She planned to tell him everything, of course. But in her own time and in her own way.
They would be leaving for England in a month. Surely that should give her long enough to find the right words.
And when she did, she hoped she wouldn’t lose him.
* * *
The first thing Meg noticed about Lady Morgan Ambrose was her stunning beauty. She possessed a wealth of dark auburn hair, swept up in a sophisticated twist, and she carried herself with a surfeit of confidence that was enviable. Her manner was neither stiff nor formal, her smile easy as she stepped forward and extended her hand.
“A pleasure,” she said that evening, lightly clasping Meg’s fingertips. “Miss Parrish, isn’t it? I’m simply dreadful with names.”
Meg swallowed, disliking the deception that had seemed so harmless in the beginning.
“Please, call me Meg,” she said and saw the other woman’s smile broaden. “What brings you to Italy?”
“A simple need to check up on my little brother. Wouldn’t want him lost down any stray rabbit holes, after all.” Lady Morgan flitted her fingers in nonchalance, but her eyes seemed serious. Though they were a different hue than her brother’s, they both possessed that same calculating intensity. And if she was Lucien’s older sister, then their age difference couldn’t have been much.
They dined on the terrace with a cool breeze blowing in from the surrounding mountains and rushing over the calm waters of the crystal blue lake. It was a lovely meal, but the air grew too cold for the aunts, so the gentlemen escorted them inside.
Lady Morgan lingered, nibbling on an olive as she gazed at Meg from across the table. “I’ve seen the way you look at my brother. The way you pretend not to follow his every move and glance away the moment he turns to you. I’d almost suspect you’re in love with him.”
A startled laugh escaped Meg as she was caught doing that very thing through the open doorway. She felt her cheeks heat. “In love? Of course I’m not in love. I’m just on holiday.”
“But you felt something that first time you met, did you not? I know because my brother felt it, too.”
“He . . . he told you that?” Meg asked, her voice shaking as a hopeful tremor stumbled through her. Could it be true that he’d felt the same bone-deep certainty from the beginning, only he’d been much better at hiding it?
Then again, he was so logical that he likely required seventeen kinds of proof before he surrendered to any school of thought.
Lady Morgan nodded. “Oh, yes. We’re family. We don’t keep secrets from each other. Of course, he was far from elated that he should have been so affected by the woman who stole our family legacy. The very book”—she paused and looked pointedly across the table—“that our parents died protecting.”
Meg gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “I had no idea. How awful.”
The guilt that had been pressing on her before increased tenfold.
“But don’t mention it to anyone, hmm? It’s a painful topic, and not even he likes to talk about it.”
Meg nodded in agreement. Then her gaze found him again as he was handing the aunts a glass of sherry. When he stood, he turned toward the terrace, and she quickly looked back to his sister. “I’m so sorry that this has happened, and for my part in it. But I must confess, I honestly don’t know where the book is. I did not take it.”
Morgan studied her for a moment, torchlight flickering in her eyes. “Do you want to know something? I think I believe you.”
A breath fell out of Meg. “You do? I’m so relieved.”
“Then I’m glad. My brother is quite sure of you. And it isn’t like him to hold someone in such high esteem,” she said with a grin. “I’ve never seen him in such a state.”
If that were true, then perhaps Meg wasn’t wrong about their connection, after all.
A new hope fluttered beneath her breast.
She slid a glance through the doorway again, and her pulse quickened when she saw that he was still watching her. Tentatively, she lifted her hand in a small wave. His stiff shoulders relaxed at once, then he inclined his head.
Lady Morgan swirled the ruby wine in her goblet. “Be a dear and put him out of his misery. Talk to him. Spend time with him.”
“But what about the book? Shouldn’t I tell him—”
“Not yet,” she said. “Let him come to know you better. Trust will surely follow. I know how my brother’s mind works, after all. And besides, he has hired an investigator, and soon this book nonsense will sort itself out. Then, you’ll both be free to explore whatever might come next.”
Her words were still lingering on the fragrant breeze when Lucien appeared in the open doorway.
“I have been sent on an errand by the elder two Misses Parrish,” he said to her. “They wish me to tell you that they are eager to retire after their day of travel, and if you would like, I could escort you to your door later.”
As their gazes held, every ounce of uncertainty she’d felt since the Alps evaporated like smoke. She nodded. “I should like that.”
She saw that elusive dimple of his, and her breath caught. This was most definitely a promising new stage of her grand flirtation. Or perhaps . . . something even more.
* * *
Lucien returned after walking Meg to her door and strode into the small parlor where his sister was sitting, reading a novel by lamplight.
She looked up and lowered her book. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was almost a grin on your lips. Did your evening end on a high note?”
“There was no singing involved,” he said for the sole purpose of irritating his sister. She always hated it when he was overly literal. Standing at the sideboard, he heard her snarl of disdain, then grinned in earnest.
“You know very well what I mean. Are you any closer to knowing Lady Avalon’s secrets?”
He turned with two drinks in hand and crossed the room to present one to her. “I do not know what you said to her, but she did mention a desire to tell me something important on the morrow. Which, I can only deduce, has to do with the book.”
Morgan sipped her claret thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t be too hasty in my assumptions if I were you. Because, earlier, I told her that you seemed to be affected by her. And before you grouse at me, think of the results. She was instantly elated by the news, which clearly means that you affect her as well. You can use this to your advantage.”
Ah. So that explained the noticeable tenderness in her gaze when the two of them had lingered at her door. And, in the moment, the sight of it had sent a pleasing frisson of warmth through him. But now . . .
“She is exceedingly clever and needs no encouragement to spin webs around her victims. You should have told me of your plans. We had developed a certain rapport, an understanding of each other’s characters. You may have undermined all of that with your interference,” he said, feeling suddenly cross and cold to the marrow.
He didn’t like knowing that everything between them might be a lie. There was nothing he could trust, not a word, a gesture or a single look. He would be a fool to forget that.
What he needed was to remain logical and grounded. This was not, after all, a mere holiday but a quest, and he mustn’t allow himself to become distracted.