Free Secrets of a Perfect Night by Stephanie Laurens, Victoria Alexander, Rachel Gibson Page A

door, then glanced innocently back—“but I suppose you had to do something to fill your days.”
    He grinned and followed her. “Just so.”
    The words thrummed along her nerves; Abby suppressed a reactive shiver and led the way out.
    On finishing the main suites, they descended to the dining room and consumed a light repast, then returned upstairs. “The minor rooms can wait.” Adrian turned to the nursery stairs. “The essentials first.”
    Abby trailed in his wake. She leaned against the doorframe of the schoolroom and watched him wander, touching dog-eared books, running a fingertip over the model of a galleon. A kite hanging in a corner caught his eye; she watched as his face lit, the wonder of boyhood revisited.
    She wouldn’t have missed these stolen moments for the world. As they’d passed through the rooms, she’d seen glimpses of the boy and youth she’d known—precious fragments of memory come alive again, glowing for one fleeting instant. She grasped each image, anchoring it in her memory. Memories were all she would shortly have left—of him, of what had been.

    If he rated the nursery as essential, his nuptials could not be far off. She wondered, again, what the lady he had chosen was like, what manner of woman she was, whether she would understand him, his inherent wildness, whether she would understand she moor and how much he needed to be here.
    That last, to her, was very clear. Adrian at Bellevere was a different man from the dangerous London rake. It was as if the crisp wind off the moor stripped away his mask, leaving the real man revealed. Not that the real man was any less dangerous—quite the opposite, in fact, especially to her. She reminded herself of that as, at his insistent beckoning, she followed him into the next room.
    Continuing to voice her opinions on demand, she seized the opportunity to study him. He was fascinating in a way she hadn’t imagined him being—he had changed, so was unknown in some respects yet so very familiar in others, hence comforting and challenging at once. The contrast appealed to her artist’s soul. His resolution was new, a definite sign of maturity, evolving from his youthful wildness and stubbornness. And it was focused, too, although she wasn’t quite certain on what—his future, and Bellevere, and…something else. Perhaps she who would share the house with him?
    As she ambled in his wake, she inwardly frowned. Whoever the paragon was, he was keeping her identity a close secret. Did the lady actually exist, or was she reading too much into his behavior?
    They reached the principal suite. The furniture was swathed in dust covers, but appeared in relativelygood repair. Adrian prowled the room; Abby perched on the bed and watched him.
    “Why have you come home?”
    Across the room he met her eyes. “I got tired of it all, tired of accomplishing nothing—or at least, nothing that lasted, nothing of any significance.”
    Abby frowned as he went into the dressing room. “But I thought you’d made your fortune.”
    “ Increased my fortune.” His voice floated out to her. “I’ve been dabbling in business to good effect, and my Sussex and Kent estates are thriving. But neither of them ever felt like home.” He reemerged. “So here I am, returning to pick up the reins and rebuild, older and hopefully wiser.”
    She eyed him as he strolled toward her, an oddly intent gleam in his eye. “Rebuild what?” she asked as he stopped beside her.
    He tilted his head, studying her face. “A home, a family.” His eyes met hers and held. “To put down roots, here, on the moor.”
    Abby’s heart leapt, then plummeted, like plunging off a cliff. She forced herself to nod, stand, and lead the way from the room.
    His determination had rung in his voice, shone in his amber eyes. The image that had flashed across her mind was a vision of her personal Holy Grail, but…the one thing she could swear to about his intended bride was: It wouldn’t be