She inclined her head toward the determined ring of chaperoned debutantes eyeing him like a juicy steak. “You’ve suddenly become eligible instead of scandalous.” That wouldn’t last long. “Typically, all the single ladies are convinced, since your elevation to the dukedom, that you are obviously in dire need of a duchess as soon as possible. Speculation is rife as to whom you are going to pick. There’s even a page in the betting book at White’s dedicated to it, or so Jeremiah says, filled with all manner of names, though not mine.” She pouted. “I am quite put out by that.” Then she laughed aloud at his shocked expression. “That was a joke, Giles! So don’t look so panicked. You are far too old for me, I think of you as a brother, and we all know you are besotted by my sister.”
Before he could argue she grinned. “We got your note but never expected to see you here tonight. We are all over there.” She pointed to the rows of chairs lined in front of a makeshift stage then waved, and several pairs of hands waved back. “Hugh has been sent to fetch you some champagne and Jeremiah some dessert because Minerva thinks you look as though you need both.”
She meant well. They all meant well, but despite all his efforts to get here, he still hadn’t had a moment with Diana and he couldn’t go another minute without having one. Preferably alone. “Champagne sounds splendid, Miss Vee, as does the dessert and the superior company well away from the vultures, but first Imust…” In the absence of a better excuse, he pulled an awkward face.
“Ah.” Ever helpful, Vee nodded in understanding and pointed to an open doorway to their left. “The retiring rooms are over there. Do you need an escort in case you are ambushed again?”
“Hopefully not—but if I am not sipping that champers beside you in ten minutes, strap on some armor and come and rescue me again.”
Even though it was in the opposite direction to the one he wanted, he headed to the open door in case Vee or the others were watching, then hugged the wall as he dashed toward the alcove before he fled through the closest French door into the night.
The terrace was empty. Hardly a surprise when it was as cold as ice outside. Giles squinted at every shadow yet saw no sign of her.
“Diana?” He didn’t bother whispering as there wasn’t another soul about to hear.
“Giles?” He heard her before she emerged from a topiary Buxus bush. He couldn’t suppress his smile or his joy to see her, and she offered him a somewhat begrudging but shy smile back. “My family said you were home—but I didn’t expect you would turn up here after such a long and tiring journey.”
He had come for her. He knew it, and in all likelihood now that he had clearly followed her outside, she knew it, too.
“Rest is overrated and besides, it is Christmas Eve.” He gestured back toward to the party in full swing behind. “How could I resist Lady Bulphan’s legendary concert of badly sung carols? I also heard rumors of some amateur theatrics. The Nativity I believe, set to music and written by Lady Bulphan herself. Howcould I not come?” He shrugged with awkwardness as he sauntered toward her, cursing himself for having no clue how to behave now he was finally here. With all his incessant pondering these past two months, why the blazes hadn’t he rehearsed something to say? Something erudite, flippant, and funny that broke the ice and put them both back on familiar territory.
“Are you in trouble?” Her instant concern touched him.
“No more than I was when I last saw you. So far nobody has crawled out of the woodwork to call me an impostor.”
“That’s good.” She glanced at her hands and that was that conversation done.
“How have you been?”
“Busy.” She was struggling to meet his gaze. “Everyone is apparently back in town for Christmas so there has been plenty of gossip to write.”
“Is that why you are out here now?” He gestured to the thick shawl she was swaddled in. It was more blanket than evening wear, no doubt brought intentionally in case her covert work brought her outside. “You are on the hunt for a story?”
“I needed to do something to pass the time before the concert starts, and nothing induces scandal more than Lady Bulphan’s potent wassail.” She gathered her ugly shawl tighter. “The outrageous Lady Sewell and her fake Russian count have already partaken of more than their fair share… so that should be entertaining. I know how much you adore them.”
“They certainly liven up even the dullest affairs. Have you ever noticed that when he is inebriated, the count quite forgets he is supposed to be Russian and some cockney slips out?”
She shot him an of-course-I-noticed look. “That is becauseCount Alexi Nikolaev is really plain old Mr. Alec Nicholls, a shopkeeper from Stepney. I checked. Months ago.”
“Of course you did. And you kept that to yourself because…?”
“He isn’t hurting anybody and her husband is a beast. It cannot be easy being married to that man.” He liked that she was rescuing Lady Sewell, too. Clearly the fearsome Sentinel kept more secrets than she ever exposed—which was reassuring seeing as she now knew his.
Giles still wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
He swung between remorse and relief that he had told her theDirty Secret, panic-inducing fear of imminent exposure in the press and the reassuring certainty that, no matter what, he had her on his side.
“Well done on that canal story, by the way.” Why was this so hard? Giles was as awkward as a green youth at his first ball. So desperate to impress a pretty lady but with no practical clue how. He blamed the kiss. It hovered between them unresolved. “Dalton has been sending meThe Tribuneand I followed those reports with interest. It blew up quickly once you printed it… buzzing hornets everywhere.”
She nodded as her teeth worried her bottom lip, dragging his eyes to it and reminding him of her taste. “There is a warrant out for the swindler’s arrest but—typically—he absconded as soon as his duplicity came to light.” Her fingers played with the tassels on the shawl.
“Another vile villain vanquished by the Sentinel’s slashing sword of truth.”
She rolled her eyes at his shocking, overworked attempt at alliteration. “How are things progressing on your estate?”
“I took your sage advice and visited every tenant to ask their opinions of my plans.”
“How did they react to the lord-of-the-manor knocking on their door?”
