A Perfect Secret by Donna Hatch

once had.
    Swiftly, he took two steps back, then made a gesture to the house. “Shall we return?”
    She nodded and they fell into step, walking without speaking as the echoes of the past rang between them. Toying with the flower, Genevieve searched for something to say to him, but she was running out of time.
    All too soon, they reached the house and she still hadn’t found a way to reach him. She paused at back door, desperate to stall for more time with him, and babbled the first thought that popped into her head. “Might I look for a book in the library?”
    Again he hesitated as if unable to bear spending more time in her presence. But ever the gentleman, he nodded once. “Of course.”
    He led her to a dark paneled room decorated in rich green floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with ancient books. The room had a comfortable, masculine feel. Over a settee hung a large landscape in oil.
    She instantly recognized his style. “That’s one of yours.”
    “Er, yes.”
    Genevieve sat sideways on the settee below it and gazed up at the painting. It clearly represented one of the Amesbury gardens but it possessed a whimsical quality, the frame transformed into a window overlooking a world of fairies and sprites. The colors were more vibrant than true flowers, and the light slanting down through the trees glowed with magical brilliance. Utter peace and tranquility abounded in that beautiful world of his creation.
    “It’s astonishing,” she breathed. “It almost looks real … only nothing is quite that beautiful. I wish it were an actual place so I could go there.”
    The clock ticked while Genevieve sat entranced. Finally, she drew herself away and blinked at Christian. He belonged in that world. Golden, masculine, gentle. Too kind to be real. No longer in love with her. Perhaps betrothed by now. To someone else. Of course, that was none of her concern. She’d relinquished any claim she might have had over him when she married Wickburgh.
    She smiled up at him. “Your style reminds me of Thomas Gainsborough.”
    One side of this mouth lifted. “You’re familiar with Gainsborough’s work?”
    “Don’t look so surprised. I told you I have an interest in the arts.”
    “So you did.”
    She turned back to the painting. “Your style clearly reveals a preference for a Romanticism style of art but your compositions are unique.”
    A male voice boomed in the passageway. “Christian!”
    “In here, Cole,” Christian called.
    As a dark-haired man with sapphire blue eyes entered, he stopped up short. His penetrating stare bore into Genevieve. She shrank back under the raw power of this man.
    Christian made a gesture between then. “My brother, Lord Tarrington—Cole to his family and closest friends. This is Genevieve ...” he clamped his mouth shut as if realizing belatedly that he was supposed to keep her name a secret.
    Lord Tarrington bore the same urbane elegance so many of his class possessed. He was powerful. Dangerous. As a peer, Tarrington would feel duty bound to return her to her husband regardless of her wishes. She must leave. He ’d find her. Tonight, she would go.
    Drawing her courage about her, she dropped an elegant curtsy. “My lord.”
    Lord Tarrington’s gaze remained unnervingly direct. “I’m happy to see you’re feeling better. I hope you’ll join us for dinner this evening.”
    She heard the command couched in his invitation. Though defiance arose in her heart, she remained outwardly deferential. “Of course, my lord. I am grateful for your hospitality.”
    She turned to Christian, hoping she appeared calm. “Thank you for the tour, and for showing me your art.” She glanced at Lord Tarrington. “My lord.” She sank into a courtly curtsy. Carefully controlling both her breathing and the gait of her step, she stepped around him to the door and walked to her room.
    Ann waited for her there, a gown laid out on the bed and a fire crackling in the fireplace. “Have a nice walk,