“Your experiments?” he asked, drawing his brows together.
“Yes,” she said. “I am a chemist. And a healer.” Liliana felt her chin rise, expecting him to ridicule her as he had that night in the library when she’d offered him her help.
But he didn’t scoff today. “I should like to hear more about your experiments,” he said, quite shocking her to her toes. “However, before we get to that, I must admit to a different curiosity. I’ve known some first-rate horsemen in my life, many of whom looked no better in the saddle than you. This isn’t the first time you’ve raced through the countryside at breakneck speed,” he guessed.
A laugh escaped her, neither rich nor brittle. It sounded something in between, something bittersweet that she feared revealed more than she’d wanted to.
Blast. She should leave, should whirl Amira around and race back to the stables. But Stratford leaned toward her, his face awash with interest. A genuine interest no man, save her father, had ever shown her, and she couldn’t help answering, “No. Nor do I consider myself a great horsewoman, though I rarely miss a morning. Riding for me is simply…” She searched for the right word.
“An escape,” they both said at the very same moment.
Silence hung between them. What could a rich lord like him possibly feel the need to escape from?
“Escape from what?” Geoffrey voiced her question, but to her.
“From the strictures of my life. From the frustrations of being born a woman with a scientific mind in a man’s world. From being pressed by my aunt to always—” She clapped her mouth shut, shaking her head. She’d shared quite enough, and she wasn’t even certain why. “You wouldn’t understand,” she demurred.
“You might be surprised,” he answered, his voice quiet and solemn and just a touch rough. Her breath caught as well, and she couldn’t look away from him. His eyes held a haunted quality she’d never noticed before—something lurked in their depths that called to her.
And discomfited her, greatly.
She turned her face from him. “That might be true. However, as both of us will be expected at breakfast, we haven’t the time,” she said, grateful her tone sounded brisk. She sat up straight, pulling Amira around. “I am sorry I took your horse without permission, my lord. It won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t,” he answered as he, too, brought his horse around. “As you now have my permission to ride any morning you like whilst here at Somerton Park. I shall have Griggs leave a saddle in Amira’s stall, to make it easier for you to nab her.”
She must have looked stunned, because he smiled.
“I can’t have you shocking my stable boys with your unusual attire.” He hitched his leg, bringing Gringolet even with Amira as they ambled back toward the house. “Nor can I deny such an able rider her morning pleasure.” His voice dipped low, sending thrills of sensation rioting through Liliana.
“Th-thank you,” Liliana stammered. She felt rather off center. Stratford unsettled her. He hadn’t taken her to task for stealing his horse. He hadn’t berated her for embarrassing him in public. He hadn’t judged her for her unconventionalities and was now, in fact, conspiring to enable her. “You are very kind,” she said, and realized she spoke the truth.
How awful. She didn’t want to think of him as kind. She didn’t want to think of him at all, except as a suspect or a relation thereof. Yet increasingly she was viewing him as something more than an adversary, which only complicated matters.
“Miss Claremont?”
“Yes?” She turned her head to look at him. His gaze was fixed out over the lake, his lips pressed together and his brow dipped, as if he contemplated something of great import.
“I, too, ride alone every morning, just shy of sunrise.” He shifted his eyes, and his gaze captured her. “Would you care to join me tomorrow?”
“I…” Couldn’t, she almost said. But she’d accomplished little during her foray into the village. Due to the earliness of the hour, only the baker’s shop had been open. She’d thought her search had finally borne fruit when she discovered the other customer in the shop was the maid of all work to Geoffrey’s father’s former valet. He could have been a wealth of information.
Her hopes were quickly dashed, however, when she’d learned that the man, Mr. Witherspoon, was gravely ill and had been unable to receive visitors for many months. Liliana had asked several questions of the girl about his condition on the walk back to the man’s cottage. Then she’d quickly jotted down the recipe for a concoction she thought might help him. The maid had taken it dubiously but promised to pass it along to her mistress.
Liliana held out little hope, however. Maybe she could sneak away one afternoon later in the week to check on him, or to interview other people in the town, but it would be risky.
Liliana chewed her lip. What could it hurt to spend more time in Stratford’s company? He might let something slip. It was more of a prospect than anything else at the moment.
“I would like that,” she answered.
The hint of a smile appeared on Stratford’s face.
This could work, she rationalized. Still, she had the feeling she’d just combined two unknown substances and started a reaction she couldn’t control.
Well, if she were going to give herself up to it…“I should also like it if you would call me Liliana,” she murmured.
Stratford’s smile spread. “Liliana” rolled off his tongue, and he closed his mouth on her name as if savoring a treat. “And I am Geoffrey.”
That feeling that wasn’t quite fear caused goose pimples to prickle her arm.
Enemy, thy name is Geoffrey.
Chapter Twelve
L
iliana slid her barely touched plate toward the center of the table. Not that the light fare of turbot served with lobster sauce and roasted root vegetables wasn’t appetizing—the appreciative sighs of the assembled luncheon crowd assured her it was. She simply couldn’t countenance food right now.
And I am Geoffrey.
It had been a mistake to give him leave of her name this morning. His natural response had been expected, yet those four little words had shifted something within her.
Geoffrey.
Not Stratford. Not even Wentworth. But Geoffrey, a man.
The first man to have ever kissed her. She flushed warm with the memory.
It had been easy not to think of that kiss when she’d held no consideration for him as a person. But now…
Liliana splayed her hand across her chest, just below her neck.
“Are you all right?” Aveline inquired, drawing her attention. She turned to the right, where her escort patted a linen napkin to his lips as he glanced at her discarded plate, then at her. Aveline’s green eyes darkened with concern. “You look a tad overheated.” He handed her a glass of iced champagne. “Take this.”
Liliana accepted it and sipped. The liquid slid down her throat in a chilled burn as frosty bubbles tickled her nose.
“Thank you,” she said, taking another sip and forcing a smile. But she was not all right. She was confused. And confusion was not a state she handled well.