“You had better have something to eat,” counseled Isobel. “You are looking a little green around the gills.”

Alec forked a helping of eggs onto his plate. Perhaps he ought to wash it down with a dram of whisky to fortify himself for the coming meeting. The purloined eagle wasn’t the only serious issue they had to contend with. There was the matter of—

“Love,” intoned Isobel.

His head snapped up. “What?”

“Love,” she repeated softly.

He swallowed slowly. “What about it?”

“I can’t help but wonder if in real life it happens the way it does in novels, with a flash of brilliant, blinding light.” She crumbled a bit of muffin between her fingers before going on. “Or whether it creeps up on you slowly and softly, and, well, simply sneaks its way into your heart.”

“You are asking me? I am hardly the right person to comment on the subject,” he muttered.

A flush rose to her cheeks. “I’m so sorry—that was horribly tactless of me. I—I wasn’t thinking.”

He shrugged off the apology. “Don’t look so stricken. The mistake is long in the past.”

“Where it should stay,” she replied under her breath.

“May I ask what prompted your question?” he inquired quickly, intent on keeping the state of his own heart from coming under scrutiny. “Is there something your older brother ought to know?”

“N-not really,” she stammered, her color deepening to a telltale scarlet. “I was just curious, that’s all.”

“Andover seems like a pleasant fellow,” he commented, just to tease her a little.

“Yes, very pleasant.”

“I didn’t say ‘very.’ ”

“Oh, goodness, look at the time.” After darting a desperate look at the clock, she rose so quickly that she nearly knocked over her chair in the process. “I—I had better go check with Cook on the preparation of the picnic basket,” said Isobel, and then fled from the breakfast room.

A smile played over his lips, but only for a fleeting moment as his thoughts returned to his own predicament.

Love.

What Caro wanted in a marriage—poetry, fire, passion—was just an oblique way of phrasing it.

Love. He made himself say it again, and let the echoes reverberate inside his skull. Did he dare believe the sentiment could be rekindled in his heart? Or perhaps the more important question was whether he was brave enough to risk striking up a spark, lest he be burned again.

It was, of course, safer to stay at arm’s length from fire. But safety suddenly felt awfully cold and dark.

Alec chewed thoughtfully on the last bites of his breakfast, then pushed aside his plate and headed out the back entrance for the mews, still lost in his musings.

Checking once more that the stolen antiquity was well wrapped in oilskin and well hidden within her reticule, Caro ducked her head into the morning room to take leave of her mother, then set off to meet Isobel and Andover in front of the Pump House.

It promised to be a very pleasant walk, for her friends were always good company. As for the coming meeting with Alec, the sunny mood would likely give way to stormclouds in a hurry.

“What a lovely afternoon for an outing,” called Isobel, fluttering a cheery wave. “I am so glad you suggested it.”

“Indeed.” Andover flashed an amused grin as he nudged his boot against the hamper sitting on the pavement beside him. “Though Miss Urquehart’s cook seems to think we intend to be gone for days.”

“She’s still trying to fatten me up,” replied Isobel. “I vow, I am already plump as a Strasbourg goose.”

“On the contrary, you look quite perfectly formed to me,” said Andover gallantly.

Caro noted Isobel’s answering blush with an inward smile. Things seemed to be taking an interesting turn between her two friends. They were, she decided, very well suited and had every chance of being happy together should the relationship progress to a proposal.

Tags: Cara Elliott Hellions of High Street Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net