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“No, I don’t,” she said with a slight grimace.
“This proposal you were trying to evade—the gentleman was distasteful to you?”
“Oh, not exceedingly. He is quite young and handsome; and the heir to a marquessate. But I wished to ally myself with someone who shares my passion, you see, and he does not.” She gave him a shy smile as she said this.
His heart jerked hard in his chest, and he felt himself flushing. “Then we are in accord on that score, Miss Bromwich,” he said gruffly.
“Yes, I rather think we are,” she said softly.
“If you would care to rest before dinner, I will see you in the drawing room at six,” he said with a little formal bow and left the room before he embarrassed himself any further, Kester lolloping behind him.
*
Dinner was an unmitigated delight for Emily. Not only was the food good, but there was no awkward, silly conversation about trivial subjects such as the weather or gossip. Once the earl had satisfied himself that she had enough items on her plate, he said, “Tell me about your research into Celtic burial customs, Miss Bromwich. That is your specialty, is it not—Celtic artifacts?”
“Yes, it is,” she said, flushing with pleasure. And she proceeded to wax lyrical about barrows, Celtic knots, and torcs for the next hour.
“You read Gaelic?”
“Yes, I’m self-taught, and I have been pursuing studies in Ogham also. You will be aware of the Callan Stone in County Clare?”
“Indeed, I’ve seen several different translations of it. Would you have another to offer?” he said, wiping mustard on a slice of beef.
She flushed and said shyly, “I would not yet. My studies are not far enough advanced. But the controversy surrounding it was irresistible as a lure. It is, I confess, the reason I began the study in Ogham.”
“And would you venture an opinion on whether it is a forgery or not?”
“I would not be so bold, sir, no.”
After dinner, it still being light outside, he invited her to accompany him on Kester’s second walk for the day. “We can walk to the cliff overlooking the beach. Would you like that?” he asked, as she donned her cloak, for there was a breeze picking up.
“I would love that,” she said with a huge smile. “I have never seen the sea,” she confessed.
“You are in for a treat then,” he said, holding the door open for her. Kester proceeded her down the steps, eager to be off.
They set out across the lawn, long shadows cast by the trees over the grass. Kester took off after a stick thrown by the earl, bringing it back with alacrity to have it thrown again. She couldn’t help but be conscious of the man’s musculature, even under his jacket, as he threw the stick. He had sizable shoulders and biceps, and shocking as it was to notice, very muscular thighs, shown to advantage by his well-cut breeches. She averted her gaze from this overt display of masculinity and concentrated on enjoying the fresh air and lingering warmth in the sun’s fading rays. It would not be dark for another hour or so.
She could not believe how her life had transformed so quickly. Her every dream seemed set to come true. She had never enjoyed herself so much as she had these past hours in his company. To be able to speak freely of her passion for all things Celtic, and with someone so knowledgeable and genuinely interested—it took her breath away.
When he wasn’t throwing a stick for Kester, he walked with his hands behind his back and seemed content to let there be silence between them. They had, after all, talked for almost six hours today. Strangely enough, it didn’t feel awkward, it felt . . . companionable?
It took them twenty minutes to reach the cliff edge. The breeze had picked up and the sun, which was setting to their right, cast a golden glow across the waves of the sea. Its beauty stopped her breath and made her throat seize up. A sandy beach stretched away to the right below them and waves rolled in, lapping at the sand with a hypnotic rhythm. The susurrant sound of it played in her head.
The wind made her cloak flutter, and she pulled it tighter round her. “It’s so beautiful,” she whispered. “You are so lucky to live here,” she murmured.
“If you agree, you can live here, too,” he said quietly.
“Y-yes, I was forgetting. This is like a dream. I can’t quite believe it is happening.” She glanced at his profile. He was staring, rather fiercely, she thought, out to sea.
“Likewise,” he said abruptly. “Shall we turn back? We can explore the beach another day.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Kes!” he called, and Kester came racing back, tongue and ears flying, his plumy tail up and wagging. He is the most adorable dog!
*
After their walk, Deo bade Miss Bromwich good night, intending to retire to his study to work. Instead, he spent an hour staring at nothing, while his mind chased itself in circles. Will she agree to stay? Have I done enough to convince her? Am I entirely mad to propose tying myself to a woman I barely know, potentially for life, on the basis of one day’s acquaintance?
