Free Calder Promise by Janet Dailey

question as long as I have, or you would understand how satisfying it can be to at last have the definitive answer.” Tara lifted her cup and carried it to her lips. “How’s Quint doing? Did you speak to your mother?”
    Laura nodded that she had. “He came through the surgery on his leg with flying colors. Logan flew back home, but Aunt Cat is staying until Quint’s released from the hospital. Mom said that other than having a pin in his leg he’ll be as good as new in a few weeks.”
    “That’s good to hear. I know how worried Cat must have been about him.”
    A man entered the Library Bar, coming within range of her peripheral vision. When he paused beneath the Empire-style chandelier, its light reflected off the deep copper lights in his hair. The hue was much too familiar for Laura to ignore. With a turn of her head, she saw Sebastian making a scan of the room’s patrons, and her pulse quickened.
    Before she could lift a hand to draw his attention, he spotted the two of them seated by a window. With an easy masculine grace, he crossed to their table.
    “I see you two ladies are enjoying one of our quaint British customs,” he said in greeting.
    “When in Rome,” Laura quipped, her thoughts racing back to the night they had spent together, the memory fresh and stimulating.
    “Indeed.” His glance said that he knew exactly what she was thinking.
    “We were just talking about you,” Tara declared.
    “All good, I hope.”
    “Naturally.” Tara smiled in reassurance. “You will join us for some tea, won’t you?”
    “It would be my pleasure,” he said and signaled to one of the staff, who quickly added a chair to the table, followed by a third place setting. Hitching up his trousers, he took a seat. “Your flight from Rome was uneventful, I trust.”
    “It was.” Doing the honors, Tara poured tea into a cup for him.
    “So . . .” Laura settled back in her chair, letting her gaze run over his smoothly hewn features, their aristocratic lines so at odds with the smattering of freckles on his fair skin. “Were you able to wangle an invitation for us to see the portrait?”
    “Better than that,” He paused to stir a spoonful of sugar into his tea, “I come with an invitation to stay the night at Crawford Hall.”
    “That’s amazing,” Tara murmured, then explained, “Laura and I were just discussing whether we should make the drive back to London or find lodging in the area. Obviously that is no longer an issue. We accept the earl’s gracious offer of hospitality with pleasure.”
    “Will you be spending the night as well?” Laura asked with more than a little interest.
    “I will,” he confirmed.
    “Wonderful,” Laura murmured, her interest in this excursion to the English countryside growing with each passing moment. It definitely promised something more diverting than an inspection of Lady Elaine’s portrait.
    “You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to this, Mr. Dunshill,” Tara inserted.
    “Sebastian, please,” he insisted.
    “Sebastian,” she repeated in easy familiarity. “Is there anything special in the way of dress we should bring with us?”
    “Life is fairly informal at Crawford Hall. Although if you have some riding clothes, you might want to bring them along,” he replied. “A morning canter across our English hills can be an excellent way to start the day. I expect they will seem quite tame to you, considering that you were raised on the wild western plains.” He addressed the latter remark to Laura.
    “It’s also a reason why civilized scenery might be a bit more appealing to me,” she replied.
    “There’s certainly a plentitude of civilized scenery in the vicinity of Crawford Hall.” Sebastian sipped his tea. “Have you ever ridden English style before?”
    “I have,” Laura confirmed. “In fact, I prefer it—much to my family’s horror.”
    “Is that ever the truth,” Tara declared. “Do you remember the time you tried to put one of the