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There were only a handful of things it could be, given the man who carried it. “It must conceal something.” She took the handle in one hand, held the length of it with the other, and gave a twist.
A quiet “click” was the only sound it made, and she raised her eyebrows in alarm and held the thing out to its owner. “Did I break it?”
He laughed softly as he accepted it from her. “No. Merely unlocked the secret.” Then he pulled the handle and wood apart by no more than four inches, but it was enough for her to catch the shine of metal and a sharp edge.
“A concealed blade,” she whispered, and tales of daring bandits and spies flooded her mind. “But why ever would you have need of such a thing?” And why had he shown her the secret?
“Why indeed.” He slid the blade home again and, with a quick twist of the handle, she heard another soft click. “As you might know, Miss Frost, not everyone in Britain has a love for my family or the peerage.” His smile was sad again. “I have reason enough to forgo the frivolity my friends enjoy.”
Isleen couldn’t let him linger on his morose thoughts. “While there is truth in your words, my lord, this is the very time and place to indulge in a little merriment.”
“Hm.” The sound was a hum of noncommitment. “Would you care to take a walk through the gardens before we go to Lambsthorpe, Miss Frost? Since we are already both outside. Is that merry enough for you?”
Isleen stuck her chin out. “It is not, my lord. In fact, I have another challenge for you.”
His forehead wrinkled as he frowned down at her. “You do? So soon?”
“You forget, my lord, that I have no wish to lose. My only sure way to win is to set you on as many tasks as I can think, as you must turn down at least one if I am to avoid my fate beneath the mistletoe.”
His eyes smiled even if his lips did not. “You are determined to avoid a stranger’s kiss, aren’t you?”
She let the Irish of her soul seep into her simple answer. “I am, and so I will.”
“You better tell me the worst of it then.” He tucked the walking stick beneath his arm. “What are you demanding of me today?”
He wasn’t upset with her after the night before. For his silly clothing and the way people looked at him. His pride hadn’t driven him to anger. Which meant she could try out the other things she had dreamed up after her foray into the schoolroom.
“Nothing too difficult, I can promise you that.” She couldn’t help grinning up at him, and he had the good sense to appear uneasy. The poor man. She almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
CHAPTER9
Simon waited, already on horseback, for the others to join him for their visit to Lambsthorpe. His black hunter waited patiently beneath him. The horse had already been well exercised with a morning ride. The trip down the hill and to the village was a mere stretch of the legs for the athletic creature.
But Simon’s thoughts kept him fidgeting.
Miss Frost had somehow discovered yet another of his weaknesses, and she knew how to use that weakness to her advantage in their foolish wager.
Poetry had never been Simon’s strong suit in his studies. First a tutor, then later schoolmasters and professors, had challenged him to write poetry. Not because he had a talent for it, but because all English schoolboys were expected to understand the creative arts. What better way to understand Shakespeare, Donne, or Wheatley than by forcing busy-minded youths to create their own versions of sonnets? Even if the meters were dubious and the rhyming scheme horribly skewed.
Matters hadn’t been helped when a schoolmate of his had given him theManipulus Vocabulorum, a two-hundred-year-old rhyming dictionary.
His Cambridge professor had not expressed the amusement that Simon had hoped for. But Andrew had laughed long and loud after reading the poem Simon had written. A poem about a maiden’s eyes of ‘green’ and a particularly robust ‘spleen.’
“Andrew,” Simon muttered aloud, and the horse flicked its ears at him. Of course, Andrew had to be divulging all of Simon’s secrets to the Irish woman. Well, Simon would have his revenge. Josephine wasn’t above playing pranks on her husband, and he had plenty of ammunition to give her from Andrew’s school days. “Then we will see if he finds it funny.”
If the carriage driver heard Simon’s muttering, he gave no indication of it.
Still, Simon pressed his lips together over all the words he wished to say. Dukes and future dukes didn’t talk to themselves.
Voices echoed from the pre-guard room out into the December air. At last, the others had gathered. Luca, Emma, Andrew, Josephine, Isabelle, Rosalind, and Miss Frost came out together. The five ladies would ride in the carriage, while the two remaining men had their horses waiting to ride alongside Simon.
And hopefully, no one was in a talkative mood.
Luca and Andrew helped their wives, Miss Frost, and Simon’s sisters into the carriage before they came out to mount their horses where the grooms waited.
Andrew came up beside Simon immediately, eyebrows raised to where they nearly disappeared beneath his hat. “What’s this, Simon? Already outside? I didn’t know you had such enthusiasm for a shopping trip.”
