Page 34 of Thief of the Ton
“No,” she sighed. “I don’t hate them—except, perhaps, for one. The man Papa holds primarily responsible for all his misfortunes.”
“Who is that?”
“It would serve no purpose if I were to tell you his name.”
He squeezed her hand, and she closed her eyes, fighting the deep-seated need that had lain dormant in her soul—the need to have a friend to trust. But she had to remember that Papa had once trusted a friend—and that friend had brought about his destruction.
“Youcantrust me, you know, Miss de Grande,” he said.
“How can I?” she asked. “We might have been…acquainted when we were children. But we’re strangers now. Perhaps we were strangers even then, for I never knew your real name.”
He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb, and she drew in a sharp breath as her skin tightened in response.
“Then let me introduce myself properly,” he said.
“I am aware of your name now, Lord Marlow.”
“Peregrine,” he said, pulling her close. “My name is Peregrine.”
“Like the falcon?”
His lips curled into a soft smile—a smile that reached his eyes, which gleamed with warmth and friendship.
“Aye, that’s right,” he said. “Don’t you recall that I once told you how King Arthur gave his Guinevere a falcon as a gift, Miss de Grande?”
“Lavinia,” she said. “My name is Lavinia.”
He lifted her hand and brushed his lips against her skin, and a warm shiver rippled through her at the thrill of his touch.
What might it be like to feel those lips on hers?
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Lavinia.”
His tongue curled around her name, as if he savored each syllable.
How could a man render her powerless at the mere mention of her name? Or was it the heady combination of his warm, rich voice resonating in her body and the aroma of masculine spices?
Sweet heaven—she had dreamed of the boy, but the man was far more potent—a virile beast capable of devouring her.
And a part of her wanted to be devoured.
He released her hand, and she shivered at the sense of loss. “Perhaps we should begin our relationship anew,” he said. “Then I can prove to you that I’m as chivalrous as you believed me to be when we were children. If your father’s ruination was at the hands of others, perhaps I might be able to bring them to justice.”
“How so?” she asked.
“I consider myself something of an investigator,” he said. “I studied art history and classics at Cambridge, and I now spend much of my time investigating the authenticity of antiquities.”
“While languishing at your country estate?”
He let out a soft laugh. “We’re not all wastrels, Miss de Grande. A solid education does wonders for a man. Without it, he cannot rise above the savage, or help the world.”
Lavinia swallowed the flare of envy. How she’d longed to be given an education! Not Aunt Edna’s tutelage in the correct way to hold a teacup, but a proper education that challenged and expanded the mind. But, by virtue of Papa’s ruination—and of Lavinia’s sex—it had been denied her.
“How does an understanding of the authenticity of antiquities help the world?” she asked.
“You doubt me, Miss de Grande?” He smiled, and her heart somersaulted in her chest. “A clear understanding of antiquities can assist greatly when investigating a crime—such as theft.”
Her stomach tightened. “Theft?”
