Chapter 27

Rolland's father was growing restless. His daily correspondence was not sufficient enough to keep him occupied, and the house party was growing tedious for him. Marcus and Her Grace had recognized the signs before Rolland could express his concern and planned a tour of some nearby ruins. They were no closer to finding their spy at home, so another day out was better than being sequestered inside and hoping for a clue that might never come.

The Penwarick Castle ruins were close to the border of Yorkshire and cast a beautiful but eerie shadow just before the moors. The group gathered outside of the carriages for a brief history lesson from Marcus describing the fifteenth-century fortress and the victories and calamities that had befallen it since.

Rolland listened with half an ear, but his eyes sought out Theresia. Her arm was linked through Lady Cadogen's and both seemed fascinated by the stories of war and ravage that had left a broken edifice behind. Theresia looked lovely today, with her hair low on her neck and soft tendrils framing her face beneath her new bonnet. Rolland took his fill of her and then forced himself to scan the rest of the group. His gaze landed on his parents, his father's guard watching discreetly beside a carriage. Every day Rolland had been on British soil again, he'd been grateful that his father still lived. With his distracted mind, he hoped he could keep it that way.

After a few minutes the group collectively moved into what was once the bailey and crossed into the keep. Lady Cadogen rushed inside, her obvious curiosity making him chuckle. Everyone took the stairs to see the view on the roof, but Theresia trailed back, her gaze taking in every detail of the main room.

Without his giving them direction, his feet crossed the distance to Theresia's side.

"I was hoping you would come find me," Theresia said in a near whisper.

Rolland's chest expanded. "Oh?"

"Yes. You see, while you were planning the logistics of the carriages with His Grace, Lady Cadogen, Her Grace and I have casually been asking all the guests what languages they know. We made it into a sort of game to see who is the most cultured by listing all the places they've traveled. I don't know why we didn't think of something so simple earlier."

The news was great, but somehow he wished she'd wanted to speak to him for other reasons. "What were the results?"

"Mr. Haversham and Miss Yearsley are the only ones who do not know French. Mr. Stewart admits to knowing only a basic vocabulary."

That meant both Lord Vernon and Mr. Hawke were fluent, but that didn't mean someone hadn't been lying either. "Interesting."

"It does disprove your theory about Miss Yearsley and Mr. Hawke. I think she ignores him simply because she cannot tolerate his flirtations."

"You might be right. It also makes Mr. Haversham's presence in London a mere coincidence."

"What about Mr. Stewart?"

"Is his gun still bothering you?"

"Maybe. But, besides that, is our information helpful?"

His mouth pulled up on one side. "You narrowed down our suspects better than my friends and I could, a miracle we are in dire need of."

"I only wish we would've discovered a way to hear Lord Vernon and Mr. Hawke speak the language. Their tones in English are too dissimilar to the thief's."

Her eagerness touched him. "It was a clever idea and is another step forward. You did well."

She smiled, making something shift in his middle. He forced himself to look at the ruins. "What do you think of the castle?"

"All it needs is a chandelier just there." She pointed to the center of the ceiling.

Rolland scrunched up his face, his eyes going upward. "What about a door and a proper floor first?"

She laughed. "But the open light would capture the crystal in the chandelier just so and make this entire space sparkle."

She never ceased to amuse him. "Very well. I can see how a sparkling room would be better than warmth come winter."

She gave him a dull look. "If you would've seen the chandeliers my father designed, you wouldn't be thinking so practically. This place simply begs for one." She took a few steps in the opposite direction the others had gone. "Where does this lead to?"

"To the only complete guard tower. Would you like to go up?" He glanced behind him. Surely a few minutes together wouldn't do any harm.

"Are the stairs sound?"

"Shall we see?" A sudden urge for adventure stole over his concerns.

They left the keep through what was once a side door but was now a gap in the wall and crossed the rocky ground toward the entrance of the tower. He guessed there were at least three stories of stairs to climb, curling in a circular path upward.

Theresia's head fell back as she stared at the top. "Why don't you go first."

"So you do have some fear of heights after all." He charged upward.

"It appears I trust lattices more than crumbling stone. However, I will be certain to mention your gallantry at your funeral should you fall."

"I would expect no less." Leading the way through the narrow walls was no chore. His legs relished the exercise after being cooped up in the carriage. Sensitive to his short time alone with Theresia, he slowed his pace to match hers. He turned to see how she fared. When he was assured of her well-being, he said, "I do believe it's your turn to tell me a story."

"I was afraid you would remember that." For a moment there was only the clip of their feet against the stone before she spoke again. "I suppose you deserve to know more about the history of my missing dowry. My father said it was his best work. He was a famous glassblower, you know, and his work was displayed in more than one royal palace. Before he died, it is said that he turned down a commission from Napoleon."

"I'm impressed." Rolland pieced this new information together with their current case. "Do you think his rejection to Napoleon could have caused lasting offense?"

"It would have been over ten years ago. I cannot imagine anyone speaks of it now."

Ten years was a long time. A few steps later and the farfetched idea was already behind him. "Now I know a little of your father, but what of your mother? What sort of person is she?"

"Mama came from a wealthy family who wanted my father to be more than just a common tradesman. Their connections and money added to Father's incomparable talent and caused his fame to spread, or so I've been told. Mama died when I was eleven, and we came to England not two years later. It was to be Papa's fresh start, but I've often wished we had never come. He remarried shortly after, and my stepmother sent me away to be reformed from my foreign habits. I was at the seminary when my father was thrown from a horse. He died instantly. The vase..." She paused, and Rolland resisted turning. "It was supposed to be my way back to Bohemia."

How he wished he could see her face, but he could guess enough by her tone how she felt. "I'm sorry. I cannot imagine losing both of one's parents. And I deeply regret your lost vase."

