Chapter 4
Miss Judith’s eyes rounded and her shoulders tensed in surprise at his mention of their precarious position, that of them being alone—many yards from the closest guests.
It had taken Cart only moments to realize when he’d seen the women before.
Namely, where he’d seen her. At first, he was uncertain which twin he’d encountered outside the watchman’s residence, but her airy voice gave her away.
He prided himself on noticing the most subtle differences in items, which translated seamlessly to people.
If Cart were able to ascertain the period in which a painting was commissioned and completed, then the lilt to a woman’s voice should be all that much simpler.
It was what he’d dedicated his life to thus far. A profession that brought in coin to pay all the necessary notes coming in from the various vendors and shops his estate did business with.
Cart wanted nothing more than to know her reasoning for being at that house. He suspected she found him familiar, as well, though maybe she hadn’t put all the pieces together as yet.
However, she quickly recovered with a timid smile. “Maybe we should venture back to the gathering?”
It was exactly what he should want, so why did his heart sink a notch at her suggestion?
He was here for business—namely, Lord Barton had sent a summons to attend him at Lady Haversham’s garden party to discuss an upcoming acquisition the man hoped to purchase.
A meeting at either man’s townhouse would have been much preferred to a social gathering.
However, Cart was in need of funds, and gaining a position as Barton’s representative in the purchase of the piece meant a hefty payout for him.
After the recent debacle at his home, he would be lying if he didn’t acknowledge it suited him well to be away from the residence—especially removed from his mother—for a few hours, even if he thought the time wasted on socializing when he could be reading in his study or strategizing his next move in locating his uncle and the possessions he’d removed from the Cartwright home.
A stab of regret hit him at the thought.
So much had gone on without him being any the wiser.
A man who he’d trusted—who his father had held in the highest regard—had taken so much from the Cartwright estate.
Belatedly, Cart realized he hadn’t answered Miss Judith’s suggestion, nor had either of them moved since Barton fled with Miss Samantha.
They stood before one another, strangers, yet unlike at the several other gatherings he’d attended since his return to town, it was not an awkward situation. Or, at least, not to Cart.
“May I escort you around the lake, Miss Judith?” he ventured.
Her response meant much to him, though he told himself it was only to learn more about her presence at the watchman’s residence than anything to do with the physical.
She was a stunning creature, however. She was far more alluring than her twin, whose husky voice seemed a bit false to Cart.
“Jude.”
“Pardon?”
“My family—and friends—call me Jude…short for Judith,” she rushed. “I mean, when you have a house teeming with people, it is easier to—“ she paused, taking in a deep breath. “Oh, I am certain you are unconcerned with such things.”
Cart grinned. Something he didn’t remember doing recently, except for possibly at Theo’s antics. “Jude,” he mumbled, trying the moniker out loud. “It is a lovely name, meaning praise.”
And it filled him with a bit more confidence to know she was as edgy with this interaction as he.
The smile left his face as she eyed him closely.
Why he always felt the need to fill conversations with fact and tidbits of knowledge, Cart would never know.
It was just that he was far more comfortable conversing about all things academic and intellectual.
His uncle used to tease if he hadn’t been born to the Earldom, then he would have surely retired to a monastery to live the life of a studious hermit, confident in a vow of silence, which made casual discourse unnecessary.
“Are you agreeable to a stroll?” he asked again.
His uncle had been gravely mistaken. Cart was immensely amenable to conversation, as long as it served a purpose.
In this case, it communicated important information.
Most specifically, she’d been at the home of a night watchman in the early morning hours.
She’d been properly accompanied if he remembered correctly.
A petite blonde and a gentleman not much older than Cart had ushered her into a waiting carriage.
He’d been a bit preoccupied at that moment. Therefore, Cart couldn’t assess if the man were possibly her intended—or a relation.
Not that it mattered in the slightest.
It was only a short stroll, visible to the nearly one hundred guests milling about. Then she would be returned to her sister and friend, and Cart would forget about the entire encounter—his questions answered.
