Chapter 36: Luncheon

Laura woke to the feeling she was being watched. Brown eyes opening wide, brain instantly alert she sat abruptly up in the bed and looked around the room. When her gaze rested on Remington leaning carelessly against the door, already dressed in jeans and a sweater, his sparkling blue eyes enjoying every bared inch of her lithe form, she blushed prettily before yanking the bedsheet up and tucking it beneath her arms.

"Awwww," he hummed his disappointment, while grinning widely at her. While few and far between these days, he adored her periodic bouts with modesty. They reminded him of Laura of old, and as frustrating as that Laura was, he wanted to keep a part of her always. Crossing the room, he sat on the edge of the bed, handing her the hot cup of tea he'd brought with him. Leaning forward he touched his lips to her cheek.

"Good morning, Mrs. Steele." Blowing on her tea she looked up at him through her lashes.

"Good morning, Mr. Steele," she greeted with a smile. Her eyes flicked to the alarm clock then back to him, before returning to the clock, widening

"Eleven-ten?" she screeched, tossing back the sheet and sloshing the tea against a bare thigh, making her yelp. Rescuing the tea cup from her hand, he watched as she rubbed at the offending liquid with the sheet, looking up in time to see his amused smile as his eyes roamed her form again. "Oh, for God's sake," she blasphemed, yanking the sheet off the bed and wrapping it around herself as she stood. "I married a teenager that probably has Playboys stuffed under our mattress at home," she grumbled as she stomped towards her dresser, carelessly yanking out undergarments.

"You're quite mistaken, love. You'll find only Bedside Babes under that mattress… a very specific edition," he teased.

Her path to the bathroom faltered, and drawing herself up to her full height, she took two steps towards the bed and yanking a pillow from it, sent it flying – landing a direct hit in his smirking face. With a flip of her hair over her shoulder, she flounced out of the room. That man, she laughed quietly to herself, once she was out of sight.

Tossing the pillow on top of the one Laura's head had just been resting on, Remington turned and leaned against the backboard, crossing his ankles. Idly sipping her tea, he chuckled to himself. There was little he enjoyed more than tweaking his lovely partner's temper and mention of the Bedside Babes edition in which the centerfold featured her face superimposed with another woman's body was certain to do just that. Still, he considered it fair byplay since she'd taken aim with the reference to Playboy. He was a man who'd never needed such fantasy material, women at an abundance and all. Found it tasteless, in truth. And during his years of self-imposed celibacy? His delectable and frustrating partner had provided all the fantasy his fertile imagination required. Unfortunately, for years, it was only his imagination to keep him company. Thankfully, those days are long in the past, he thought to himself with a smile.

He'd just taken a third glance at his watch when Laura emerged, wearing a white sweater dress, with a wide, black leather belt which emphasized her miniscule waist. Her hair was pulled back into a single French braid with a black bow tied at the end of the plait. He swallowed hard. She was a vision, just as she'd been the night of their aborted LA honeymoon, only on that evening she'd worn her hair down while attempting to downplay the ill-advised bangs. That night had gone horribly wrong, beginning with Shannon's unplanned and unwelcomed appearance shortly before Laura's own arrival and ending with Laura… He shook the memory free from his head. It would do no good to travel down that road, the ache deep in his gut at just that bit threatening to put a blight on the morning.

"Uh, Laura?" She looked at his image in the dresser mirror as she put on her watch and tried to decide on a pair of earrings.

"Hmmm?" she questioned, as she settled on a simple pair of hoops which would complement her locket nicely.

"I, uh," he gave a tug at his ear, "Rang up the Earl a bit ago." Her hand paused on the way to her ear. She was more than a bit shocked, believing he'd leave it to her to make that call.

"You did?"

"Mmmmm. He's going to ring up the President of King's, ask him to lend a hand." She raised her brows at him in the mirror as she threaded the post through her ear.

"Just how does a dead man 'ring up' someone?"

"I asked the same," he admitted. "He said given he's spent a good deal of time overseas during past years, most assume that's where his is… or has been. Since the premature announcement of his death was limited to a small obituary, as opposed to a front page article normally afforded someone of his station, he's doubtful many knew of his 'death.'"

"I see." Shaking her head, she let it go. This was the Earl's issue to deal with, not theirs. "Did you ask about the file?"

"I did. His Lordship asked if we might consider a late lunch, round one or so?" Her hand halted again, this time on the way to her other ear. Another surprise.

