Chapter 2

L ord Ajax Briarwood was beginning to believe he had gotten the wrong tree.

He looked about St. James's Park, searching for any sign of the person he was supposed to meet.

He was very familiar with this area of London and had had many an assignation here in the dark. He was, after all, a bit of a rogue, and rogues did have a good time in the evening in the park.

The antics that occurred here at night were legend, and it had been going on for, dare he say, centuries.

He looked down at the note, read it again, and then lifted his gaze and scanned the horizon. There were several trees, green grass, and people promenading in the distance.

It had to be the correct tree because whoever had selected it had clearly done a great deal of preparation. From here, he could stand and not really be seen, given the way the boughs of the trees swept about him.

It was the perfect place to meet clandestinely.

Whilst he was accustomed to meeting ladies in such circumstances, this felt different.

The note had been quite different than usual. He was accustomed to getting flowery requests for evenings of pleasure. He loved giving ladies pleasure. At present, it was one of his favorite purposes in life.

He excelled at pleasure, other people's and his own.

In fact, he was committed to his own pleasure, not in some sort of strange, selfish, indulgent way. No, he knew that as long as he himself was sorted out, he could do a wonderful job with anyone who came into his sphere requesting a bit of joy.

It was one of the greatest things about being a Briarwood. They all took excellent care of themselves.

The world was challenging enough without being broken in it. And the world was full of broken people, not through any fault of their own necessarily, but by generations of people raising each other to perpetuate their own mistakes and problems in their children.

It was the most appalling yet common thing that he could see.

And he had had the remarkable good fortune to have inherited a different set of ideas from his mama and papa, ideas for which he was ever grateful.

He lived by loyalty to family, confidence in self, and a joy of life, which was why, of course, he had taken one look at the note and its odd request and found himself compelled to come to said tree.

And as if his thoughts had pulled the person out of the air, a young lady suddenly appeared underneath the boughs. She glanced back and forth as if she was a character in a novel trying to escape notice.

She straightened and smoothed her hands down the front of her simple frock.

He blinked. And as he took in her pert figure, he felt a wave of abject disbelief.

He was used to the wives of lords, sometimes actresses, sometimes ballet dancers, but never young ladies like this one. She was remarkably short. Not quite over five feet tall, he would guess. Her hair was pulled back under a very simple straw bonnet. No curls bounced about her face. And her gown was expensive, a pale blue linen that clung to her frame in a well-cut manner, but she appeared quite nervous.

She marched forward, stuck out her hand, and said, "How do you do? I am Lady Winifred Tuttle."

He glanced down at that gloved hand, amazed at the gesture, and then took it in his own.

"How do you do, Lady Winifred? I'm Lord Ajax."

She let out a quick laugh.

"Was that amusing?" he asked.

"Well, it was," she said, her lips twitching, "in that you might think that I didn't know exactly who you are. I think everyone knows who you are, Lord Ajax."

He cleared his throat. "Yes, but it's rather rude of me to assume so, don't you think? I try not to be too arrogant."

Her dark eyebrows rose at that. "Do you? I'm most impressed. One would've thought a gentleman of your prowess, good looks, and reputation would be very, very arrogant indeed."

He cleared his throat. "And yet you requested to meet me. Do you truly wish to associate with a gentleman of such arrogance?"

She straightened. "I've also heard that you're eminently knowledgeable in the area of Shakespeare and that you are a good sort. My brother knows quite a bit about you, actually."

"Your brother told you about me?" he asked, astonished. This was most interesting and quite unlike any other encounter he'd experienced.

"Oh, he talks about you all the time," she assured. "All of the Briarwoods. He thinks you're a remarkable family. And of course, I'm very aware of the goings-on of your family too. I think everyone in London is. And well, I think it very sensible to approach someone like you for the endeavor that I wish to engage in. And when one is in circumstances like mine, there's really only one thing left to do. And that's take a chance."

"Do you always speak like this?" he asked.

She winced. "Generally, yes, I do. When I do speak, that is."

