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“I like rough, wild storms that rattle the windows.”

“Rhewlaw.”

As Reina looked into his dark eyes, she felt as if her heart had been knocked loose and heartbeats were scattering into places they didn’t usually go.

“I’ve never been to Wales,” she managed to say. “What is it like?”

“Beautiful, but not in a gentle way. It’s a rugged country, with mountains full of coal and slate. A land of dragons and castles, warriors and poets.” He leaned forward in the chair, relaxed, with his hands held low and lightly steepled. “Three-quarters of it is bounded by seacoast and rough water. There are long stretches of sandy beach . . . but also rocky cliffs that bare their teeth at approaching ships.”

“And the people? What are they like?”

“Cymry are proud and stubborn. Hardworking. Bred tough to the bone. We drink, sing, brawl, and love, usually longer and harder than we should. ‘Barbarian’ is the word often applied by people who want to turn Wales into the west side of England. They’ve done all they can to stamp out our language. But it’s ours, and we’ll be speaking it as long as the last one of us still breathes.”

The household settled into the night, all its internal rustling and distant clattering and footsteps and muffled voices extinguished. Soon the conversation broke loose and wandered freely. Reina told him stories about growing up in the house on Walters Street, and in turn he described his life at the estate of Lord and Lady Tredegar in Cardiff. He told her about his friendships with the Tredegars’ sons, Owain and Lloyd, with whom he was close in age. The three had studied together during afternoon lessons from visiting tutors, or roamed and played outside when Pembroke could steal away from his chores.

Thanks to the lord and lady’s benevolence, Pembroke had been taught to ride, fence, dance, and write like a gentleman. They had decided he was a good influence on their boys, a suitable companion to keep them occupied and out of mischief. Pembroke had appreciated their generosity. But it had hardly escaped him that Owain and Lloyd were being prepared to occupy a high position in life, whereas he would always belong to the working class.

“What became of them?” Reina asked.

He replied as he went to replenish their empty glasses. “A few years back, the old housekeeper wrote that Owain married and still lives at the estate, waiting to inherit. As for Lloyd—an army commission was bought for him. I believe he’s stationed in Ireland.”

“You don’t correspond?”

“No. There was a rift when it came time for Owain to leave for Oxford. Lord and Lady Tredegar expected me to go with him, and I refused.”

“But Oxford . . .” she protested.

He handed her the glass of wine. “What it was, they wanted me to go as his personal servant. I wouldn’t have been able to attend lectures. I would have spent my time brushing his clothes, polishing his shoes, cleaning his room, making tea and boiling eggs—” A wry pause. “Not that I was above such work, mind. But it would have been hard to live at college with no chance of learning. And I couldn’t leave Mam at the estate with no one to look after her.”

It had begun to rain outside, drops pelting the slate roof and stitching a cocoon of intimacy around them.

Reina lost all awareness of time passing, as the shadows deepened and the wine dipped lower in the bottle. The conversation was relaxed, winding its way through commonplace things, but it felt somehow as if secrets had been tucked between the words.

Eventually Pembroke rose, went to the hearth, and deftly banked the fire.

Reina’s gaze darted to the mantel clock. Only two minutes until midnight. “Oh,” she faltered, blinking in consternation, “is it that late already?” The magic spell, as fragile as soap bubbles, began to dissolve.

Pembroke paused in the middle of raking ashes over the coals and glanced over his shoulder. “What’s troubling you?”

Her voice came out more plaintive than she would have liked. “The time went so quickly, and I was enjoying it so much.”

He set the rake into the hearth stand and came to her. His handsome face was shadowed as he looked down at her with a faint smile. “I enjoyed it too,” he said.

“But now it’s all about to change. You won’t be the same with me. We won’t be able to sit and talk as friends.” She fidgeted with the gold pencil.

In an easy movement, Pembroke lowered to his haunches so their faces were level. “You don’t need that from me,” he said gently. “What you need is for someone to put you and your interests first. Someone to make your life easier so you can set yourself to the work that only you can do. I’ll be that for you. If you need an escort, I’ll accompany you and keep you safe. But that means you’ll have to speak to me in a different way than you would a friend.”

“As in . . . give orders?”

“Aye. I’m yours to command. Starting in . . .” He tugged a pocket watch from his waistcoat and consulted it. “. . . thirty seconds.”

Her heart started thumping, and she let out an unsteady laugh. “I feel so anxious. As if you’re about to disappear in a puff of smoke.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Her gaze fell to the face of the watch as the second hand ticked its way to midnight, and lifted to his again. “Pembroke,” she said urgently, and compelled by a feeling she couldn’t put a name to, she whispered in the next breath, “John.”

His face changed, his focus sharpening as if she’d startled him.