"And you said?" she asked, keeping her voice carefully neutral. Another tug of the ear, making her turn to face him.

"I suggested he and Lady Catherine come here, instead. I can just whip something up and we'll be on our own grounds at least."

"Alright," she said, again carefully maintaining a neutral tone while glancing at her watch. "What can I do to help?"

"Keep me company in the kitchen?" he requested, as a hand on the small of her back guided her from the room.

"You ask too much of me," she teased.

"Yes, well, I do know it's a struggle for you to keep your hands off me whilst I cook, Mrs. Steele," he replied, with a waggle of his brows, "But should the Earl be my father, he may as well discover now, my wife may appear prim and proper on the surface, but underneath that veneer is an insatiable woman always looking to seduce her husband." Unable to help herself, she snorted.

"You realize such a claim on your part would require me to defend my honor by pointing out you didn't manage to lure me into your bed for four very long years and even then it wasn't until two months after we were married." Remington's jaw dropped open as they stepped into the foyer and turned toward the living room.

"You wouldn't dare," he squawked, aghast. She turned her head and smirked at him.

"Try me," she challenged.

"Laura, a father takes great pride in his progeny's prowess." She shrugged carelessly.

"I guess you'll just have to wow him with the hundreds that came before me then," she retorted. "That should be enough debauchery to positively puff his chest right up." A step behind her, he eyed her back uncertainly at the first sentence then grimaced at the second. Wisely he chose to change the subject.

"I was thinking I might give the sundried tomato pesto quiche a try again this afternoon? Perhaps this time I won't be hauled off by the bobbies, hmmm?" Sidling around him, she poured herself a fresh cup of tea then lifted herself up to perch on the island next to where he'd work.

"Sounds delicious. Accompaniment?"

"Fresh fruit. Water or iced tea to drink." She hummed her approval.

"Can I ask what it was that made you reach out to the Earl this morning?" He pointed a whisk at her.

"You," he answered, before returning his eyes to preparing the food. "You've put up with more of my… gambits… across the years, and have forgiven each of them." His eyes flicked towards her. "Even if only after you'd held my feet to the first for a bit," he grinned at her, "But forgive me you would, while making it clear you liked the man underneath all the subterfuges well enough to give me one more chance to get it right. How could I do any less for Daniel, the Earl and still be worthy of your estimation of me?"

"I'm impressed. Now, how about the rest of it?" she challenged lightly. His hand paused, then a corner of his mouth tipped up in a wry smile.

"Still can't slip one by you, eh?" he mused. His smile faded and he turned serious. "It doesn't sit well, at all, to know it was I who was the ultimate con, not our shell game with the bodies," he told her resignedly.

"The ultimate con?" she queried, perplexed.

"I was trained by Daniel's own hand. I know better than any the art of the con. Find a vulnerability, exploit it, and when the target's sufficiently distracted, strike. He used my two greatest weaknesses against me: the desire to know where I came from and my need to give you something real, tangible, to prove my commitment to you… the one thing that only you and I would ever know: my real name." He placed the quiche in the oven, then turned and growled in frustration. "It was truly elegant in its simplicity. A few words about love found and lost, revealing the watch, and then the regretful claim of being the father I'd always wondered about. Not even for a moment did I question it, as he exploited one of the few things I truly believed in."

"Daniel would never lie, not to you," she surmised with a nod.

"Oh, he's lied to me before," he gave a barking laugh, "For my own good, of course, or to hide something of which I wouldn't approve."

"Your trust," she said, understanding.

"Precisely. He knew I'd never question a word of his claim for that very reason. I trusted him, second only to you. Believed he'd never lie to me about anything that truly mattered. Most of all, about this." He heaved a sigh. "As I said, the ultimate con: the teacher outfoxing the student."

"I would think knowing why would make it a little easier to swallow." He gave her a rueful smile.

"Did it keep us safe?" He lifted a brow at her. "Come to think of it, given Daniel and Marissa twice knocked the man unconscious and dragged him off to the Embassy, how is it Daniel didn't recognize who Roselli was?" Laura raised her brows and her eyes widened.

"You know, I have no idea," she answered, openly curious. "Maybe the Earl could offer some insight on that."

