Sweet Enemy (19 page)

“But if you did? Humor me.”

“Truly, I have no idea,” she said. “Music never was my forte.”

“Come now, Liliana,” Geoffrey cajoled. “Surely there is a composer you favor over all others.”

She hated answering when she was unsure of the subject matter. But she could see he would pester her until she responded. “Handel, I should think.” She blurted out the first composer to come to mind.

“I see,” Geoffrey said in a way that left Liliana wondering what exactly it was he thought he did see. “Interesting choice.” Geoffrey brought one long-fingered hand to his mouth and rested his first two digits just below his bottom lip. He cocked a raven brow. “Handel never married, did he?”

“I have no idea,” she answered. What an odd observation. Geoffrey must have marriage on the mind—well, how could he not, considering his guest list and how doggedly he was being pursued?

“Perhaps Aveline’s interpretations have merit after all,” he said.

Liliana tilted her head. “Pardon?”

Geoffrey leaned forward, resting elbows on knees. “You chose Handel, a composer whose life mirrors your own.”

“I don’t see—”

“Handel’s family insisted he forget music and pursue law, a more practical gentleman’s pursuit. His mother alone encouraged his musical aspirations, yet he went on
to arguably create one of the most memorable contributions to musical history with his
Messiah
. And,” he pointed out, “Handel paved the way for composers after him. In fact, Beethoven himself has said Handel was the greatest composer to ever live.”

Liliana’s breath stilled in her chest. She hadn’t known any of that.

“You told me this morning you were a chemist. I am certain people in your life have discouraged you from it. Yet someone, like Handel’s mother, encouraged you, yes? Not your aunt…”

Liliana shook her head, her gaze riveted to his blue one. “My father,” she said softly.

Geoffrey nodded. “I expect you hope to make some lasting contribution to the world in that regard. My mother mentioned you’ve applied for acceptance into the Royal Society and have been turned down.”

“Seven times in the past three years,” she found herself saying. “But I refuse to give up. Someday, men will recognize that women and science are not incompatible. If I am not the first woman member of the Royal Society, then I can at least hope my efforts will help pave the way for whoever is.”

“My point exactly.” He watched her, assessing, with no hint of mockery or disdain.

Liliana took a shallow breath and pulled her head back slowly, feeling exposed and vulnerable. She had the most uncomfortable feeling he was looking right into her very heart.

Dear God, she was the one who was supposed to be getting answers from him—and yet he’d gotten her to unknowingly reveal intimate parts of her soul just by uttering a name.

She was in over her head.

“Forgive me,” Geoffrey murmured and sat back against his chair. “I’ve upset you.”

She hazarded a glance at him. His eyes were hooded, his brows drawn together with puzzlement.

“No, I…” She cleared her throat and called forth a polite smile. “I am just a bit taken aback. I…” She probably sounded the idiot. Now she would look like one, too, for she couldn’t stay here with him a moment longer. She stood abruptly, knocking her chair with the back of her knees. “Please convey my apologies to Lord Aveline,” she said, backing out of the row. “Tell him I am a bit flushed, after all, and that I will join him later this evening.”

Liliana didn’t wait for Geoffrey’s response, didn’t want him to see any more in her face than he already had. She fled the music room.

Her equilibrium returned in bits as her long-legged stride carried her farther from Geoffrey, as she pondered their conversation. He’d shown no flicker of response when she’d mentioned her father. No remorse, no acknowledgment that he’d ever heard of Charles Claremont. Was it possible he knew nothing about her father’s death?

Perhaps. But scientists didn’t make assumptions. They proved or disproved premises. Tomorrow, when they went riding, she’d risk asking him a few pointed questions and gauge his responses.

Still, she mustn’t forget that even if he knew nothing, she could not count on him to help her find justice. She’d run her finger over the raised seal of Stratford hundreds of times since she’d discovered her father’s cache.

Fidelitas ut prosapia.
Loyalty to family. Liliana hadn’t needed a translation of the family motto—Latin was the language of science, after all.

Someone in Geoffrey’s family was responsible for her father’s death, and she fully expected that when the time came, Geoffrey would protect his own.

Movement caught her eye as she passed by the hallway that led to the library. Was that—? She turned quietly, inched back to the opening and peered around the corner.

Someone exited the library, and not in the way one
would had he been there just perusing. The hallway was shadowed, so she couldn’t make out a face. The man turned away from her and walked at a fast clip in the opposite direction.

She couldn’t be certain, but the tall, lean frame brought to mind Lord Aveline.

Why on earth would Aveline be sneaking from the library when he’d been supposedly fetching champagne?

T

As Liliana slipped inside the stable door, a glow of soft light shone from the far stall. The rumble of quiet male voices echoed back to her and Liliana instinctively stilled, keeping to the shadows. There’d been no one about yesterday when she’d appropriated Geoffrey’s mare, and though he’d given her permission to ride Amira this morning, she had little desire to explain herself to a stranger, particularly dressed as she was in breeches. Funny, it didn’t seem to bother her that Geoffrey saw her thus.

“—very ’appy, Major. Can’t thank you enough,” a man said.

“The war is over, Tom. You needn’t address me so anymore.”

Geoffrey’s familiar tones flowed through Liliana like a good glass of sherry, leaving her relaxed and rather warm. She shook off the effect and continued toward Amira’s stall.

“M’lord, then.”

Geoffrey’s low laugh struck Liliana as rather self-deprecating for a man of the nobility. “Certainly not that, my friend. Not after all we’ve seen together. I’d prefer you call me Geoffrey, but I can see from the look of horror on your face that you won’t do that. Shall we settle on Stratford?”

