“Miss Littleton, you are a sharp young woman, and I would expect you to notice when something feels... off. Don’t you find it curious how our quiet village is suddenly filled with so many unfamiliar faces? You wouldn’t believe the number of strangers passing through lately,” Mr. Barron said, his voice tight. “Letters, messages... they all come through my inn since it serves for the post. You’d be surprised what kind of news ends up in my hands. Ever since theTimesarticle about your excavation, men are talking.”
My thoughts turned to the stranger we had seen in the field. I had never seen him before, and Rafe had verified that there was an intruder as well. Even Mr. Perry believed someone had lurked around his cottage.
Was it simply a strange coincidence of timing with Mr. Beaumont, Lord Ainsley, and Mr. Harrington? I doubted Mr. Harrington’s involvement. He had been nothing but a gentleman.
“I invited Mr. Harrington and the Dilettanti,” I admitted uneasily. “Each man brings a wealth of knowledge regarding antiquitiesand can offer the means for museums to pursue further study of my findings.”
“Miss Littleton, many have offered to help the Perry family, myself included, but I find it strange that Lord Hawthorn is the one who spotted the thief, and yet the thief still got away. Doesn’t that seem a little too convenient? Especially for a man with a vested interest in the land?” Mr. Barron demanded.
Rafe had rushed into my drawing room, disheveled and worried. Could someone possibly manufacture such deep understanding of my love for history and compassion regarding my brother’s plight?
Mr. Barron nodded at my silence, his tight fingers finally slipping from my arm. “Please reconsider turning down my services, Miss Littleton. I know men, through and through. I would have protected your excavation. You’ll need it. Thanks to the article inThe Times, how can either you or the Perry family sleep at night?”
“That is quite enough, Mr. Barron. I thank you for your kindness, but I do not require your protection.”
I was aware of a presence behind me at the same moment Mr. Barron’s eyes rounded.
“The blazes, you don’t,” he muttered fiercely.
“Miss Littleton, forgive my intrusion, but I believe I have a dance with you.”
Rafe loomed over me. He held out a hand in invitation, so unlike Mr. Barron, and waited. The music had stopped, and new dancers were taking to the floor. Several pairs of eyes pivoted in our direction. Perhaps my voice had been louder than I intended.
Rafe continued waiting. I placed my hand in his, the touch searing through my glove.
Mr. Barron brushed past us, melting into the crowd, his navy coat adorned with gilded buttons and an elaborately tied cravat—every inch of him a picture of fashion. I inhaled a deep breath when I could no longer see his well-dressed figure. His words,however, played with my emotions as Lord Hawthorn led me to the dance floor. Had I misread the viscount’s intentions regarding his offer to have his men watch over the Perry farm?
Rafe had promised to send men to guard the mosaics. But where were they when Bacchus was stolen? Had they been outsmarted or simply careless? The theft weighed heavily on me, and I wondered if Lord Hawthorn had been too trusting of the men he hired—or if something more sinister was at play.
“You look... bewitching in that green gown, Miss Littleton.” Rafe’s gaze lingered on me, his hand resting at the small of my back, the pressure steady yet gentle. His thumb brushed just slightly against the fabric, almost as if he meant to memorize the texture.
“I do like green,” I murmured, my heart racing faster under his touch.
“A woodland sprite could wear no other color,” Rafe said with a faint smile.
I wanted to smile, but after Mr. Barron’s accusations, my heart only pounded harder.
He frowned. “I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion into your conversation. I saw Barron...” His gaze dropped to my left arm, to the skin right below the lace trim. His fingers skimmed the red mark ever so lightly. “Did he hurt you?”
Rafe’s jaw tightened, and I had the distinct impression that he would unleash his anger, and it would be a fearsome sight to behold.
“No, he did not,” I reassured him. My pulse skittered as he led me to the front of the dance line, as a peer would do. “Although his idea of polite conversation differs from mine.”
Already, far too many women whispered behind gloved hands, drawing the attention of their partners.
“Then I assure you he will never attempt such offense again,” Rafe promised evenly.
I arched an eyebrow. “He offered again to guard the dig. And he warned me about you.”
“Me?”
At the center of the room, I took my place with him by my side as the other couples found their spots for the dance. He leaned close. “What do you mean?”
Mr. Beaumont had escorted a pretty young girl in a white gown to the center of the dance floor. Lord Ainsley had a partner too. The quadrille began, and the pairs moved with practiced elegance, their steps synchronized to the enchanting melody. With the dancers swirling and looping, conversation proved futile.
I felt Rafe’s attention as we came together, broke apart, and came together, looping over and over, fingers brushing with the dance, yet I couldn’t bring myself to look in his eyes. Mr. Beaumont, when his shoulder grazed mine, smiled.
“Capital idea bringing us, Lord Hawthorn. You’ve convinced me that your country balls are delightful with such sumptuous fare to sample.”