"How marvelous," he replied, and he was quite serious. He had not met with a young lady who spoke with such blatant honesty in years, except, of course, perhaps the few young ladies who had married into his family recently.

He blinked. Oh dear. That word should not have gone through his head. Married . He did not like to think about it. After all, marriage had been popping up far too often amongst his siblings of late.

"You think it marvelous?" she said softly.

"Yes." He cocked his head to the side. "Why ever not?"

"Nobody else does," she replied quickly. And there was an unmistakable but faint wounded note to her voice as she confessed this.

"I really wouldn't be very concerned about what everyone else thinks," he said softly, his heart going out to her quite suddenly and shockingly. "They don't actually think much or if they do, it's really a lot of silliness, isn't it?"

Good heavens. What was happening to him? She was drawing him in apace. Not through sensuality, or any of the usual things, but through her utter transparency of feeling.

She sucked in a shaking breath, clearly amazed by his sentiments. "I agree with you," she said, "but the truth is a young lady in the ton must give weight to what others think because what they think decides if one is a diamond or a failure. And my position, well, it has come to an end."

"An end?" he queried. "That sounds dire. Are you dying?" he asked.

She let out a bark of a laugh. "No, my lord, I have not caught the plague. I shall go on lightly until I am an old lady sitting in a corner reading her good book and drinking chocolate if allowed."

"Your good book, eh?" He arched a brow.

"Oh, I do mean my Shakespeare," she explained swiftly. "Nothing else."

It was his turn to laugh. "Your good book is Shakespeare? You and my mother would get on then."

She looked uncertain for a moment. "Don't you like Shakespeare too?"

"Of course," he replied. "All Briarwoods love Shakespeare. It runs in the blood."

She let out a relieved breath. "That's what I thought! And that is part of why I have picked you."

This whole meeting was most interesting, and he found himself being more and more drawn in, for it did not feel like any other assignation.

"Picked me for what exactly?" he asked, hoping she might clarify her hopes. "I confess, I now feel quite confused about my purpose here. You said you wished to go on an adventure."

"Indeed," she replied.

"A sensual adventure?" he asked, though now he had his doubts. "For that is what I am usually engaged for."

"My goodness, you do make yourself sound like a character in a play. But not Shakespeare. More like one of Mr. Congreve's. Someone who has been engaged , my lord? Is this a business arrangement?"

He cocked his head to the side. "I don't know. You are the one who invited me here. What is it exactly that you have in mind?" he queried softly, bemused by her.

"Well…" She swallowed and then folded her gloved hands together. Suddenly she looked quite uncertain. Where had all that boldness from just a few moments ago gone?

Her request had to be quite outlandish indeed.

She stared for a long moment as if she was rehearsing what she'd come to say in her head. Or bolstering her courage lest she run without having made the attempt.

"Now, now," he assured. "I promise you cannot shock me. I have heard it all."

"I'm sure you have," she said, pursing her lips, "but I have not said it all, you see? I have only made this declaration to my brother."

"You discussed this adventure with your brother?" he asked, astonished. His confusion and sense of suspense only grew. And he suddenly looked about. "He's not going to come out of somewhere and call me out to a duel, is he?"

"Oh, no," she insisted quickly. "This whole plan is advantageous to both of us."

"You meeting me here under a tree is advantageous to you and your brother?" he asked, wondering what the devil he'd found himself in. Whatever it was, it was a departure from his usual experience, and he found it oddly welcome.

Each moment grew more and more intriguing, and he found himself more and more fascinated by the young lady in front of him.

There was no hand on her bosom. No fluttering of her lashes. No declarations of unrealized desires.

As a matter of fact, she seemed quite unique and perhaps a touch too honest for her own good.

He favored that characteristic, but most would not.

She was a bit of a wonder. She spoke boldly without any sort of artifice. She was a plucky thing, someone who was clearly nervous and yet determined.

"I want you to take me away," she rushed, almost tumbling over her words.

"I see," he murmured. "And where would you like me to take you away to?"

