Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord by Sarah MacLean Page B

unveiling a large statue in particularly excellent condition. “I can, my lord. As you can see, it does me little good here, collecting dust. It must be sold.”
    “It means more to you than its monetary value.” He could see it in her pride, in her obvious passion for the collection.
    Her shoulders squared at his words. When she turned back, he noted that her eyes were shiny with tears. She took a deep breath. “I assure you, Lord Nicholas, I would not sell if—” He sensed a world in the silence. “If I felt that they were well shown here.” She traced the line of the statue’s foot. “How long do you think it will take?”
    If he had thought the task she asked of him would take any less than a week, he would have lied to her to give her more time—to consider her actions. But falsehoods were unnecessary.
    “Some of the marbles will be easier to identify than others,” he said carefully, making a show at looking around the room. “Two weeks at the minimum. Perhaps longer.”
    “Two weeks!” Her eyes went wide with despair.
    “I see you would prefer to be rid of me sooner.”
    Her gaze flew to his, and she seemed to relax slightly at his smile. “It is not that … only the time. I had hoped to have the stones sold in less than two weeks.”
    “Impossible. Even the best antiquarian could not meet that goal.”
    “I do apologize, my lord. I was under the impression that you were the best antiquarian.”
    The bold words startled him, and he grinned, surprised and delighted by her teasing, so unexpected from a woman who appeared to have an untold weight upon her shoulders.
    He was coming to see, however, that there was much about Lady Isabel that was unexpected.
    “And it will take at least a month for you to get a reasonable price for it.”
    “I don’t have a month.”
    “More likely, six weeks.”
    “I definitely do not have six weeks.” Isabel sounded desolate.
    The situation was growing more and more curious.
    The collection would have been enough to sway him—but now, as he watched worry flood her gaze, he knew that it was not simply the collection that was keeping him in Yorkshire.
    He wanted to know all her secrets.
    And she had given him the perfect way to uncover them.
    They were very close now, and Nick purposely took another step toward her, crowding her nearer to the statue. Her eyes widened, and he found that he enjoyed surprising her. “Two weeks,” he said, his voice low. “And when I am done, I shall help you to sell the marbles.”
    “Thank you.” Her relief was palpable. “I am only sorry that I have no way of repaying you the favor.”
    “I’m sure we could come up with some form of payment for my services.”
    The words were low and meant to be teasing, but Isabel was instantly guarded. “Could we? ”
    Someone had hurt her.
    The thought set him on edge, the muscles of his back stiffening as he wondered who. And how.
    He turned away, attempting a playful note. “May I propose a game? ”
    “A game? ”
    “For each statue I identify, you shall tell me something of Townsend Park. And your life here.”
    There was silence as she considered his offer—a silence that stretched out long enough for him to believe that she might not answer at all. He heard her take a deep breath, and looked back at her, meeting her eyes. He considered their dark, mahogany depths, so private and uncertain. So many secrets hidden there—so much that he wanted to discover. The legacy of the bulan —he could not leave a mystery unsolved.
    What would it take to unlock those secrets? To see her with her guard down?
    An image flashed, quick and intense—Isabel, her head thrown back in passion, open and unguarded, her long, lithe body spread across his bed, waiting for him. The force of the vision pushed him back, away from her, to a safer distance.
    He indicated a nearby bust. “That is Medusa.”
    She gave a short burst of laughter. “Of course it is. Even I could have identified her. You