"Perhaps," Remington concurred. "Still, I can't help but believe it would've been wiser for the two of them to clue us in from the start. We are detectives after all. Maybe we could've unmasked Hadley—"

"I doubt it," Laura interrupted to disagree. "Scotland Yard had already been trying for how long? We don't have the resources in either Canada or England. With possibly only a physical description and estimated year of birth?" She thrummed her fingers against the kitchen counter and added thoughtfully, "And Hadley a pseudonym at that?"

"Possibly," he relented. "Still—"

"For a man that chooses not to live in the past, you're doing exactly that at the moment," she pointed out, interrupting again.

"That may be true, but—"

"I think you're missing the bigger point," she spoke over him again. This time, he set aside the knife and turned to sit the plates garnished with fruit in the refrigerator to chill while trying to discern what she meant. Giving up, he turned to face her.

"And what point, exactly, would that be?"

"One man who took you off the streets and thought of you like the son he never had; the other who spent a lifetime missing and looking for you." She leveled her brown eyes on his. "For someone who always wished to know his father, that's two who loved you so much they were even willing to risk losing you to keep you safe. You're a fortunate man, Mr. Steele." He stepped to her, capturing her face in his hands.

"Mmmmm," he hummed. "I've known that for near on five years now, Mrs. Steele," he murmured, bending his head and fluttering several teasing kisses across her lips before locking his mouth over hers. Laura's lips lifted under his in a smile, knowing what he was about, needing to step away from it all for a brief time. Her smile quickly faded, when his hands slid down her arms, one returning to press against the back of her head, the other arm wending around her waist, drawing her closer.

The kiss stalled when the oven timer buzzed. Laura laughed softly into his mouth as he grunted his disapproval. Their lips had no sooner separated than the chime of the doorbell added to the cacophony in the room. Remington looked from oven to sitting room, and back again. Slipping down easily from the counter, she pointed to the oven.

"You, oven. Me, door," she directed, as she departed the room.

The afternoon festivities were about to begin and she gnawed at her lower lip on the way to the front door, worrying what fallout they would see today.

Pasting on her best smile, Laura swung open the front door of the townhouse.

"Your Lordship, Lady Claridge," she greeted, even as her eyes lingered hungrily on the file held in the Earl's hands. "Please come in." Stepping back, she held out a hand towards the staircase. "I think Remington intends for us to dine in the kitchen alcove, but until then we can use the sitting room." She allowed the Earl to take lead. After all, it was once one of his family homes.

Remington emerged from kitchen, slinging a dish towel over his shoulder, as the three entered the sitting room.

"Your Lordship," Remington greeted, offering his hand. After the two shook hands, the Earl's eyes settling regretfully upon the man before him, Remington offered his hand to Catherine. "Lady Claridge. Please, have a seat. The quiche needs to set for a few minutes before serving. Can I offer you something to drink? Tea? I've a nice Chardonnay on hand."

"Nothing at the moment, thank you," the Earl declined for both he and his wife as they took a seat in each of the wingchairs facing the sofa. "Am I to understand you're preparing our meal?" he inquired, openly curious.

"Mmmm, yes," Remington replied, giving a tug to his ear from where he sat next to Laura on the sofa.

"Do you enjoy cooking?" Remington pursed his lips and nodded.

"I do. In fact, I'm quite convinced my canard au vin rouge is responsible for my winning Laura over," he answered, reaching for her hand. "Without it, she'd likely have seen me as just another scoundrel with nefarious intentions." Without realizing it, Laura rolled her eyes, drawing a soft laugh from the Earl.

"It seems you and Tommy have that in common," Lady Claridge inserted into the conversation. "He's forever kicking the cooking staff out of the kitchen so he might perfect a new dish." This drew Remington's avid attention.

"Is that so?" he verified.

"Quite. He prepared our meal when first we dined together: salad Lyonnaise and turbot aux beurre blanc, followed by Cherry clafoutis," she shared, while smiling fondly at her husband. "I was quite enamored by both the meal and the gentleman."

"I may have to one day try my hand at turbot aux beurre blanc, although Laura's penchant for chocolate may find me next testing my skills with chocolate-dipped orange financiers for dessert," Remington answered.

"Perhaps, one day, you might allow me to share with you the recipe for a white chocolate cream cheese mousse I concocted?" the Earl offered hestitantly.

"Mmmm," he hummed. "I'm sure Laura would be most appreciative if you did," he replied, while standing. "I'll just see to getting lunch set out." Laura's eyes followed Remington from the room, before returning her attention to the Earl and Countess.

