The Toplofty Lord Thorpe by Kasey Michaels Page B

than the ancestral Rutherford home; it had taken generations of badly painted portraits of past earls and their families, as well as nearly every stick of furniture that had been amassed over the years.
    This, Lucy reflected happily as she stood in the bright, airy morning room, could only be deemed a blessing, as she had little love of the heavy Tudorpieces, dusty tapestries, and stained suits of armor an ancient domicile would be apt to hold.
    The late-Georgian furnishings went well with the decorative ivory stuccoed walls, and the muted greens, blues, and rose pinks of the upholstery and Aubusson carpets found throughout the public rooms were just the sort she would have chosen if she had been given a hand in the decorating.
    Yet there was something, some indefinable something, missing. Nibbling on the tip of one finger, she inspected the room once more, finally realizing what was wrong. This room, just like all the others, were perfect. Too perfect. The flowers, standing tall in their vases as if they knew they would be banished posthaste if they dared to droop the teeniest little bit, were arranged just a tad too perfectly. The beautiful furniture looked as if a mathematician had placed each piece precisely, making up visual squares, right angles, and perfect triangles staked out on the floor.
    Lucy longed to tilt the rose satin heart-backed chair so that it sat more cozily near the matching sofa, while her fingers itched to gather up the carefully displayed embroidered pillows adorning that same sofa and scatter them about more invitingly. And the flowers—why, all they needed was a bit of—
    â€œGood morning, Lucy,” came a voice from the doorway.
    â€œOh!” she exclaimed, whirling about to see the earl entering the room, his well-formed body clad to perfection in “a-gentleman-at-his-ease-in-the-country”buckskins and hacking jacket. “Julian, you startled me for a moment.”
    He bowed slightly, a smile touching his lips as he took in her flustered look. “Forgive me, please. Next time I shall have Raleigh announce my arrival with a fanfare of trumpets.”
    Lucy was taken aback for a moment, but then burst into delighted laughter. “Oh, Julian, how wonderful! You have made a joke.”
    A shattered look came into his eyes. “Is that so surprising?”
    Lucy realized at once and mentally kicked herself for drawing the earl’s attention to what she had seen as his gradual “thawing” ever since they left London. “Of course I’m not surprised,” she improvised hastily. “You have ever been known for your wit.” That the renowned Rutherford wit was reputed to be sarcastic rather than rollicking, she declined to think about just then, quickly changing the subject. “I see you are dressed to ride out. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve asked Raleigh to arrange for a mount for me as well.”
    â€œAs to that, Lucy,” Julian said, smoothly announcing a conclusion that had been reached only after spending a sleepless night of rare inspection of his own motives, “I have decided that you should not take any active part in this…er…investigation. If it is all a hum, you will be needlessly exposing yourself to gossip, whereas, if it is indeed as you believe, a plot against my name and life, I cannot find it in myself to expose you to danger. Therefore, I have concluded that yours is to be a minor part—for the most part already played. Escorting you and your aunt to Hillcrest for a house party did make me feel less like I was skulking away from London with my tail between my legs like some guilty cur.”
    â€œBut you can’t mean that!” Lucy implored hastily. “I mean, I guess you do mean it, but you can’t have thought…I mean, you can’t have been thinking clearly…I mean… Oh, drat it all Julian, don’t fob me off like this. Please, I want to help.”
    Looking down