Gwyneth nodded and set her fork back down. “Forgive me, sir. Delicious as it is, I haven’t much appetite after all. I think I ought to rest again.”
“Of course.” He was quick to stand and pull her chair out for her, to offer his arm. “Once the sun goes down the air will begin to cool. Though if it is too stifling in your room, you are welcome to find your repose down here.”
Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, she let him lead her into the hall, finding some small amusement in the way he ducked his head under the threshold. “Thank you, Thad.”
She hadn’t meant to use his name, regardless of his invitation. But it slipped from her tongue as if she had been saying it for years. When she glanced up, and up still more, her gaze collided with his.
The force of it knocked the breath from her lungs. “Why do you look at me like that?”
Did her voice sound as tremulous to his ears as it did to her own? He shook his head and frowned, eyes still locked on hers. “I have never seen such shadows.”
Of all the—she lifted her hand to touch the bruises under her eyes. Obvious as they might be, what sort of gentleman drew attention to them?
The same sort, apparently, who dared to take her hand and lower it, and to offer a crooked, sorrowful smile. “I was not referring to the ones under your eyes, Gwyneth.”
The same sort to use her given name without permission. But there was no one else left to use it, was there? She knew not what to do other than look away and drag in a shaky breath. “I think perhaps I will read or draw down here somewhere.”
He pulled her forward, away from the stairs. “The drawing room, then. Usually I would recommend the library, but who knows what noxious fumes might be emanating from there these days?”
“I beg your pardon?”
His chuckle seemed to chase away twilight’s encroaching fingers. “My father has laid claim to it for his chemistry laboratory.”
“Oh, how interesting. I recall that Mr. Lane teaches chemistry and philosophy, now that you have reminded me.”
“My library is a far cry from the laboratory he created at their home in Annapolis, I assure you. He and my…” Turning a corner, he scowled at a partially opened door from which light spilled.
She looked from him to it, wondering what garnered his attention. When he put a finger to his lips, a frisson of fear slid up her spine.
Silent as a cat, he leapt forward and pushed open the door. Gwyneth, her hand still tucked in his arm, had no choice but to move with him.
The two figures within spun at the bang of wood on wall, the female shrieking and tossing a glass container, the man slapping a hand to his heart and scowling much like Thad had a moment before.
Gwyneth could scarcely make sense of the tumult of voices. From Thad came an exasperated, “What in thunder are you two doing in here? I thought you went out, Father.”
The older man, the elder Mr. Lane apparently, tossed the book he’d been holding onto a table. “Blast it, Thad, you have ruined the experiment. We were at the most sensitive juncture.”
“Oh, no. No, no, no.” The young lady wiped at her dress with a rag. Even with the expression of dismay etched onto her face, she was quite possibly the most beautiful woman Gwyneth could recall seeing. Hair a rich auburn, features chiseled to perfection, flawless complexion, and a figure set off just so by a burgundy silk dress.
Thad moaned, his gaze riveted to the floor. “What in blazes was that stuff, Philly? Look what it has done to my rug!”
“Your rug?” The woman—Philly—turned large, outraged eyes on him. “Of what matter is your rug? When Reginald sees that I have ruined yet another gown—”
“I bought that rug in Turkey!”
Mr. Lane sighed and handed Philly another cloth. “Darling, what are you doing wearing such a fine dress in the laboratory anyway?”
Her dismay gave way to a grin. “I was at a dinner party when the epiphany struck. You know how it is, Papa.”
The last talon of fear released Gwyneth. This, then, was the middle Lane child, Phillippa. Philly. Of course.
Thad loosed an exaggerated whimper. “I was overtaken by Barbary pirates. I nearly gave my life for that rug.”
Mr. Lane came from behind the table, amusement crinkling his eyes. “And you fought your way out with admirable skill and unmatched bravery, coming home with, I believe, three nearly identical rugs. The second of which is in Annapolis, and the third…?”
“In my attic with the fourth, but that is hardly the point. If you go through them at this rate, I shall have bare floors by August.”
Mr. Lane’s gaze shifted to her, and he held out a hand. “Gwyneth dear. You will not remember me, but we were good friends fifteen years ago. I could scarcely pry you from my knee.”
Gwyneth took her hand from Thad’s arm so she might place it in Mr. Lane’s. No memory filtered into her mind, but she smiled simply to realize that this was one of Papa’s dearest friends. “It is so nice to meet you again, sir.”