Cassandra leaned closer to stare through Pandora’s window. “Is that a worker?” she asked. “A farmer?”

“I would think so. Dressed like that, he couldn’t be—” Pandora broke off as the carriage followed the wide arc of the drive, affording her a better view. The man’s hair was a distinctive color she’d seen only once before, the dark gold of antique bullion coins. Her insides began to rearrange themselves as if they’d decided to play musical chairs.

The man reached the carriage as it stopped in front of the portico. The driver said something to him, and Pandora heard his relaxed reply, in a cool, deep baritone.

It was Lord St. Vincent.

Chapter 6

After swinging the child easily from his shoulders to the ground, Lord St. Vincent opened the carriage door on Pandora’s side. The full blaze of midday gilded his perfect features and struck brilliant lights in his bronze-gold hair.

Fact #13 she wanted to write. Lord St. Vincent walks around with his own personal halo.

The man had too much of everything. Looks, wealth, intelligence, breeding, and virile good health.

Fact #14 Some people are living proof of an unjust universe.

“Welcome to Heron’s Point,” Lord St. Vincent said, his gaze encompassing the entire group. “My apologies—we went to the shore to test my younger brother’s new kite design, and it took longer than we expected. I intended to be back in time for your arrival.”

“That’s quite all right,” Kathleen assured him cheerfully.

“The important question is,” Devon said, “how did the kite fly?”

The red-headed boy came to the doorway of the carriage. Ruefully he held up a bundle of slender dowels held together by scraps of red fabric and string, so Devon could see it. “Broke apart in mid-flight, sir. I’ll have to make modifications to my design.”

“This is my brother, Lord Michael,” St. Vincent said. “We call him by his middle name, Ivo.”

Ivo was a handsome lad of perhaps ten or eleven, with deep auburn hair, sky-blue eyes, and a winning smile. He executed an awkward bow, in the way of someone who’d just had a growth spurt and was trying to manage the new length of his arms and legs.

“What about me?” the barefoot boy on Lord St. Vincent’s other side demanded. He was a sturdy, dark-haired, pink-cheeked child, no more than four years old. Like Ivo, he was dressed in a bathing tunic attached at the waist to a pair of short trousers.

Lord St. Vincent’s lips twitched as he looked down at the impatient boy. “You’re my nephew,” he said gravely.

“I know that!” the child said in exasperation. “You’re supposed to tell them.”

Perfectly straight-faced, Lord St. Vincent said to the Ravenels, “Allow me to introduce my nephew Justin, Lord Clare.”

A chorus of greetings came from the interior of the carriage. The door on the other side opened, and the Ravenels began to exit the vehicle as a pair of footmen attended them.

Pandora jumped slightly as Lord St. Vincent’s inscrutable gaze connected with hers, his eyes as bright and piercing as starlight.

Wordlessly he reached in a hand for her.

Breathless and scattered, Pandora fumbled to find her gloves, but they seemed to have disappeared along with her valise. A footman was assisting Kathleen and Cassandra as they descended from the carriage on the other side. Turning back to Lord St. Vincent, she reluctantly took his hand and stepped down from the carriage.

He was even taller than she remembered, bigger, his shoulders broader. When she’d seen him before, he’d been constrained in formal black-and-white evening clothes, every inch of him polished and perfect. Now he was in a rather shocking state of undress, coatless and hatless, his shirt open at the throat. His hair was in disarray, the cropped layers sweat-darkened where they tapered at his neck. A pleasant fragrance drifted to her nostrils, the sunny, foresty smell she remembered from before, now infused with a sea-breeze saltiness.

There was a great deal of activity on the drive as servants left the other carriages and footmen unloaded the luggage. Out of the periphery of her vision, Pandora saw her family proceeding into the house. Lord St. Vincent, however, seemed in no hurry to usher her inside.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly, looking down at her. “I had intended to be waiting here, appropriately attired, when you arrived. I don’t want you to think your visit isn’t important to me.”

“Oh, but it’s not,” Pandora said awkwardly. “That is, I didn’t expect fanfare when I arrived. You didn’t have to be waiting here, or attired at all. I mean, attired well.” Nothing that came out of her mouth sounded right. “I expected clothing, of course.” Turning crimson, she dropped her head. “Blast,” she muttered.

She heard his soft laugh, the sound raising gooseflesh on her sweaty arms.

Ivo broke in, looking contrite. “It’s my fault we were late. I had to find all the pieces of my kite.”

“Why did it break?” Pandora asked.

“The glue didn’t hold.”

Having learned a great deal about various glue formulations while constructing a prototype for her board game, Pandora was about to ask what kind he had used.

However, Justin interrupted before she could say a word. “It’s my fault too. I lost my shoes and we had to look for them.”

Charmed, Pandora sank to her haunches to bring her face level with his, heedless of her skirts draping over the dusty graveled drive. “Didn’t you find them?” she asked sympathetically, regarding his bare feet.