.

was no telling if his shocked expression was at the lack of information she possessed or her ancestor’s occupation.

      ‘Surely you know more than that?’

      ‘No. That is all I know,’ she said with a shrug. ‘My father may know more.’ She knew nothing of her mother’s family. It had never occurred to her to ask.

      Lyonsdale appeared to be catatonic. He wasn’t even blinking.

      ‘Would you like to tell me about the others?’

      It took him a minute to answer. ‘What others?’

      She gestured to the portraits with her hand. ‘The other Dukes.’

      He snapped out of his stupor and let out a deep breath. ‘I believe you are simply being polite.’

      ‘That’s not true. Tell me more about your family.’

      They walked from portrait to portrait and he recounted numerous accomplishments spanning hundreds of years. It was an impressive group of men. Had they all been in a room together it would have been difficult to choose one who stood out from the rest.

      When they reached a gap between two of the portraits Katrina stopped. ‘Where is this one?’

      Lyonsdale cleared his throat and crossed his arms. ‘The Fifth Duke was a disgrace. He was too concerned with his own pleasure and did not live up to the responsibility of his title. His portrait is not fit to hang with the others.’

      Now, this sounded interesting. She stepped closer and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘What exactly did he do?’

      He leaned his lips close to her ear and his warm breath fanned her neck. Her eyes fluttered at the sensation.

      ‘I’ll. Never. Tell.’

      When he pulled his head back the cool air was a shock.

      The proper thing to do would be to end this discussion, however much she wanted to know what the man had done.

      ‘Was it something truly dreadful? I’ll wager it was.’

      He arched a regal brow, which gave him an expression closely resembling that of the Sixth Duke, who was looking down at them with disdain.

      ‘Miss Vandenberg, it is not polite to poke into other people’s affairs.’

      She gestured to the empty wall. ‘He is dead. He will never know.’

      He spun on his heels and walked towards the far end of the room. ‘I meant my affairs,’ he called out over his shoulder.

      She hurried to catch up with him. ‘I was not talking about you. I was talking about the Fifth Duke. What was his name?’

      ‘His history is my history. His actions reflect who I am. Hence it is my affair. His name is inconsequential.’

      ‘That’s a peculiar name.’ She tried to hold back her smile but it didn’t work.

      He stopped abruptly and turned to her. Their eyes met and a smile tugged on his lips.

      It felt like an odd little victory.

      ‘I believe you were interested in my library?’

      ‘I was... I am.’

      What did one have to do to be removed from a portrait gallery? Was he a gambler? A rake? Perhaps he enjoyed his brandy a bit too much?

      ‘I can keep a secret.’

      His dubious expression was the only response she was to receive.

      Past his shoulder she spied Lyonsdale’s own portrait. His face was fuller and younger.

      ‘You appear astonished to find me here,’ he said.

      ‘Is it a requirement that none of you smile for your portraits?’

      ‘The responsibility of this title is not a jovial matter. The portraits should imply that.’

      She let her gaze drift to the men who were still watching them. ‘I suppose... But none of you appear at all pleased with your illustrious accomplishments.’

      ‘Would you have us laugh in our portraits?’

      ‘No, but a hint of a smile would be refreshing. You are an impressive collection of English noblemen. However, I fear dinner would be a dour affair if you all were present.’

      He looked insulted, which she found amusing. ‘I believe, Miss Vandenberg, we were heading to the library.’

      ‘Lead on, Your Grace. I will humbly follow.’

      ‘You are a sauce-box. You are aware of that, are you not?’

      It proved impossible to hold back her laugh.

      She was about to respond when she froze at the sight of the library before her. The long oak-panelled room held more books than Katrina had ever seen in any home. All four walls were covered from floor to ceiling with rows of books, and at the far end two walls of bookshelves jutted into the middle of the room. She wished she might remain in this room for days.

      ‘It may prove difficult to make your selection if you do not step inside,’ he called out from inside the room, with a trace of laughter.

      Warmth spread across her chest, up her neck and across her cheeks. Avoiding his gaze, she crossed the threshold and was met by the scent of old books and leather.

      ‘This is lovely.’ Her voice died away in the hushed stillness of the room.

      ‘Thank you. You may explore it to your heart’s content.’

      ‘I’d caution against making such an offer. You may find me curled on the floor, surrounded by books in the early-morning hours.’

      ‘One can only dream, Miss Vandenberg...one can only dream.’

      Smiling at his teasing comment, she navigated around a grouping of well-used chairs and highly polished tables. As she walked along, scanning the shelves, she felt the heat of his presence behind her.

      ‘Are you a great reader?’ she asked. ‘Or do you rarely frequent this room?’

      ‘In my youth I would spend many agreeable hours here. That large chair by the fire was a particular favourite spot of mine. It is from there that I read about gods and adventures and pirates and kings. Unfortunately now my duties in Westminster keep me too busy to read for pleasure.’

      That made her pause and turn to him. ‘There is always time for a good book. Even if that time is before you close your eyes at night. A well-told story feeds the soul.’

      ‘Spoken like the daughter of an author.’

      He didn’t have a true measure of her if that was what he thought.

      ‘Spoken by a woman who knows the value of literature,’ she replied, poking him in the chest. ‘You should consider my words.’

      ‘I consider all your words—much to my vexation.’

      What man said that to a woman?

      ‘You think I’m vexing?’

      He crossed his arms and raised his chin. ‘I think you provoke me to see the world differently.’

      ‘Forgive me. I do not wish to inconvenience you,’ she snapped, spinning around to prevent herself from saying more.

      He took her arm and gently turned her to face him. ‘Do you seek to purposely misread me? If so, you should be commended. You do a fine job.’ He was wise enough to redirect their conversation. ‘Now, tell me if you have any notion of which subject matter might interest you.’

      The heat from his hand on her forearm warmed her entire body. She glanced about, needing to recall the purpose of their excursion. Intrigued by his ancestors, she was curious about the battle he had mentioned.

      ‘Would you have any