Chapter One
“There you are, Kitty! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Kitty Worth turned to find her best friend, Gwyn Hambly, looking unusually harried.
“You’ve found me. What’s wrong?”
“Please say know something about bees.”
“Bees? Why?”
“Because we’re in dire need of honey. Mr. Drake, who usually looks after the hives, has had one of his funny turns, Jarvis is getting the gardens ready for the wedding, and none of the other servants know anything about it.”
Kitty held up her hand to stop the flow of panicked explanations. “I’d be happy to help.”
Gwyn heaved a comical sigh of relief. “You’re an angel, thank you!” She shot a quick glance at Kitty’s dress. “Will you need to change?”
“Oh no, this has long sleeves. It should be fine. But I usually wear a bonnet with a veil to keep the bees away from my face. Can you lend me something? I’ll go and fetch my leather gloves.”
“Of course.”
Five minutes later Kitty was armed with a battered straw bonnet and a basket filled with a cotton cloth, and a large stoneware jar for the honey.
“And look at this!” Gwyn beamed, obviously delighted with her own ingenuity. “Leftover gauze from a ballgown I wore at Christmas. You can put it over your hat to stop you from being stung.” She tucked the bundle of fabric into the basket.
Kitty bit back a sigh. The sheer netting was blush pink, and gossamer thin. It was far more suited to a ballroom than a garden, but it was better than nothing, so she smiled her thanks.
“Where are the hives?”
Gwyn made an apologetic grimace. “Right at the edge of the formal gardens, I’m afraid. On the boundary between the woods and the fields.” She gestured to one of the many winding paths that led away from the house. “Follow that path past the maze, through the woods, and when you come out the other side, you’ll see an enormous field of wildflowers. The hives are on the edge of the field.” Her nose crinkled in concern. “Shall I find someone to show you the way?”
“No, I’ll manage. And besides, everyone looks busy.”
That was indeed true; a host of last-minute preparations were underway to get the gardens ready for Gwyn’s wedding to Lord Locryn, on Saturday. One groundsman was flattening the lawn with a huge iron roller, another was up on a ladder, furiously clipping the hedges that formed the famous Castle Keyvnor maze.
Kitty sent Gwyn a cheerful smile, guiltily relieved not to have to mingle with the other guests just yet. “I’ll see you soon!”
She gave a satisfied sigh as the chatter of the guests faded away. Brick and shell-lined paths meandered between flower-filled borders, and the summertime scents of cut grass, honeysuckle, and rose tickled her nose. This really was the most beautiful place to replenish the soul and lift the spirits. She’d visited Castle Keyvnor several times during her time at school with Gwyn, and the place held many fond memories.
The formal gardens gave way to lush, verdant woodland, and the serenity of the ancient forest calmed her as she ventured further into the trees. It was easy to see why the locals told tales of fairies and other wood-dwelling creatures; the place felt like it was infused with mystery and magic.
As if to corroborate that thought, a peal of feminine laughter floated to her on the breeze. It was so joyous, so full of mirth, that Kitty’s own lips curved in response, even as she wondered at its source. The sound had seemed to come from deep in the forest, rather than from the direction of the castle, but the trees must have distorted the sound.
The mix of different greens was incredibly soothing; shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy and dappled the fern-filled dells. Branches arched overhead like the pillars of a natural cathedral, and a deep sense of peace washed over her.
A peace that was abruptly ruined by the metallic clash of swords.
Good Lord! Was someone having a duel in the woods?
Kitty ducked instinctively, then hurried forward to investigate, staying low. The unmistakable sounds of battle got louder; the clang and scrape of blades, the muffled pants and curses of the combatants. She set down the basket and, heedless of her dress, dropped to her hands and knees and crawled forward. Peering around the trunk of a giant oak tree, she stifled a gasp.
James Cashell, Viscount Leighton, the object of her greatest frustrations—and most unladylike fantasies—was engaged in a deadly-looking form of exercise with another man she recognized as John Bryan, Earl of Somerton. Neither of them was wearing a jacket, waistcoat, or cravat; only a thin white shirt open at the neck, boots, and buff breeches.
Kitty’s face suffused with heat. She’d known her brother’s best friend had been invited—she’d made Gwyn triple-check the guest list—but she’d never expected to encounter him quite like this.
James’s face was fierce with concentration. His cheeks were flushed, his dark hair a disorderly wave over his brow. She hadn’t seen him since his return to England; he’d been wounded in the same battle that had claimed her brother Andrew’s life, and he’d spent the past few months recuperating in his London townhouse.
A shiver of awareness ran through her, a thoroughly feminine appreciation of a male animal in his prime. He was clearly back to full health now.
