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Her cheeks were ruddy but the rest of her skin was pale—almost gray. Something was wrong surely?
“What’s happened?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” she replied hastily. “At least not yet.” She ducked lower behind the bush when a bird ruffled its feathers in a nearby tree.
He took her arm and led her toward the stone temple. Tucked against a cluster of carefully placed trees and bushes, the Temple of Athena—erected by his grandfather—offered a place to take tea, shelter from the weather, or as it happened, hide from view of the house.
He led her up the few steps and into the shady confines of the small stone building. “I cannot have a conversation with you like this,” he explained, releasing her arm.
“Charlotte helped me get in.” She clutched a broken piece of twig and moved it from hand to hand.
“But of course.”
Her ability to make friends with the servants should not have surprised him. Something about her charmed people. He’d even overheard some of the servants saying they missed her, for goodness sakes. He did not think he had charmed a single person in his life—or at the very least his adult life. Who he had charmed when he was younger, he could not say, but he’d had few troubles with women back then.
Another reason for him to shove her from his mind really. They were so different.
Their appearances offered a similar reminder. Here he was, in a damp shirt and towel, his feet bare, his hair wet and out of control and his beard so long it had started to itch.
Chastity, despite being smuggled in and hiding behind bushes, remained polished. He pressed his lips into a smirk. Every inch the lady despite her antics. Her cool blue gown, finished with delicate points of lace and a fichu so wispy it might not exist made her appear younger than her thirty years. She reminded him of a debutante, all innocence and hope. Certainly not the sort of woman who should be spending time with a half-naked, jaded liar of a man.
“And why exactly are you here?” he asked when a breeze swished in between the pillars of the building, reminding him of his damp state.
“I could not think of any other way to see you.” She snapped the twig in half and tossed it to the ground. “You never leave.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“And I could not very well call on you as someone would surely recognize me.”
“Well, you are here now. So what is it you need? Have you discovered something else?”
She bit down on her bottom lip, leaving it slightly red and plump. “You will not like it.”
“Like what you have discovered?”
“Any of it.” Chastity waved a hand vaguely then lifted her chin. “I went to the inn to speak with that lady from before—the one with the cane?”
“You were right. I don’t like it.” He shook his head vigorously. “Did you go alone?”
“I took my Aunt Sarah,” she protested.
Oh wonderful. She and her aged aunt ventured into one of the most notorious taverns in London to speak with a madam. Just perfect.
“You should have asked me to go.”
She fixed him with a look. “She would never have told you anything. She hates men.”
“Men make her living,” he pointed out.
“I hardly enjoyed scrubbing floors, but maids still make their living that way. Just because she earns her coin that way does not mean she likes those paying the wages.”
“True,” he grumbled.
“Anyway, I came because I need your help.” She looked at him, then glanced to the floor, scuffing the stone floor with her polished boot.
“You know, you could have sent a note.”
“I did not want to give you the chance to say no.” Her gaze met his. “Or ignore me.”
