But that would mean marrying him. And staying married to him, so long as they both should live. No simple prospect.
“Should you like to have the wedding at Ambervale?” Lark asked. “I thought it might be nice, since your parents were so happy there. It’s your birthplace, you know. Your true home. I know you have your own plans, but promise me you’ll discuss it with Corporal Thorne.”
“I promise you,” Kate said. “We’ll discuss it.”
“Have you been letting the dog chew books?”
“What?” Miss Taylor smiled. “Thorne, when I asked to speak to you alone, it wasn’t about Badger’s discipline. I told the Gramercys I’d be down to join them for dinner. We don’t have much time.”
Thorne glanced around the rapidly emptying castle grounds. The fair was over, and daylight was fading. Everyone had gone down to the village for drinks and refreshments at the Bull and Blossom.
He pulled a small green volume from his pocket and waved it at her. “I had to pull this away from the dog yesterday. It’s Lord Drewe’s, you know.” He displayed the chewed binding. “Now it’s ruined. I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Well, don’t concern yourself overmuch. Lord Drewe has other books to read, I’m sure.”
Thorne snorted. Didn’t he know it. Fosbury had told him the marquess had two full crates of books delivered to the village, along with all his other belongings.
Two crates of books. What possible use could a man have for them all? The sheer puzzle of it irritated him.
And the books themselves weren’t even useful. He glared at the shredded volume. “Who the devil is . . .” He blinked and frowned at the letters again. “Ar . . .”
She took the book from him and peered at the chewed spine. “Aristotle. It’s a Greek name.”
“More Greeks? I don’t suppose he was one of the men fighting over that Helen of Troy.”
“He was a philosopher.” She sighed. “It’s not important right now.”
“It is important. You shouldn’t be letting Badger chew on these.”
“I know, I know. He must have gotten that one when I wasn’t looking.” She shrugged. “We can get a replacement. Evan won’t be angry.”
“Evan?” Thorne jerked his head in surprise. A bright red burst of irrational jealousy pulsed through him. “So he’s ‘Evan’ now?”
“Yes. That’s what I needed to tell you. It’s the most wonderful news. Lord Drewe has—”
She broke off abruptly and clapped a palm over her mouth.
A quick glance down told him why. A freshly killed rat had just been dropped at her feet, its hairless, wormlike tail still twitching.
As for the puppy who’d proudly delivered the kill—his furry tail was wagging like mad. A pink tongue dangled loose from a canine grin.
“Don’t scream,” Thorne warned her in a low, calm voice. As he spoke, he crouched beside the puppy and gave him a firm, affectionate rub. “Don’t scold him, either. You’ll only confuse him. This is a good thing.”
“This?” she squeaked through her cupped palm, gesturing toward the lifeless rat with her free hand. “This is a good thing? I think I’m the one who’s confused.”
“After the fair, people will have left refuse everywhere around the castle. Apple cores, little morsels of cake. Draws the vermin. Badger chased down a rat, caught it, and denied himself the pleasure of eating it. That’s precisely what he’s been bred and trained to do, and now he deserves praise.”
“What do I do?” she asked, still staring wide-eyed at the lifeless rat. “Don’t ask me to touch it. I can’t possibly touch it. It’s only just stopped moving.”
“You don’t need to touch it. Just act like it’s the best, most charming thing Badger’s done in all his furry little life. And distract him, so I can toss the bleeding thing over the cliff.”
She nodded. “All right.”
While she fawned and cooed over the pup, Thorne found a shovel and disposed of the rat. Once he’d finished the work and rinsed his hands, he returned to find her cupping the pup’s funny face in both her hands.
She made kissing noises. “You are the most clever puppy in all Sussex, Badger. Did you know that? So very brave. I just adore you.”
Thorne watched her, quietly amazed. It just came so easily to her—loving encouragement. He supposed this quality was what made her a successful tutor.
She’d handled the shock of the rat quite well. Better than most ladies would, he imagined. She deserved some encouraging praise of her own—someone to frame her lovely face in his hands and tell her she was clever, beautiful, brave, adored.
But Thorne just didn’t have that talent. It wasn’t born in him, and he’d never had lessons, either. If love were music, he would be tone deaf.
“So what was your wonderful news?” he asked. “From ‘Evan.’ ”
“Oh, yes.” With one final loving pat, she released the dog and stood. “Lord Drewe says the family will claim me as their cousin.”
Thorne’s insides clenched. Wonderful news, indeed.