The Wild Baron (Baron 1)

“Now you dissemble. I dislike your attempts at irony. You heard nothing they said?”

“No, my lord. More brandy? It was smuggled in from Calais just last Tuesday.”

Rohan said very slowly, “You know that my other brother is a vicar? A man of God? A devout young man whose future just might include becoming the Archbishop of Canterbury? A brilliant young man who is Bishop Roundtree’s acolyte, his protégé? Of course their meeting was just that, a meeting between two brothers. They were always close as boys. Why are you intimating that it was something else?”

“It’s very possible it wasn’t anything at all. But I ask you—why would a man

meet his own brother in the shadowy recesses of an old bookshop? There was something going on between them, I would swear to it. They didn’t want to be seen. By Lambert or Micah? I don’t know, but it quite set me to wondering for several days. I never saw young Carrington with his brother again. I am sorry, my lord.”

“No, Rohan, there’s no reason to kill the villain.” Phillip Mercerault was holding Rohan’s arm, tugging him back, away from McNally. “We’ve heard enough, at least for now. McNally can’t leave Oxford without either of us knowing of it.” He turned to the man then, saying, “If you remember more, you will send a message to Dinwitty Manor.”

McNally was many things, Rohan knew, but he wasn’t stupid. He had never in his life been stupid. Besides, all of them knew that it couldn’t harm his health to have aided two noblemen. “Yes, my lord. I do my best thinking in the twilight hours.”

“See that you stretch your brain,” Phillip said. “Come, Rohan, we will leave him be until tomorrow. If we think of more questions, I’m certain the dear man will be here and willing to assist us.”

“Certainly, my lord,” McNally said, rubbing his sore arm.

“Yes,” Rohan said slowly, “until tomorrow.”

23

“I SHALL KILL YOU! CURSE YOUR BEAUTIFUL EYES, YOU left me here to do nothing but eat Cook’s biscuits, tarts, scones, and those incredible apricot cakes. I nearly collapsed from all that wonderful food. I will begin to waddle. I will have to wear a corset. It’s all your fault for leaving me to wallow in this den of food iniquity. And what did you do? Whom did you see? Ah, it was unfair of you, Rohan, to leave me whilst I still slept. I will get you for this.”

He lightly laid his hand across her mouth, then pulled her against him. He kissed her hair. “You really think I have beautiful eyes?”

Phillip Mercerault was shaking his head. “All that, Susannah, and he heard only your compliment, which was surely unintentional in the first place. Hmmm. Or was it?”

She pulled back in the circle of his arms. “It was completely accidental. Phillip is right. Why did you batten onto that? I am angry, Rohan, outraged, really maddened. Your eyes are beautiful, but that’s nothing to the point. Now, what did you do?”

“I will tell you if you will kiss me first.”

“Sir, this is a gentleman’s residence. You are a gentleman visitor. I am a gentleman’s wife visitor. That isn’t proper, it isn’t—”

He kissed her very lightly, then tapped the end of her nose with his fingertip.

“I suggest, Rohan, that you fill her ears with our adventures. They weren’t adventures you would have enjoyed, Susannah. I promise you. Now, I beg of you, walk through my gardens and discuss Rohan’s eyes, what we did today. You know, Susannah, that Rohan—”

“Enough, Phillip. Enough. I will take Susannah for a nice long walk. We will see you at dinner.”

Phillip Mercerault gave them a mock bow. “As your host, I am gratified for any meager attention whatsoever that you choose to toss in my path.”

“Pay him no heed, Susannah. He will spend his time most happily making drawings of his crenellated tower.”

“Exactly.” Phillip Mercerault gave them a salute and took himself off.

“He is an interesting man,” she said, staring after him. “He is handsome, I thought that yesterday—not as handsome as you are, of course, but he is also fascinating. Why is he not yet married?”

“Phillip is a rake, a lascivious satyr, a . . . help me, I seem to have run out of the words that describe a man of his reputation.”

“Stop laughing at me. I want to hear everything. You want to walk in the gardens? Very well, I have already walked extensively in them and met Phillip’s three gardeners, but I will do it again. His gardens are quite lovely. Not as lovely as those at Mountvale House, but quite acceptable. None of the gardeners has a racing cat, though. Come along, my lord.”

He would have preferred to take her to bed, but it was not to be. She was being womanly, had been for the past three days, and it was killing him.

“Do you, uh, like the garden?”

“I just told you it is quite lovely—the way it is designed, there is so much color, so many gradations of color, and all the small paths are delightful. Why do you care? To a man of your reputation, a garden is just a garden, a place to walk, a place perhaps where you sniff now and again.”

“You don’t know everything, Susannah.”