’m perfectly dressed to protect my home.”

  But not herself. She had been nothing but kind to him. He could not see her harmed.

  “And what a home,” he reminded her. “Miles of twisting corridors, dozens of rooms. It might be difficult to search them all by yourself.”

  She slumped. “You’re right.” She glanced back at the desk. “Still, a thief? Surely none would be so bold as to enter the castle, and I would think there would be easier things to make off with than the contents of Father’s desk.”

  Unless the thief had been after those contents. Owen’s questions to Mercutio earlier must have made the Italian doubt him sufficiently to employ his other so-called tool.

  “Perhaps we should check the desk,” Owen said. “See if anything is missing.” He started back that way, and she followed.

  “I have no idea what Father was storing, so I wouldn’t know if anything was missing,” she warned as Owen surveyed the teak desk. The top was surprisingly clean, enough so that he could make out an inlay of ivory in the shape of a unicorn, one leg extended and head down, as if it were bowing. Only one of the drawers had a keyhole, and there were no scratches around it to indicate the intruder had tried to force it.

  Owen turned to her. The lamplight shadowed her eyes, gilded her cheekbones. He might have stolen a kiss as easily as the intruder had attempted to steal her father’s secrets. She didn’t appear to notice as she puckered her face as if in thought.

  It had never been harder to pretend to be a gentleman.

  “You should tell your father,” Owen said, stepping back from her. “Tell the count as well. The Imperial Guards may be able to keep closer watch.”

  And if that stopped him from pursuing his goals, it might be all to the good.

  Wait, what was he thinking? He had to follow through on his task. He had to protect Jasper.

  “Good idea,” she said, oblivious to the thoughts churning madly in his mind. “I’ll go now.” Once more, she turned, only to look back at him. “Why did you come down to the library?”

  Owen opened his mouth, and her smile flared to life, stunning in its beauty. She seized his arm and gazed up into his face. “Please tell me you came down to meet Tuny!”

  “Alas, no,” he said, his own smile feeling tight. “Like you, I was searching for a book.”

  “Oh.” She puffed out a sigh as she released him. “Well, I can tell you where to find what you’re after.”

  Doubtful. “Thank you,” Owen said. “But I doubt any book would see me off to sleep now.”

  Chapter Eight

  Belle’s father was not pleased at her news when she woke him, even though she was careful not to mention Owen’s presence. Oh, most people wouldn’t notice the change in her father’s unflappable demeanor, but she saw the nostrils flare and the lips tighten.

  “Thank you for telling me, Belle,” he said. “I will see to the matter. Stay in your room until your maid comes for you in the morning.”

  To be a prisoner in her own home, even for her safety, appalled and rankled. But Belle nodded and returned to her bedchamber. She was only surprised how quickly she fell asleep and how well she slept. It was rather pleasant to be able to place one’s problems in the hands of a duke.

  Thursday, they were all to go on a picnic out along the Thames with Aunt Meredith and Uncle Julian. Belle went first to suggest to Constance, the older maid Tuny and Charlotte shared, that she put out her mistress’ blue-skirted gown with the plaid accessories. Tuny would look very fetching in her bonnet trimmed in plaid ribbon, a plaid scarf about her neck, and a plaid sash under her bosom.

  Owen was out riding when Belle came down to breakfast, and her mother, father, Leo, and Fritz were missing at the table.

  “Plotting strategy,” Larissa remarked when Belle asked.

  Callie, who was seated between her and their older sister, beckoned them closer as the Batemans chatted at the other end of the table. With her pale looks and quiet nature, people tended to overlook her sister, and they said the most outrageous things in her hearing as a result. Belle had no doubt Callie had already heard about the intruder.

  “Mrs. Winters told Davis and Wills to keep closer watch,” her sister reported. “Someone was in the castle last night.”

  Larissa frowned, but Belle nodded. “I came down to the library for a book and nearly caught him.”

  “I’m certainly glad you didn’t,” Larissa scolded.

  Belle wrinkled her nose at her. “Go on, Callie.”

  “Father wanted to dismiss all the temporary staff hired for the house party,” her sister said. “But Mrs. Winters convinced him they were all good sorts, and some sorely needed the extra income. One came all the way from Walton-on-Thames for the work. It wouldn’t be fair to dismiss them all when only one might be at fault.”

  “Well, whoever it was,” Belle said, “he’ll know we’re on to him now. I doubt he’ll be so bold as to try again.”

  “And if he does, Father and Leo will make sure there is nothing for him to find,” Larissa added.

  They turned their attentions to their guests then, until it was time to prepare for the picnic. Belle did her best to put the matter from her mind. She’d had a goal for this house party, and chasing intruders was not part of the plan!

  Her aunt and uncle arrived to join them. They had brought Fortune as far as the castle but left her in Mrs. Winters’ care for now to keep her safe. Unfortunately, that meant Belle had no opportunity to coax a different response to Owen from the cat.

  Instead, she tried to maneuver Tuny and Owen into traveling to the site together, but she somehow found herself with Owen in the gig her mother generally used, while Tuny climbed into the landau with her family.

  “This will not do,” Belle told him as he directed the horse along the lane that led toward the river. The royal carriage led the cavalcade, followed by their gig, then the landau, her aunt and uncle’s carriage, and the wagon carrying the necessary supplies. With a blue sky dotted with puffy clouds and the river rolling smoothly, she could not have asked for a better day, only a more cooperative couple.

  Owen glanced around at the gig. “Hood not deep enough to protect you from the sun?” he guessed.

  Belle adjusted her broad-brimmed hat so that one of the ostrich plumes curled down toward her ear. “The hood is perfectly fine. But there’s only room for two people.”

  “Ah,” he said. “I do believe there’s a saying about the sky being our chaperone.”

  “It’s the roof being our chaperone, and only if both parties have been invited to the same event,” she replied, nose in the air.

  “I would not have taken you for a stickler when it comes to the rules,” he said with a look her way.

  Belle shifted on the padded leather seat, her apple-red skirts brushing his boots. Hadn’t Tuny noticed how handsome he looked in his cinnamon-colored coat and tan trousers? The shadows from his tall-crowned hat made his dark eyes most mysterious.