She pondered that for several minutes, swaying in the comfortable dark, then a more pertinent question flared in her mind: Why was she letting herself get drawn into this?
It was nonsense, futile, a waste of time, energy and effort, none of which she had to waste, yet…given who and what he was, did she have any choice?
As the trees of Treleaver Park closed about them, welcoming them home, she inwardly sighed, set aside that question and faced what lay beneath. Acknowledged what it was that had had her spending the entire journey home focused solely on the machinations of Gervase Tregarth.
Underneath all lay her besetting sin—the one element in her makeup capable of tempting her into the reckless acts characteristic of her family. Curiosity.
Aside from all else, Gervase Tregarth had succeeded in stirring that sleeping beast to life. And that, she knew, could be exceedingly dangerous.
Chapter 3
The following afternoon, Gervase welcomed the festival committee—Mr. and Mrs. Juliard, Mrs. Caterham, Squire Ridley, Mrs. Entwhistle, and Madeline—into the drawing room at the castle. Sybil was there, too, patently pleased that he’d acted to involve himself in local affairs.
Whether Sybil had realized his motives he couldn’t say, but he felt certain Madeline had; the last to arrive, she greeted him with a distant civility that was a warning in itself. When, ushering her into the drawing room, he paused beside her, a fraction too close, she threw him a narrow-eyed glance, then swept regally forward to the vacant straight backed chairs facing the chaise. She chose the one beside Clement Juliard; as she settled Gervase took the chair beside her, exchanging an easy smile with the Squire as Ridley stumped up to claim the chair beside his.
“Now, then!” Mrs. Entwhistle cleared her throat. “We really must discuss the details of our Summer Festival. First, to confirm the date. I assume we’re sticking with tradition and the Saturday two weeks away. Does anyone see any difficulty with that?”
Numerous comments were made, but no one spoke against the motion.
“Right, then.” Mrs. Entwhistle ticked off that point on her list. “That Saturday it is.”
Gervase sat back and listened as under Mrs. Entwhistle’s leadership the group moved on to considering the various aspects of the festival itself—the booths, the entertainments, the competitions for local produce and wares.
&n
bsp; The exercise revealed a side of the rotund little matron he hadn’t before seen; she was surprisingly competent. He was well aware that the lady beside him was even more competent—and so was everyone else. On any point of contention, it was to Madeline Mrs. Entwhistle appealed, and her verdicts were accepted by all; while Mrs. Entwhistle ran the show, Madeline was the ultimate authority.
Beside Gervase, Madeline gave mute thanks that she’d delegated the mantle of festival organizer to Mrs. Entwhistle some years before; she wasn’t sure she could have focused sufficiently to adequately play the role—not with Gervase alongside her.
Especially not when, as he occasionally did, he leaned nearer—too near—and in his low, deep—too intimate—voice quietly questioned her on this or that.
Despite her adamant determinaton not to allow him to ruffle her feathers, he distracted her in a manner against which, it seemed, she had no real defense.
He—and his distraction—were a nuisance.
Unfortunately, both were unhelpfully intriguing.
Her curiosity had lifted its head and was sniffing the wind—not a comforting development.
On the ride to the castle, she’d attempted to ease her mind by telling herself she’d imagined the entire previous evening’s interaction. When that didn’t work, she’d tried to convince herself that he’d merely been joking, that his attention would have already wandered, as gentlemen’s attention so frequently did.
But the instant she’d met him in the castle front hall, the look in his eyes had banished such delusions. His focus on her had, if anything, grown more marked, even though, given the company, he screened it. His manner easy and assured, he was taking care that no one other than she glimpsed his true intent.
That realization sent a subtle shiver through her; that he was being careful suggested that whatever he had in mind, he was taking this game of his seriously.
Gervase Tregarth seriously intent on her—on learning about her, not the lady but the woman—wasn’t a thought designed to calm.
Much less sedate her rising curiosity.
He leaned closer again and quietly asked, “Are there any contests like archery and…oh, bobbing for apples—the sort of entertainments that appeal to youths?”
His eyes met hers; at such close quarters, the green-flecked amber exerted a dangerous fascination. She blinked and shifted her gaze to Mrs. Entwhistle. “No, there haven’t been…but you’re right. We should have some contests to keep the older lads amused.”
Raising her voice, she made the suggestion, crediting him with the idea.
Mrs. Entwhistle quickly added archery and apple-bobbing to her list of amusements; when she looked inquiringly at Gervase, he agreed to organize the events.
Squire Ridley volunteered to ask his stable lads what other contests they would like to see, then have them arrange the events.