"How has he been?" the Earl asked, his concern evident. Laura held up her hands then dropped them.

"It's not been easy on him," Laura answered honestly. "But Remington is truly the kindest person I've ever known," she scrunched her nose, "Not that I'll ever tell him that unless I want his head swelling even more." She paused while the Earl chuckled as she'd hoped. "Give him time. If you're his father, he won't know how not to forgive the deceptions. He doesn't have it in him." The Earl rubbed a hand across his mouth in a manner much like Remington when anxious.

"And yourself. Do you believe I am?" the Earl questioned. Laura nodded slowly.

"I do, as I believed he was your son two years ago," she replied with a great deal of caution. "But you need to understand my concern is first and foremost for the man in there." She indicated the kitchen with a tip of her head. "We both know how it turned out two years ago. Now Daniel's possible deception. I don't want to see him… disappointed… again. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to see if Remington needs help." Standing, she gave a single nod towards the couple then disappeared into the kitchen.

Remington looked up from counter where he was placing servings of quiche on each plate.

"Can I help?" she offered.

"Mmmm. If you wouldn't mind placing the pitchers of tea and water on the table, then letting the Earl and Countess know lunch has been served?"

"Of course," she agreed, picking up the pitchers and taking them to the table while surreptitiously observing him. Shoulders squared, jaw relaxed, blue eyes sparkling. If he was feeling any tension, he wasn't showing it. Relaxing herself, she announced the meal was ready to Lady and Lord.

Lunch was a quiet, if not awkward at first, until Remington and the Earl began debating the merits of cooper core stainless steel cookware versus cast iron or commercial Calphalon and Wusthoff versus Wolf cutlery. While thrilled Remington and the Earl had found a common, and blessedly neutral, ground over which to engage, she none the less battled the urge to yawn while pushing her food around on her plate. Discussion of pots and pans wasn't exactly her idea of stimulating conversation. Nor Lady Claridge's, if the empathetic smile she sent Laura's way was any indication. At a brief lull in the conversation on kitchen accoutrements, the Countess edged her way in.

"I believe Daniel told us you married last May? Was it a large affair?" she inquired. Remington glanced at Laura and allowed her to take lead.

"When we exchanged vows last May it was for the benefit of the INS. Our wedding was last June at the home of Remington's family in Greece," Laura corrected. This caught the Earl's attention, as he looked from Remington to Laura.

"Your family?" he directed the question to Remington while Laura winced. Without thinking, she changed the course of the conversation from enjoyable for the two men to uncomfortable.

"Marcos and Elena Androkus. They took me in for a spell as child. The nearest thing to parents I've ever known… their children, siblings," Remington supplied. "We married at sunset on a terrace overlooking the Aegean, with Father Ioseph, a cousin, officiating," he directed to Lady Claridge while reaching for Laura's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "It was the perfect day." Laura turned her hand over in his, and gave his a soft squeeze of apology.

"Have you any pictures, perchance?" Lady Claridge inquired.

"Not with us, I'm afraid. We tend to travel light," Remington answered.

"Oh," she seemed to deflate, "I would have so loved to see them. I'm quite the hopeless romantic."

"I'm sure we can send you a few pictures once we get back home," Laura promised her, wondering if she should qualify that with if the Earl is Remington's father, but then gave everyone at the table credit to understand that point was inferred. With those words, Remington stood and cleared both of their plates from the table.

"Were you able to speak with the President at King's, your Lordship?" he asked, as he scraped their plates and set them in the sink, seeing Laura clear the other couple's plate out of the corner of his eye. Handing him the plates, she turned on the water in the sink and began rinsing the ones waiting there and stacking them in the dishwasher.

"I have," the Earl confirmed. "He's made arrangements for the test to be conducted at eight am on the morrow. If all goes well, we'll have the results within only a few hours after they collect the samples. My apologies if the hour is a mite early, I'd thought we would both like this settled as soon as possible."

"No, no, you're quite right. Eight o'clock it is then," Remington confirmed. "It's a fair day, I was thinking a walk along the lake across the street at Regents might be in order, your Lordship?" he suggested. The Earl's eyes lit up, having feared with the end of lunch so, too, had come the end of his time for the day with the young man standing before him. Laura observed Lady Claridge reach out and give the Earl's hand a squeeze, much as Remington had done to her shortly before.

