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“Not the Lake. There’s…no shade. It’s hot.”
“I hadn’t thought you’d noticed,” she teased, eyeing his crisp white shirt and navy suit trousers. It was a wonder he wasn’t wearing a tie.
“When I’m working, I dress for work.”
“And the rest of the time for a funeral?”
She received another glower and bit back a laugh.
“I know there are certain duties attached to a dukedom, but my brother is an earl, and I’ve never seen him do a day’s work in his life.”
“From each, according to his ability,” quoted the Count drily.
Pea laughed. “Are you saying my brother wouldn’t make a good worker?”
“He’s a wastrel.”
Pea laughed again, because it was nothing but the truth. “Hang on though. Did you just quote Karl Marx? After yesterday’s…discussion,I would have thought you were allergic to socialists.”
“Know thine enemy,” said the Count. But when Pea looked at him there was a slight tilt to his mouth that could almost have been the hint of a smile. Had he made ajoke?
He sighed. “Of course I would like to fund the arts, Pea. I would like to pour billions into schools and fundeverything. But I’m also a realist.”
“But if—”
“Please.” He paused his step and turned toward her, looking down at her from under a lock of his black, slightly curling hair. It made a shocking contrast against the white cotton of his collar.
“Let’s not talk politics. Or I may as well have stayed at my desk.”
Pea nodded, glad when he looked away and they started walking again. That earnest look…it wasintense.
“OK,” she said, walking quickly to keep up with his long-legged pace. He slowed, without her needing to ask. “As we were talking of my dear brother… Are the rumours true? Does he really have a girlfriend? I mean, one that he’s seen for more than two days in a row?”
The Count smiled. Pea knew that Edward was one of the few people that could make him smile. Once, she had been too, but as they had got older, he had grown more and more stern in her presence and seldom smiled at all.
“It’s true,” he said. “But it’s a long story.”
“So tell me!”
He did. Pea listened, amused and incredulous in turns. By the time he had finished they were at… “The orangery?” She looked around at the already familiar stone building and pretty garden. “I hadn’t planned to come here.”
“Me neither,” said the Count with a shrug. “But it’s as good a place as any.”
He sat down in the shade of an apple tree and put the basket on the grass. Pea sat down too. She hadn’t packed a picnic blanket because she liked the feel of cool grass on her skin. But now she eyed the Count’s expensive suit trousers and crisp white shirt with concern. “Should I get a rug from in the house? You don’t want grass stains.”
“No. This is fine. Besides, I have to get back soon. Let’s just eat.”
Of course. Efficient. Methodical.
Pea started to lay out the food she had prepared. It was nothing really but sandwiches and fruit and a little cake. Probably not what his private chef normally prepared. But the Count took a sandwich without comment and bit deeply into it. Pea found herself watching the working of his hard jaw as though it was fascinating—when it clearly wasn’t. What was interesting about watching someone eat a sandwich?
It was only…he made it look somasculine. And she found herself wondering what else that strong, capacious mouth might be good for.
She picked at the grass in front of her.
“You’ll see Edward soon anyway,” said the Count, continuing their previous topic. “And probably his girlfriend too if she can make it. My aunt has invited them to the dinner she’s organising.”
Ah, yes, the dinner. Rose had talked to Pea about it yesterday evening. She had been going on and on about some daughter of her oldest friend who had just returned from New York and would now be attending. It had been clear she believed the Count was interested in this…Sophia. Pea nearly asked him, it would have been a good topic to tease him about, but something stopped her.
