Dorothea let this pass. She was used to this sort of comment, which, she admitted to herself, was sometimes valid.
“But you, sir, as a man of the world, will certainly understand.” He glanced about and lowered his voice. “I am desolated to reveal…that the medallion in Lord Restive’s possession is not the genuine medallion of St. George. It is merely a copy.” He cleared his throat. “Or so I believe.”
Dorothea couldn’t think what to say, but fortunately, Cecil did a beautiful job of acting surprised—but his occupation required dissimulation. She must strive to remember that. “Good Lord!” he said. “Rather awkward, I must say.”
“Awkward?” Dufair cried. “It is a travesty. A breach of honor of the worst kind!”
She managed not to huff. Intellectually, she understood the gentlemen’s code of honor, but practically speaking it was often absurd. “Why do you believe it’s a copy?”
“I cannot be certain, bien sûr, for I had no time to finish my drawing, as Lord Restive and I were about to dine. I must ask him to let me sketch the reverse. Within the intricate design I spied a hidden mark which I am almost sure is that of a London silversmith for whom I design jewelry.” With one of his Gallic shrugs, he added, “A man in my position must find many sources of income. But that is not the point. Lord Restive will rightly be enraged if he learns your brother cheated him. I was not present at the time, but surely a copy is worth far less than the amount of the wager.”
Cecil nodded. “Substantially so.”
“I’m sure my brother doesn’t know it’s a copy,” she said. “My father may have had one made so it could be worn, since the original must be kept locked away—but he is so busy that he may have had no chance to tell my brother.”
Cecil watched her concoct this explanation with a hint of amusement. “I suggest you ask Lord Restive to bring the medallion to the drawing room this afternoon, so you may complete your sketch.” He paused. “No—better yet, ask him when we are all gathered there, so we can agree that it’s a splendid notion. He’s not likely to refuse us all. You may then point out the jeweler’s mark on the reverse. Lord Restive is too much a gentleman to make angry accusations with the sister and mother of the miscreant in the room.”
The artist agreed, looking much happier, and they left him. “Let’s go for a walk,” Cecil said. “We can speak safely outdoors.”
“And we’ll be in full view of the house, so we daren’t kiss anymore.” She attempted a pout, then laughed. “I can’t flirt, can’t pout…”
“You have no idea how delightful you are,” he said. “I still have the mistletoe in my pocket.”
Hoping he liked her as much as he seemed to, she donned her boots, pelisse, woolen cap, and gloves, and ventured with him into the wintry afternoon. They meandered along the paths in the shrubbery and into the rose garden, which was dreary now but must be beautiful in summertime.
“Did you believe Monsieur Dufair?” she asked.
“It explains his sneaking into Lord Restive’s room last night. If he saw Restive go to the Contessa, he knew he had plenty of time to take the medallion, finish the sketch, and return it before Restive returned.”
Well. That certainly answered one of her questions—about how long a seduction would take.
Cecil raised his brows. “What is it? You’re blushing again.”
“Nothing!”
“The last time you said “Nothing!” like that, you wanted a kiss.”
“I always want a kiss, but this is much worse. Or rather, it’s more improper.”
“But not necessarily worse?” He whipped out the mistletoe and dropped a kiss on her lips. “Tell me.”
Heavens! She put her gloved hands to her burning cheeks.
“Or don’t.” His smile teased.
She got ahold of herself and changed the subject. “Why do you want Lord Restive to bring the medallion to where we all can see it and be told it is a copy?”
“Because so far I see no solid reason to suspect anyone. We must watch how Restive and the Contessa react to the news—with disappointment, for example, or anger, chagrin, even uneasiness. A good spy won’t reveal much, but we can always hope.”
“Very well.” How, she wondered, could he switch so easily from personal matters to espionage? She was all a-twist with thoughts of desire, with hopes of love.
They continued through the rose garden, wandered past the stables and around to the kitchen garden, and made their way slowly back. At last it began desultorily to snow.
“Oh, how lovely!” she cried. “It so seldom snows right at Christmastide.” She turned to him enquiringly. “I’ve never asked—where is your home?”
“Farther north, on the Welsh borders.” He looked as if he might say more, but then his brows drew together.
“What is it? What are you thinking?”
His smile, when it emerged, seemed slightly strained. “What wouldn’t you tell me earlier?”
Oh, no. “Please don’t make me blush.”
“That bad, is it?” His smile was genuine again. “You’re more kissable than ever when you’re flustered.”
She huffed, but couldn’t help smiling back. “No, it’s not bad, precisely. It’s just not an appropriate subject for conversation.”
He snorted. “I’d say we’ve crossed that bridge already, Dorothea.”
How sweet of him to use her given name without asking permission. The growing informality between them enchanted her. To the devil with embarrassment. “If you must know, it’s because last night, when I was planning to search Lord Restive’s rooms, I wasn’t sure how much time I would have.” She paused. “Because I had no idea how long a seduction takes.”
“And now you want to find out?”
Yes. “No! It’s unnecessary, because you just told me Monsieur Dufair had plenty of time to search.”
“Ah. What a pity.” He broke into laughter. “If you could see the look on your face, my dear. Much as I would love to seduce you…” He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“I thought you would say that. I suppose you’re invoking the gentlemen’s code of honor.”
“You don’t approve of a code of honor?”
“Yes, as long as it makes sense. I understand that a gentleman shouldn’t truly compromise a lady unless he intends to marry her, but what about the sort of thing my mother tries to arrange?” She hesitated, then decided to test him a little. If he were genuinely as reasonable as he seemed… “She tried several times to trap me with Lord Boltwood—once, we were just talking in a corridor—but when I deliberately spent an hour in private with Tinker Johnny, she laughed it off because he wasn’t eligible. Everyone knew I had kissed him, too!”
“You kissed Tinker Johnny?”
Just what she’d anticipated! She removed her hand from his arm. “Don’t you dare make a fuss about it.”
“I’m not fussing, merely surprised. Ladies don’t usually kiss tinkers—but Johnny’s a handsome fellow.” He didn’t look outraged, but maybe he was politely hiding his feelings. She eyed him narrowly. If anything, that twitch of his lips meant amusement. Most likely, he didn’t care whom she’d kissed.