Standing by the white marble mantel, Lucien flashed a triumphant grin when the little wolf appeared in the parlor doorway of Crossmoor Abbey early that evening.
“Aunt Sylvia, I—” Meg stopped with a noticeable jolt, her eyes widening.
“Ah, Meg, there you are,” the Dowager Lady Hullworth said with a fond smile. She had a soft spray of wrinkles beside her temples, where moon-silver strands were pulled back into a pair of combs. “You’ve been so busy with whatever you were doing in the attic today, I didn’t have a chance to tell you that we were having a guest for dinner. I should like to introduce you to the Duke of Merleton. Your Grace, this is my niece, Margaret Stredwick.”
He bowed but made no move to cross the room to her. For some unknown reason, he wanted her to come to him. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Stredwick.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot,” Sylvia said. “Lucien mentioned he’d met you in the garden this afternoon.”
“Lucien?” Meg’s brow knitted in confusion at the familiarity, her hand falling to the doorknob as if she needed the support.
Sylvia nodded. “We are old friends, you might say. I’ve known him since he was at Eton with your cousin. So many years ago.” Her smile turned wistful as she spoke of her late son, who had been a good man, a brilliant man, that Lucien had admired. “But Meg, shame on you for not saying anything earlier.”
“I . . .” She swallowed. But when she glanced at him, something in his countenance must have revealed his enjoyment of her discomfiture, because she squared her shoulders at once. “The encounter completely slipped my mind. My apologies.”
His mouth twitched as she slid an unapologetically icy glance his way.
But Lucien had already anticipated this cold reception, calculating that it would take a certain degree of charm to keep his name on the guest list while he remained to search for the book. “Understandable, considering you had your hands full at the time. Delightful child, by the by. Your brother must be proud.”
The women exchanged a glance before Meg quickly interjected. “Yes. He is undeniably fond of her.”
Draped in a gown of dark indigo satin, she stepped farther into the parlor, moving with poise and grace. As the fabric shifted and caught the candlelight, he noticed the changes in her. In the two years since they’d last met, her face and figure had altered somewhat. Where her cheeks were once rounded, they were now more refined, sculpted in a way that drew even more attention to her startlingly clear blue eyes and those lush red lips. And it seemed that any plumpness in her mien had drifted down in subtle degrees to her fuller breasts and to the enticing curve of her hips.
Somehow during their time apart, she’d become even more stunningly beautiful than before.
“I believe you referred to her as Guinevere. Not a very common name, is it?” he asked pointedly, needing to keep his thoughts directed on his purpose. Allowing himself to be distracted by her was far too costly an error, he recalled.
“No, it is not.”
“I believe it derives from Arthurian legend,” he said, watching her closely. “I was well acquainted with your brother years ago, but he never mentioned an interest in the old stories. Perhaps it is a great family secret.”
Her throat tightened infinitesimally on a swallow. “Or perhaps it is merely a coincidence.”
The instant she said the last word, her brows knitted as if she knew her mistake. As if she knew he was thinking that there was no such thing as a coincidence.
“It is a pity that Brandon could not be here,” Sylvia offered from an upholstered armchair, her gaze flitting from Meg, who eased down onto the cream-colored sofa on one side of the low oval table, to Lucien, who sat in a chair directly opposite. “He is away with his wife, her two aunts and their son, Johnathon.”
Thinking about the little girl who’d wandered alone into the garden, Lucien was confused. If Hullworth had taken his wife and son, then why would he leave his daughter behind? Then again, perhaps he thought she was too young to travel.
But he pushed the question aside and continued his cat-and-mouse game.
“Would those aunts be the Parrish sisters?” he inquired and felt Meg’s nervous glance on his profile. He wondered how much her family actually knew of her exploits.
Sylvia tilted her head. “Are you acquainted?”
“I was fortunate enough to make their acquaintance on my travels, years ago.”
“Is that so?” she answered and smiled softly, her gaze shifting to her niece and back to him again as if she were watching a badminton match on the lawn. “Well, then, I shall have to do my utmost to implore you to stay in Wiltshire until they return.”