"Well," she said, clearing her throat and drawing herself up, "I need someone to take me on an adventure before I am thrust into the countryside and left there to rot as a companion to my great aunt."

"Oh, my dear," he said kindly, "that does sound difficult. Is there nothing to be done?"

A muscle tightened in her jaw and, for a single moment, a shadow danced across her gaze as though she was in mourning for a whole life that could never be.

"No," she said. "It is my lot in life, you see? I haven't any fortune and no one wishes to marry me. I'm a spinster through and through. Have been for years, you see? It is what happens when your train of thought is not at all like the train of thought of others. And I made the mistake several times of allowing other people to know it. But I can't complain too much. I've got more than most could ever hope for. A bit of disappointment is nothing in the end."

He felt his heart warm towards her, and in that moment, he longed to wrench away all her disappointments. "I see," he said. "So you don't quite fit in with the ton. I understand that. Most of my family doesn't fit either."

"But your family is singular, and that is also why I picked you."

He groaned. "You're not mistaken. I begin to wonder what qualities you were thinking of when you picked me."

"Oh," she said, blinking. "Truthfully, you just came into my head, but I wanted someone who loved Shakespeare, someone who loved life, someone who would, well, show me how marvelous it could all be, and who'd likely protect me if I needed it."

"My goodness," he said, "those are all marvelous compliments. You think very highly of me."

She smiled then, which lit up her entire face, turning it positively pixie-like. "I suppose I do, don't I? Is it all true?" she asked.

He let out a laugh. "I suppose it is, actually," he said. "Now, what is this adventure? You wish me to take you to the countryside? Rent a cottage? Teach you all about the pleasures between a man and a—"

"Oh, no," she said, whipping up her hand in horror. "That's not at all what I have in mind at all."

"It's not?"

She waved a hand, then gestured back and forth between them. "I would like you to be my companion for two weeks at least. We shall go through the countryside and visit all sorts of historical sites. Ones associated with Mr. Shakespeare and his plays. And with you, I shall be free to look at whatever I like without having to be someone else's companion for a change. You will allow me to be myself, despite the fact that I may bore you."

Bore him? How in the bloody hell could she ever do that?

"That is all you wish?" he asked, so stunned he could scarce form words. "You simply wish me to escort you about England in search of Shakespeare?"

He was astonished and rather excited. This was not at all the sort of thing he was usually asked to do. No, he was usually asked to bring sensual delight into a woman's life. And he couldn't blame those ladies because so many ladies were denied joy, pleasure, happiness, and he felt it was his duty to give it to them.

After all, he had it all within his means to give. But he did usually avoid young, unmarried women because, well, being with him could lead to ruin, and he had no wish to ruin anyone.

"How long have you been a spinster?" he asked suddenly.

"Three years. It was official…" She sighed. "Definitely three years ago. I was a wallflower for some time before I was a spinster. I haven't been asked to dance, well, in five years, but there were still a few hopes, I suppose. But my conversation is so specific and so odd, and I have a tendency to say the strangest things that are apparently quite out of order, though I don't really always understand why because I never say anything that isn't true…" She drew in a breath as if she realized she was going on the sort of tangent society disliked. "And, well, there you have it. I suppose I've been lucky to have as long a run as I have. I am thoroughly a spinster though. So there's no need to fear ruining me. I can see the concern on your face. Which I find admirable, by the way."

Her commentary was swift, and he could follow it. Moreover, he enjoyed it. But it certainly wasn't the sort of commentary most ladies engaged in, given that most ladies were encouraged to speak about the weather. "Do I appear worried?"

"Yes," she said frankly. "But I promise you no one is going to make you marry me if we get caught together. I'm already done with all that. I shall retire to the country, and you shall never have to worry about me again after those few weeks."

Never have to worry about her?

Oh, he had a rather strong feeling that he was going to worry about her no matter what she said or did. And that was a jolting thought, though one he couldn't deny.

And he knew without a doubt what his answer would be.