“Don’t seem proper, sir, given you’re an earl now,” the man answered, his voice dubious. “But if you insist.”

“I do.”

Liliana stopped short of the stall, taken aback by the men’s odd conversation. Geoffrey was apparently encouraging someone below his station to call him by his given name, and clearly considered the man a friend. She’d never known a peer who held to such ideas. The thought intrigued her, but it also disturbed. She didn’t like to admit she might be wrong about him. Perhaps she’d need to reevaluate how she perceived Geoffrey. Perhaps, at heart, he was as unconventional as she.

She cleared her throat in way of announcement, still curious, but loath to eavesdrop further when the conversation clearly had nothing to do with her. She dropped her head and tugged her cap low so as to hide her features from Geoffrey’s companion.

Geoffrey stepped out into the open. His eyes crinkled with genuine pleasure, and his smile of greeting sent warmth sliding through her. Was he glad that she’d joined him?

“Liliana,” he said, surprising her by his use of her name and again when he reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips for a brush of a kiss as he led her into the stall.

Liliana’s eyes darted to the stranger and she squinted, perplexed. The man Geoffrey insisted address him so casually was a stable servant? It certainly seemed so from his rough trousers, coarse linen shirt embedded with bits of straw and dusty vest. A bud of unease sprouted in her middle. Servants notoriously gossiped,
and the last thing she wanted was Aunt to hear of her unorthodox morning activities through the servant grapevine.

“Allow me to introduce Tom Richards. Tom, Miss Claremont.” Geoffrey must have sensed her reticence, as he gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Tom and I served together for many years. He’s as loyal a friend as they come. I trust him with my life, as can you with your reputation.”

Mr. Richards nodded. “Miss.”

Liliana smiled in return, assessing the other man. Geoffrey had called him a friend and fellow soldier. Might the stable hand be a source of information, should Geoffrey prove difficult to crack?

“Tom here will have Amira saddled for you each morning, and any other time you wish to ride,” Geoffrey said. “Just send him a message with your intentions and he’ll see to it you have everything you need.”

Liliana kept her smile in place, but she inwardly cringed. Either Geoffrey was being considerate or Tom was his way of keeping abreast of her activities. Regardless, it would certainly be harder to sneak off to the village again.

“Shall we?” Geoffrey led her to Amira and assisted her onto the already saddled mare. Heat emanated from his hand, even through Liliana’s buttery soft gloves. She glanced up, startled, and was certain she saw that same heat flash in his eyes. But then she was up, and he was mounting his Gringolet.

As Geoffrey straightened in the saddle, Liliana’s breath hitched and she was forced to draw air through her nose to calm her rioting senses. His chin lifted, his shoulders settled back and his gaze looked out through the stable entrance as if anticipating the day’s adventure. He exuded such easy confidence that it made her want to follow him anywhere. Foolish, yet she saw for a moment why his fellow soldiers had nicknamed him Sir Gawain. Geoffrey carried himself like she imagined
the knight of old would. Gawain was purported not only to be noble, but also to be the very spirit of chivalry and loyalty. Was it possible Geoffrey was equally honorable?

That was the question of the day, wasn’t it? From what she’d observed of him over the past week, he didn’t seem the sort to be able to commit murder—well, other than when she’d taunted him during the tournament. He’d looked quite capable of strangling her then. But to rule him out completely, she must find out where Geoffrey had been when her father was killed.

“I thought we might ride some of the estate today,” Geoffrey said as she brought Amira up beside him. “I do try to survey as much as I can on my trips home.”

Liliana nodded. “Lead on.” She briefly closed her eyes as he pulled just slightly ahead. Now was the time to take control of the conversation…he’d given her the perfect opening. “You must enjoy being back in England. How long were you away?”

His shoulders rose a tad, as if he’d tightened at her question. She watched him closely. She realized, of course, he might not tell her the truth, but she had to try and hope she’d be able to tell if he were lying.

“I left home the nineteenth of May 1803,” he said, his voice light and steady, giving Liliana no reason to suspect he spoke anything but the truth. “The day after we declared war on France.”

The rhythmic clop of hooves rose from the earth as they skirted the lake. Liliana waited, giving Geoffrey time to elaborate, but it seemed all he would say on the subject.

Just knowing he’d left England seven months before her father was killed made her breathe easier for some odd reason.

With a start, Liliana realized she didn’t want Geoffrey to have been involved. Nor, in fact, to have any knowledge of it…which was silly, really, because she needed answers, and how could he reveal what he didn’t know?

Pushing her contrary thoughts aside, she pulled even
to him and pressed on. She had to establish his whereabouts on and around the twenty-first of December of that year. “It must have been difficult,” she ventured, “leaving home so young. Were you able to visit much that first year? Maybe around Christmastime?”

He slanted his eyes to her and gave her a bemused smile. “I was not much younger than you are now, I imagine,” he said, sidestepping her question entirely. “How many years have you? Two and twenty?”

“Four,” she replied.

He swept her with his eyes, lingering for a moment in the vicinity of her hips, which she knew the boys’ togs accentuated rather than hid. The appraising nature of his look set off a twittering in her stomach. But then he turned his focus on the park ahead.

“Yes, well, I was just a week past twenty and anxious to prove my mettle fighting for my country.” A wry note crept into his voice, and his gaze took on a faraway quality. Something in his manner—in the contemplative, troubled look that crossed his face—told Liliana that he was a man living with regrets. She had an absurd urge to reach out to him, to…do what? Offer him comfort? She frowned and tried to focus on his meaning.