“I’m sure His Grace has other affairs that require his attention,” Meg interjected. “Let us not force him to feel obligated.”
“As it would happen,” he said, “I have no fixed engagements at present. My sister and cousin will be joining me in a day or two at the village inn.”
“Oh, but you must stay here. Brandon would surely enjoy seeing you on his return and would be quite cross with me if he learned you were staying anywhere else,” Sylvia insisted.
Meg opened her mouth to respond, but Lucien spoke first. “I would be delighted.”
“Then, it’s all settled. You’ll stay at Stredwick Lodge, where our bachelor guests reside.”
A separate house for unmarried men was certainly something he would expect from a man like Hullworth, who’d always valued his family name and reputation. It was just one more piece of the puzzle that Lucien added to the pile with all the others.
When the butler appeared in the doorway, Sylvia stood. “Lucien, would you be so kind as to escort Meg to dinner? And I’ll just send a footman to the village for your things, if you are amenable.”
“I am, indeed.”
* * *
No. No. No! Absolutely not, Meg thought all throughout dinner.
This couldn’t be happening. Just when she was hoping to be rid of him, Aunt Sylvia invited him here? And worse, she knew that look in her aunt’s eyes. Even though she usually saw that conspiratorial glee brightening Maeve’s and Myrtle’s gazes, there was no mistaking when a relative’s thoughts turned to matchmaking.
Drat! Now what was Meg going to do? Doubtless her aunt was already contemplating ways to throw the two of them together.
As if reading her thoughts, Aunt Sylvia brushed the napkin across her lips and smiled. “My nephew is so very content in his marriage. Have you given the state of matrimony any thought, Lucien?”
Meg nearly groaned. She was playing right into his hand and didn’t know that he had an ulterior motive. If the past had proven anything, he wasn’t going to leave until he had the book. That was the only reason he was exhibiting so much charm, deceiving her aunt like he’d deceived her with the same ploy.
His not-so-rare-anymore dimple winked with triumph across the table. “I have never declared myself against it. After all, a man must think of the future and the legacy he leaves behind.”
“Then, you must plan to have children one day.”
He inclined his head. “I would be able to think more clearly on that topic once I have a few things settled. You see, someone stole something from me—a book, an heirloom, actually. It is part of that legacy I mentioned, and I must do whatever I can to reclaim it.”
“How awful for you,” Sylvia said, and Meg rolled her eyes. “I do hope that it is returned to you posthaste. If there is any way that we can assist you, we would be more than glad to be of service.”
He claimed it was stolen, and yet Meg knew better. It was clear to her that, at some point, he must have lost it. Either that or someone else had taken it—the real Lady Avalon, perhaps? But once again he had the ludicrous notion that she was responsible. Well, if he had bothered to read any of her letters, then he would have realized she’d been far too busy.
“That is very kind of you, ma’am,” he said. “If only I had the assistance of one who not only had a cunning mind but also knew of the old Arthurian legends, then I could find a way to reveal the culprit sooner.”
“Oh, but Meg is exceedingly sharp and knows those stories by heart. The two of you must work together. In fact, we have all manner of old manuscripts throughout the manor that pertain to that legend. She could show you where they are, and you could peruse them at your leisure.”
Meg growled into her wine goblet.
“I would hate to impose,” he said smoothly, his eyes glinting behind his spectacles as he looked across the table.
If they had been playing chess, she believed he would have said Check.
“I’m certain it would be no bother. Would it, Meg, dear?”
Resigned for the moment, she set down her glass. “No bother at all.”
He grinned again. Check and mate.
“In the meantime,” Aunt Sylvia said, “perhaps the two of you could tour the side garden, where there is a hill that overlooks the bachelor’s lodge. I’m sure your things have already arrived. Meg, you wouldn’t mind, would you? I think it’s time for me to retire for the evening.”
The sound of the slow grating of her molars filled her ears as she fixed a smile in place. “I’d be delighted.”