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Seth was doing most of the talking. Explaining what it was like to live out here and asking the man random questions about his life in London.
    Likely Mr. Appleton would be just as delighted to leave as she’d be after this was all over. She shook out and smoothed her skirts then went to the parlor.
    Just as she entered, the baron’s servant knocked on the door.
    Suppressing her disdain for the nobility and forcing a smile, she walked to the door, pulled it open and caught her breath.
    ***
    Giles instinctively tightened his fingers around the leather strap of his satchel and stared at the woman who stood just across the threshold, unsure what to say.
    “ Would you like to come in?” she invited.
    He bobbed his head once and stepped into the dwelling. Once inside, he continued to stare at her as the scent of honeysuckle surrounded him, calming him. Odd.
    She returned his gaze and it was all he could do to hold it. You must look at their eyes, Giles, Sister Catherine had scolded him almost daily. It was easy to do with this woman as she had the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen. Her husband won’t be happy when he comes out and sees you staring at his wife . His body jerked and every muscle in his body tightened painfully. “Mr. Whitaker,” he croaked.
    A wide smile came over her face. “I’ve been called many things, my lord, but never that.”
    Giles stood motionless. She’d just made a jest, he realized, otherwise she wouldn’t be smiling so broadly. How unfortunate that he didn’t understand it. “Where is he?” he practically barked, flushing.
    “ Forgive me, my lord,” she murmured softly. “I was only jesting. I didn’t mean to make sport of you.”
    He clenched his jaw. Wasn’t jesting and making sport of the same thing? Of course they were. The other boys always “jested” about him and roared with laughter. She wasn’t laughing, though. Not even smiling anymore. Perhaps, it was just a misunderstanding. Exhaling, he repeated, “Where is Mr. Whitaker?”
    “Dead.” She covered her mouth with her hand. Her face colored a violent red and she lowered her hand. “I’m Lucy Whitaker, the one who sent you the note. I signed it L. Whitaker because I didn’t think you’d come if you knew I was a single woman. Actually that’s not true,” she amended; her cheeks coloring. She frowned, then cleared her throat, but didn’t say anything further.
    Something Giles didn’t recognize twisted in his gut as the word dead echoed in his mind. What a shame that such a fine woman was left to be a widow. Moreover, how unfortunate that she’d been left to care for Simon alone. “I’m sorry.”
    She knit her brow. “Whatever for?”
    “Your loss.”
    “ My loss,” she said slowly. A few seconds later the left corner of her lips turned up. “My father has been gone for a while now, but thank you.”
    Father? He’d meant her husband. Surely a young woman such as her had had a husband. Any man would be fortunate indeed to have a woman like her as his wife. An uncomfortable and inexplicable lump formed in his throat. He blinked to clear his thoughts and swallowed. He’d spent the majority of his life uncomfortable, but it wasn’t the same feeling of discomfort as he had talking to her. He didn’t feel like running and hiding or wanting the floor to open up beneath him. Rather, his pulse raced and a hot tendril coiled in his gut. It was quite unnerving.
    “ Would you like to see your brother?”
    Giles started. “Of course.” A different sort of tension came over him as he followed Miss Whitaker down the hall. He and Simon might be brothers, but there was absolutely no brotherly love between them. Which still seemed to beg the question of why Simon would have sent for him.
    “He’s just through there,” Miss Whitaker said, gesturing to the room.
    Giles forced his heavy legs to carry him across the threshold and came to an abrupt halt. Simon lay in the bed, bruises and cuts covering every part