Acquainted With the Night (9781101546000) by Piper Maitland Page A

the garden maze or running into the moor with friends named Dickon and Colin. They’d play hide-and-seek in the turrets, overturn tea tables, smash priceless Staffordshire figurines, kick balls into the knot gardens, and attack Lady Patricia’s roses with clippers.
    â€œThe castle had four Scottish terriers,” she said, hoping he’d elaborate. When he didn’t, she added, “Tourists were lined up, snapping their pictures. They were well behaved—the dogs, not the tourists.”
    â€œThey’re Lady Patricia’s,” Jude said. “They know the sound of her car, and they form a greeting party at the end of the lane. At least, they used to. I haven’t been home in years.”
    â€œBecause you don’t get on with Lady Patricia?”
    â€œI’m quite fond of her.”
    So, his stepmother wasn’t wicked. And he was from a powerful Yorkshire family. Why was he living in Switzerland if everything was so cozy? Caro felt more confused than ever, and she was smashed. The alcohol had dissolved the last vestiges of civility. “Why did you leave Ripon and move to Switzerland?”
    â€œI like to move around.”
    â€œThat’s why you followed me to Bulgaria?”
    â€œI was hoping you could interpret Sir Nigel’s letters.”
    â€œThat’s only part of it, isn’t it?” She leaned forward. “Why are you here? Morbid curiosity?”
    â€œNo, indeed not.” His eyebrows angled up. “I was intrigued by the letters.”
    â€œWhy fly from London to Bulgaria to hand them over? You could’ve given them to me at the airport. I would have called you.”
    â€œI told you before, I don’t have a phone.”
    She swallowed the rest of her wine. “Would you open another bottle?”
    He hesitated, but only for a moment, and then he stepped over to the fridge, grabbed a bottle, and peeled back the foil. Once again she found herself looking at his hands. His face was interesting, too, changing from second to second, mainly because of his eyebrows—they seemed to have a language all their own, moving when he talked, and even when he was silent.
    An intense sexual desire rippled through her, and she didn’t have the decency to blush, much less look away. His blue gaze was both appealing and unsettling, and that smile always flickered at the edges of his mouth. Probably because she couldn’t stop staring. She hadn’t traveled to Kardzhali to have a fling. She was here for the saddest of reasons: to bring her uncle home. The backs of her eyes burned, and she turned away.
    â€œAre you all right?” Jude asked.
    She started to tell him she was fine, just fine, but her lips were stuck to her teeth. She couldn’t explain that the house on Norham Gardens filled her with an odd blend of homesickness and despair. Their housekeeper, Mrs. Turner, would urge Caro to empty her uncle’s closets, to pack away the Harris Tweed jackets that always smelled of tobacco, whiskey, and chalk dust. She would sort through his desk while the cat, Dinah, stretched on the floor, sunning herself on the oriental rug. Without Uncle Nigel’s vigorous presence, the house would be cold and empty.
    She blinked, and tears ran down her cheeks. The air stirred as Jude knelt beside her. “It’s all right, lass,” he said. “It’s all right.”
    Her head tipped forward and landed on his shoulder. She breathed in the aromas of cologne, leather, wine, and soap. There was a sturdiness to him, a fixed strength, reminding her of a house on a damp evening, a light glowing behind diamond-paned windows.
    â€œThere, there,” he said, almost a whisper. “No tears before bedtime.”
    What a strange coincidence that Jude would use the same words to soothe her that Uncle Nigel had. She wiped her eyes and leaned back. His eyes were so blue, she wanted to jump into them.
    His fingers grazed her chin.