His interest in her did not signify any lasting impression on him or his life. Not that he was educated in this form of personal connection with another of the opposite sex.
With that realization, Cart lifted an eyebrow in query. “What say you, Miss Jude?”
The question seemed to sit well with her. She nodded before taking his arm. “Please, simply Jude, my lord.” A splash of color crept up her cheeks as if she were not accustomed to requesting someone call her by such an informal name.
Her inviting smile sent a twinge of unease through him. Certainly she understood his offer of a stroll was just that—a proposal to spend a few moments in each other’s company because it fell in line with society’s expectations in this situation.
They began their walk, Cart taking immediate notice of Jude’s long stride.
He was not required to slow his pace for her to keep up with his footfalls.
Understandably, this was one thing that irked him about women; they were either too short or their gown choice restricted their movements.
Either way, this cost Cart precious moments that could be better spent in other ways.
However, at this moment, he wished they did walk a bit slower.
Her hip grazed his every few steps and her long skirt moved about both their legs as they ambled.
Her fingers held his arm more securely than was customary.
He wondered how her hand, deprived of her soft satin glove, would feel against his skin—assuredly soft and warm—but would her fingers be stained by ink from letter writing or callused from hard work?
It would be appropriate to her position that they be long and free of anything more damaging than the prick of a needle from her needlepoint.
He was tempted to request that she remove her glove to ascertain if his theory was correct.
However, Cart kept his mouth shut. His lips were pressed into a firm line to keep from spouting facts of nonsense, focusing on identifying the shrubs that lined their path, many common varieties mixed with one another.
Conversely, her fragrance cut through his internal musings—it made him envision hot summer days and cold winter nights all at the same time.
A cool glass of lemon water paired with a warm apple dessert.
The duo should never be put together, logically; however, they worked well for her.
Never would he combine the scents or flavors, though they would now be forever combined and ingrained in his mind.
Cart pondered leaning a fraction more in her direction to see if the scent grew stronger—maybe it clung to her hair, only becoming more pronounced as the slight wind tussled her red locks.
“My lord, are you well?”
Had she spoken to him while he’d been daydreaming of smelling her hair? Something was certainly amiss with him, but unwell, he was not.
“My apologies,” he recovered. “Thought I spotted an acquaintance.”
“If I am keeping you from something—or someone…” she added, pulling away to look at him. “My dear friend is not far. I can return to her.”
Her stare seemed to challenge him, but to what purpose, Cart hadn’t a clue. Maybe to admit there were more pressing matters that needed his attention, or that she wished him to call off on his invitation, enabling her to return to her own company.
Any gentleman worth his title would take her indication and allow the woman her freedom.
“Certainly not, Miss Jude. My presence here was at Lord Barton’s behest. And currently”—he nodded toward the pond not far from where they stood where Miss Samantha and Lord Barton walked—“he is otherwise engaged. This is beneficial for both of us, as I can accompany you for a time and you will not be without company until your sister returns.”
She laughed nervously, a light, musical sound. “I have said I am not without proper company, Lord Cartwright, neither am I a damsel in distress.”
“I did not mean to insinuate that…” Cart was unsure he intended to imply anything at all, only pointing out that the pair found themselves alone at the same time. “I only meant that it must not be a coincidence we are both here and our companions have deserted us.”
Out loud it did appear he could have insinuated something entirely different.
Jude began to walk again, leaving him uncertain if she understood his explanation or only sought to complete their stroll in a decorous manner befitting a debutante.
“What business do you have with Lord Barton?” She kept her gaze focused demurely on the ground before them. “Not that I mean to pry, my lord.”
Could it be she was interested in him outside of a casual stroll?
“I am a collector.” He peered out the side of his eye, gauging her reaction to his words. His questions for her were forgotten as a subject far more interesting to Cart arose. When she gave no response, he continued, “An amateur collector at best. I collect items of historical import.”