a moment to see why. Lord Dreycott was studying the portrait of his great-uncle over the fireplace, his hands on his hips, his head tipped back. It was as though the two men confronted each other, the impression made more vivid because the portrait must have been painted when Simon Ashley was about the same age as his great-nephew.
The figure in the painting wore a powdered wig and a full-skirted suit of spectacular figured silk in powder blue. Ruffles and lace foamed under his chin, rings flashed on his fingers. But all the ruffles and silk in the world could not disguise the arrogant masculinity of the stance or the intelligence in the piercing green eyes that stared down at the room. Lina had looked at it many times over the past weeks and wondered what that dashing rake had been like before extreme old age had dimmed everything but his spirit.
Now she could see, for his heir’s resemblance to the young Simon was startling and, in his own way, he was dressed in as spectacular a fashion. Full black trousers were tucked into soft crimson suede boots, and a knee-length over-tunic of dark green figured silk was open over a white lawn shirt with an embroidered, slashed neck. His thick tawny hair was tied back at his nape and his pose made that determined chin and the long muscles and tendons in his neck even more obvious.
Lina could have sworn she made no sound, but she had only a moment to recover from the shock before Lord Dreycott turned. She dropped her eyes immediately, startled by a movement in the shadows at the back of the room. The man Gregor had also turned to look at her, his face impassive. He was dressed like the baron, except that he was all in plain dark blue save for his white shirt, and his hair was cropped short.
‘Miss Haddon.’ Lord Dreycott came forwards. ‘You will forgive my costume; I have no European clothing suitable for evening wear as yet.’
‘Of course, my lord.’ Who could object to sitting down to dinner with an exotic creature from the Arabian Nights or Childe Harold? She felt like a drab little peahen against his peacock magnificence.
‘Will you sit here?’ He pulled out the chair to the right of the head of the table, then took his own, which Gregor held. The man stepped back, folded his arms and gazed impassively over their heads as the footmen began to serve soup.
‘I have explained to Gregor that as it is highly unlikely that you intend to poison my food there is no need for him to taste it first,’ Lord Dreycott remarked.
‘Indeed, my lord?’ Lina said, so taken aback that she spoke without thinking, ‘As none of us knows you yet, we would have no reason to, would we?’ He raised his eyebrows at her forthright tone and she realised what she had said. ‘Forgive me, but do you have many attempts made upon your life?’
‘Enough to make me wary,’ he said. ‘It is hard to get out of the habit of precautions. Gregor, as you see, will watch my back whatever the setting.’
Lina choked back a laugh, the picture of the silent Gregor padding after Lord Dreycott at some society function tickling her imagination. The old baron had been outrageous, but he had never provoked her into almost giving way to giggles with her mouth full of soup. She could barely even recall the last time she had felt amused.
‘Must you call me my lord, Miss Haddon? I keep wondering to whom you are speaking.’
‘I am sure you will soon become accustomed to the title, and there is nothing else I may properly call you, my lord.’ Lina took a bread roll and tried not to stare at the richly embroidered shirt cuff so close to her left hand. Certainly she did not want to contemplate the tanned hand with a heavy gold ring on one long finger.
‘We could dispense with propriety,’ he suggested. ‘My name is Jonathan Quinn Ashley. No one calls me Jonathan and I suppose you will not accept Quinn as proper.’ She heard the amusement in his voice at the word. She doubted he often gave much thought to propriety. ‘You must call me Ashley, which is my surname. What is your given name?’
‘Celina, my…Ashley. But really, I cannot, it would be most unsuitable in my position.’
‘What position? You are a guest. And who are we going to scandalise?’ Quinn Ashley enquired. ‘Gregor is unshockable, I assure you. And after years in my great-uncle’s service I imagine Trimble and the staff are hardened to far worse behaviour than a little informality. Is that not so, Trimble?’ He pitched his voice to the butler, who was standing by the sideboard, supervising.
‘Indeed, my lord. My lips are, however, sealed on the subject.’
‘Very proper. Now, Celina, are we to dispense with the bowing and scraping?’
She looked up through her lashes and found he was watching her steadily. He did not appear to be flirting; his manner was friendly and neither encroaching nor suggestive. Her severe hairstyle and modest evening gown must be working, she decided. She doubtless looked the perfect plain housekeeper and was not in the slightest danger of any attempts at gallantry on his part.
‘If that is what you wish, Ashley.’ He nodded, satisfied, and went back to his soup. Lina took advantage of his focus on his food to study the strong profile. He looked intelligent and sensitive, she decided. How sad if he was the fifth son and all his brothers had predeceased him, as they must for him to inherit. ‘Did you have many older siblings?’ she enquired sympathetically.
He caught her meaning immediately. ‘No, no brothers or sisters. Quinn is for my mother’s maiden name, not short for Quintus.’ They sat back while the soup plates were cleared and the fish brought in. The steady green eyes came back to her face and she dropped her gaze immediately. Sensitive and intelligent, certainly, but also disturbing. When she caught that look she felt very aware that she was female. ‘Have you brothers and sisters?’
‘I had two sisters, Margaret and Arabella,’ Lina admitted. ‘But Meg left the country with her husband, who is a soldier in the Peninsula, and I do not know where Bella is now.’
‘So you are quite alone? What about this aunt?’ He did not appear shocked by her absence of family. Of course, an interrogation about her antecedents was only to be expected.
‘She fell ill and can no longer give me a home.’ Ashley poured white wine into her glass as the whitebait were served and she took a sip, surprised to find it tasting quite light and flowery in her mouth. It was positively refreshing and she took another swallow. She was unused to wine, but one glass could not be harmful, surely?
‘I see.’ For a moment she wondered if he was going to ask what she intended doing once he employed a proper housekeeper, a question to which the only answer was I have not the slightest idea, but Ashley simply nodded and reapplied himself to his food, which was disappearing at a considerable rate.
‘More fish, my lord?’ Michael proffered the salver.
‘Thank you. Forgive my appetite, Celina, we did not stop for more than bread and ale since London.’
She could not help glancing at the impassive man standing behind him.
‘We can try,’ Quinn Ashley said, apparently reading her mind. ‘Gregor.’
He growled something in a language Lina could not understand and Ashley said, ‘English, please, Gregor.’
‘Lord?’
‘Eat.’
‘No, lord.’ It was said with neither insolence nor defiance. ‘Later.’
Quinn shrugged. ‘Stubborn devil.’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘If the housekeeper can sit down to dinner with you, I do not see why your companion may not,’ Lina said. The silent man made her uneasy, but she hated the thought that he was hungry, and if he would not leave the baron to eat in the kitchen, then there seemed only one solution. ‘Michael, please lay a place for Mr Gregor.’
It was Lord Dreycott, not she, who should say who ate at his table, but the new baron was so unconventional that the words were out of her mouth before she could bite them back.
‘You hear, Gregor?’ He did