eating my things," he ordered.
The dog wagged its tail at him. For the moment Zachary would take that as agreement.
He was nodding off over the Byron poetry when someone scratched at his door. For a fleeting moment he hoped it might be Caroline, but she'd already set their rendezvous for early in the morning.
"Come in," he called, settling upright in his chair.
Aunt Tremaine limped heavily into the room. "Coward," she said, closing the door behind her.
"Beg pardon?"
"You left more than half a dozen very disappointed young ladies waiting for you downstairs."
"I was tired," he returned, snapping his book open again. "And I had to discipline Harold."
She lifted an eyebrow, taking in the dog snoring in the middle of the bed. "You've never disciplined anything in your life." Moving closer to Zachary, she rapped the back of the book with the tip of her cane. "At least it gave me a chance to answer all their questions in depth."
He looked up again. "What questions?"
His aunt smiled. "The questions about you. Your favorite food, favorite color, favorite flower, fav—"
"I don't have a favorite flower."
"You do now. White lilies."
"So I'm maudlin and sentimental."
"Apparently," she returned, unfazed.
"And what are you?" he asked, tugging at the end of the cane until she lowered it. He'd been thwacked across the ankle or knee with it enough to know how much it could sting. In fact he thought his aunt sometimes faked gout so she would have an excuse to carry the weapon.
"What do you mean?"
"Had you planned all along to make this detour?"
"I knew Sally lived close along the road to Bath."
Zachary stood. "And you knew she had seven unmarried daughters."
"Yes."
"None of which was information you chose to share with me until we'd stopped on the front drive."
"Don't accuse me of any matchmaking nonsense, young man," she said as they headed back to the hallway. "Sebastian was the one who assigned you to be my escort. I could easily have traveled here or to Bath with Charlemagne or even Melbourne himself. I was under the impression that they were both occupied elsewhere."
And so was he supposed to be . "Mm hm." Zachary continued to eye his wily aunt as he escorted her to her own bedchamber. "So you have no ulterior motives for anything."
"You're entirely too suspicious. Now lend me your book so I'll have something to read in bed."
"Fine." He handed it over. "It's Shay's, so don't be surprised by the notes in the margins. And Harold ate the cover."
Aunt Tremaine took his arm and pulled him down so she could kiss his cheek. "You'll enjoy a few days here. It's different than what you're accustomed to. Just remember, my boy, Sally is a dear friend, and her daughters are terribly naive. You are not."
"Never fear, Aunt. I won't lead any young things astray."
"I know you won't."
After he returned to his own room, he undressed and shoved the snoring hound to one side of the bed. He wouldn't lead anyone astray. If one of them wanted to lead him somewhere, though, that was a different matter entirely. And he had an appointment to be sketched—or whatever she chose to call it—in the morning. Yes, the damned trip to Bath was beginning to look up a little.
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Caroline set out four pencils with various thick nesses of lead. She didn't want to look foolish and run out of drawing implements in front of Lord Zachary—not when impressing him with her professionalism and competence would be as important as her skill at painting him.
She frowned. Considering the way she'd stared at him all through dinner, she could probably stand to do a bit of work on her professionalism. For heaven's sake, he was a Griffin. One of the Griffins. He'd probably had his portrait painted by Lawrence or Reynolds. Or both.
But in her defense, he'd arrived in Wiltshire with better timing than a white knight. And aside from desperately wanting to memorize the angle of his jaw and the curve of his brow in case he should vanish