"We'd enjoy that very much," his Lordship agreed.

Along the lakeshore, the couples seemed to naturally break apart: Remington and the Earl walking together several paces ahead of Laura and Catherine. Laura had had to slow her naturally, swift, long-legged gait down considerably to match the sedate stroll of the Countess.

"May I ask you a question about Remington?" Lady Catherine hesitantly inquired.

"Of course," Laura responded, taking in the woman's nervousness, and attempting to make her more comfortable with a warm smile.

"Daniel told us Remington's childhood was… chaotic. But Tommy and I were always left with the impression there was more to it than that, but hadn't it in us to press. Were we correct?" Laura looked ahead to the men while her hand lifted to stroke her throat, left bared by the collar of her pink, wool coat.

"It's Remington's story to tell if he chooses and he may not. It's a time in his life he's carefully set aside," she answered cautiously, then gave the woman next to her a sidelong glance. Shaking her head slightly, she added, "It was a childhood no one should ever have to endure. It's because of the kindnesses of people like the Androkus family, Henri and Joelle – a man and his daughter in France - that Remington was able to hold tight to the best parts of himself."

"Will you tell me about them. The Androkus family?" Laura's face lit up at the question.

"They're simply… an incredible family," she fondly shared. "They live in Oia on Island Santorini. Remington had stowed away on a freighter, Marcos's freighter. He was very ill when Marcos found him. Marcos and Elena took him into their home without question, nursed him back to health, welcomed him into their family. Zeth is two years older than Remington, while he and Christof are the same age but for a few months. Melina, is four years younger. It was the first slice of childhood Remington had ever known: school, church, soccer, art lessons, days spent swimming in the Aegean. He's returned to spend part of every summer with the family for the last decade and a half… at least for the most part." Lifting her hand, she stared at it, then stroked it with a finger, before holding her hand out to Catherine. "Our wedding bands? Androkus family heirlooms. A gift to the man they've always thought of as their son." Catherine admired the band.

"It's exquisite," she breathed, before becoming more pensive. "You said Remington was quite ill when found?"

"Pneumonia," Laura nodded. "Overcome quickly with Elena's care." Her eyes flicked to Catherine then away again. "They're an incredible family, Lady Catherine, our family," she reiterated. "They love hard and deep, and once you belong to them, they will lay down their lives for you. All those reasons are why we married at their home, why we returned there for me to heal, for protection, after I was kidnapped." It was a warning that things would not change where the Androkus family was concerned, whether or not the Earl proved to be Remington's father. Lady Claridge reached for Laura's hand and gave it a small squeeze.

"He's lucky to have found them," she observed, before releasing Laura's hand. "How old was he?"

"Eleven." Laura said this with finality, indicating it is all she would share about Remington's time in Greece. The rest would have to come from him, when and if he chose to share it. "May I ask you a question now?" Catherine regally nodded her head.

"Of course."

The memory of the day Laura had brought the Earl the pocket watch traipsed through her mind.

"Catherine must know nothing of this," he'd said as he'd pocketed the watch, "until I can… sort things out with my son."

"When last the Earl and I met, he said you were unaware he'd had a child. When did he tell you?"

"On our honeymoon," Catherine began…

"On our honeymoon," the Earl told Remington. "Certainly not the most ideal of times," he admitted with some chagrin.

"I'd imagine not," Remington concurred. "Laura would've had my head should I've shared such as that on ours."

"Yes, well, it couldn't be helped. I wasn't quite myself after turning my son… you away," he corrected when he saw Remington slightly stiffen. "It was the most difficult act I'd ever committed. I was moody, pensive, not at all how a man should be whilst on holiday with their new bride. Eventually, she'd had quite enough and demanded I tell her what was on my mind, elsewise we could cut the trip short and return home." He chuckled ruefully. "I'd told Catherine before we'd ever become affianced that there would be no possibility of children and why. She'd taken it hard, but eventually decided she'd be able to live with it so long as we were together. Then my revelation I'd not only been married once before, but the union had produced a son who was fully grown now. It… crushed her, initially at least."

"Given she conspired with yourself and Daniel to write the midwife's letter, I gather that… perspective changed?" Remington inquired.

"What was I to do?" Catherine posed the question to Laura. "Tommy had stood by me after Bradford's murderous spree, and I was to walk away merely because he'd had a wife and child three decades before first we met? A child he'd seen but one time and had longed to find, to know and now had to deny to keep him safe?"