Her voice did not waver when she answered. "I've come to realize that even more than my future's security, it represents him. Losing my vase was like losing him all over again. You must understand now why I will never stop searching for it."

Her determination had been refined by her trials and matched the level of strength of the finest soldiers under siege—which was exactly why she needed protecting. "I might not understand perfectly, Theresia, but I know enough that I have felt safer having you become Lady Glass than continuing to risk your neck breaking into castles."

Theresia laughed. "It's only a risk if you have something to lose. And Lady Glass is every bit as daring as Theresia Dvorak."

"Yes, but Lady Glass is privy to a dashing escort in uniform. Isn't that worth something?" He had never been a great tease, but flirting with her was as natural as breathing.

She snorted behind him. "An escort who time and again leaves me in the presence of questionable company possibly capable of murder. I do hope his dashing appearance and said uniform can make me overlook such a disservice."

He chuckled. "My hope is the same. I cannot promise to rectify such appalling manners for another few weeks though." When he reached the top of the roofless tower, he turned and, without second thought, offered his hand to her.

She smiled up at him, sending his heart racing, and accepted it. Curling his fingers around hers, he pulled her to the first of the six narrow windows overlooking the sprawling fields of green. The gentle rolling hills reminded him of the sway of the water beneath his ship, and he could almost imagine the smell of salt in the air. He glanced at Theresia to see her reaction.

She looked up at him at the same time, her eyes bright. "Thank heavens I am so brave. It was worth risking the stairs for this view."

He was no longer interested in what was outside the tower. "You're right. This view is stunning." He should let go of her hand now. He knew he'd crossed an emotional line he'd sworn to leave alone. It took quite a bit of willpower, but he released her, letting his arm fall to his side.

Theresia seemed to sense the meaning behind his words and clasped her own hands together, her cheeks growing a little pink. "Now that I've confided in you about my parents, I believe it's your turn again to tell a story."

"My turn already?" The angle of her head played with his thoughts. With her chin up and her long lashes framing her face, it made it hard not to tell her more than a story but every secret in his heart. "Is there something specific you would have me tell you?"

Her lips pursed together. "Will you tell me more about your time in the war?"

He frowned. "You don't want to hear that. What about something from my childhood? I wasn't saving young ladies then, but I was a precocious child."

"Is it so hard to speak of? The war?"

She would not be dissuaded, this one. He wasn't surprised. "Do you think a captain in the Royal Navy could scare so easily? I'm just not in the mood. Not with this delightful view before us." He'd planned to drag his gaze to the window this time, but it wouldn't leave the real beauty directly in front of him.

"I believe you were an excellent leader, no matter how many men you lost." She studied him, compassion flooding her eyes. "I understand if you can't bring yourself to speak of it."

Unlike other debutantes he knew, Theresia hadn't had the easiest life. She saw right through him. "Perhaps if you played some music for me sometime, I could be persuaded to tell you. I'm quite fond of music, you know. I tend to ruminate and grow much too introspective."

"Truly? I didn't know. But you might not care for my music, and then where would we be? I would never hear about your injury, and you would never force yourself to speak of it."

He rebuffed the idea. "That could never be. I already admire your abilities."

"How is that possible?"

"I heard you perform on the violin at the ball that night, playing like you were in a world all of your own."

"You saw me?"

He nodded.

She stared at him, awe in her eyes. "Then, you do not mind a woman playing the violin? It is hardly proper, and Mrs. Stone—"

"Forget what Mrs. Stone said about it. You played exceptionally well."

"As if my life depended upon it," she added, ducking her head. "Because, in my own way, it did."

He reached out and set his hand on her arm. "Whatever your motives, it was mesmerizing. Your talent is like nothing I've ever seen."

"Everyone tried to dissuade my childhood self, but I was fiercely devoted to learning. Papa finally championed me, seeing that I had lessons and practice time. He saw my playing as an art akin to his own craft. He was right. Music is as much a part of who I am as glass is. No other traditions have shaped me or the community I grew up in more."

"Perhaps it is your personal history, then, that makes you play in a way that would persuade anyone to tell you whatever you asked."

Her lips pulled up at the corners. "It is a shame I don't have my violin with me now. Alas, such questionable talent does not go well with my Lady Glass persona." Her grin grew. "But I could sing for you instead."

He smirked. "You would sing out here?"

"If it means you'll tell me your story. I sense you want to tell me, and I cannot stop wondering about it." Before he could argue otherwise, she started humming, then burst out a few soft la, la, la 's.

He chuckled. "This doesn't quite have the effect I imagined."

She put her hand on his good shoulder and walked a circle around him, dragging her fingers lightly across his back and sending shivers through his limbs. A few more la, la, la 's flowed in a nameless tune from her lips. "This is better, no?"

"Definitely no." He laughed. She was ridiculous, and he couldn't help but adore her for it. Once she got an idea in her mind, she didn't let go of it easily.

She stepped in front of him to circle again but tripped over the rough stone floor, her la coming out as a muffled screech. He caught her to him, his arms encircling her back. Her embarrassed giggle did nothing to silence the fierce beating in his heart. He was holding her again, and it felt exactly like he remembered. His eyes went to her mouth, the smooth contours of her lips beckoning to him with greater fervor than ever.

She noticed the direction of his gaze, and with her head tipped back, her swallow was pronounced in the hollow of her creamy throat. "Did it work?" she whispered. "My singing?"

He shook his head slowly, his words harder to grasp then before. Every thought was full of her and only her.

"Don't you have anything to say to me?" Her mischievous smile was contagious.

He moved one hand to cradle the back of her neck, his thumb grazing her skin just below her ear. "Perhaps instead of telling you, I had better show you."