"It must have been hard on both of you," Laura commiserated.

"Oh, far so more on Tommy. To twice now see his son, only to lose him? He fell into such despair… mourning I would describe it."

"And Daniel never told the Earl about Remington's… early years?" Laura wondered.

"Daniel would only say much as you just did: It was Remington's story to tell not his own, then would go on to remind Tommy how Remington had spent his entire life searching, and not even realizing it, for what he now had: A career he took a good deal of pride in, a home… most especially yourself."

"Is that why his Lordship had Remington's…" Laura wrinkled her nose "… questionable past erased."

"You'd done first what you had to in order to survive," the Earl told Remington, "Then you lived what you'd been taught. Nathan had looked into each identification and none had ever been tied to something where a person had been truly harmed. Your misdeeds in comparison to… even my own… were insignificant. Provided more than one headache to various entities, inconvenience, but were almost Robin Hood-esque in their purpose. Truth be told, I found your exploits rather amusing."

"Amusing," Remington mulled the word, scratching at his chin. "Yes, well, I can assure you any number of museums, insurance companies and individuals did not. Either way… thank you," he told the Earl sincerely. "More so for Laura than myself. She can at last set aside her fears my past will come sweeping in and destroy all she's fought so hard to create."

"A remarkable woman, your wife. Tell me, how did you meet?" the Earl sought to satisfy a question which had peeked his curiosity for nearly two years.

"Kismet," Remington smiled. "I'd followed some priceless jewels to Los Angeles, intent on retrieving them and returning them to their true owner… for a nice recovery fee, of course. Her Agency had been hired to protect them. I knew from the moment our eyes first met that something truly spectacular was meant for the two of us." He laughed softly. "Never did I imagine it would take us four years to figure out precisely what that was. Remarkable, you say? Hard headed. Soft heart with a wall as thick as those at Fort Knox built around it, allowing no intruders. A horrid, magnificent temper. Determined. Focused. Iron-Willed. Loyal. Distrusting. She was the impossible challenge. How could I possibly resist?"

"… impossible challenge, he likes to say, although I might turn that around and say the same about him," Laura laughed quietly. "He'd don role after role that I'd have to peel away. An inability to commit to staying anywhere for any length of time. Bushels and barrels and baskets full of secrets from his past. Avoidant. Not to mention quite the libertine in the early days of our association," she laughed again. "He was everything I never wanted, yet was inexplicably drawn to from the start, because underneath all of the veneers was the kindest man I'd ever known."

"And now, tranquility at last?" Catherine ventured. Laura grinned at her, dimple flashing.

"Oh, we still argue, loud enough at times to peel the paint of the walls," she laughed. "I imagine we always will. We're both opinionated, strong-willed, and have tempers. He'll always try to protect me, and I'll always resent it, to some degree. I'll always hold his feet to the fire, as he recently termed it, when he resorts to ploys and subterfuge to solve a problem or to get what he wants, which I imagine he'll do, to some degree, for the rest of our lives as it was once a necessary part of survival for him. But, as unsettling as our arguments can sometimes be, they often are accompanied by a brutal honesty that only make us all the stronger." She shrugged. "Tranquil?" She shook her head in the negative. "I doubt we'll ever be fully that… or even would want us to be, given adversity only binds us even more together. I think what we have is far more important than tranquility."

"Oh, and was is that?" Catherine mused.

"She's not 'just' my wife. She's my partner and closest friend, first and foremost," Remington told the Earl. "Those two things, far more than anything else, have seen us through our worst of times and will continue to do so." He glanced over his shoulder at the woman in question and saw her taking a peek at her watch. "And speaking of Laura, I believe she may crawl straight out of her skin, if she doesn't have a look at that file shortly."

"Then perhaps it's best if we return to the townhome," the Earl suggested.

"I believe that it is," Remington concurred, waiting as the ladies approached them. Taking Laura's hand, he looped her arm through his own, laying her hand on his forearm. "Ready to return to the house and see what the Earl has brought at your request, Mrs. Steele?" He grinned at the relief displayed in her eyes. As adept as Laura might be at small talk, it was nothing short of torture when a clue to a mystery awaited.

"Ready when you are, Mr. Steele," she agreed, falling into step beside him. She was absolutely… itchy… to see what awaited them back at the house.