Free Miss Frazer's Adventure by Alexandra Ivy Page B

Foster,” he said, turning to regard his companion. “I will not be joining you at the docks this morning.”
    Foster folded his arms over his barrel chest. “Chasing after that woman, I suppose.”
    Luce smiled grimly at the hint of disapproval in the gruff voice. “Must I remind you that that woman is soon to be the next Countess of Calfield?”
    â€œAnd must I remind you that you wouldn’t be chasing after her like a hound on the scent if you hadn’t been late to your wedding as I warned?”
    â€œI am painfully aware of my folly, thank you, Foster,” he retorted in wry tones. “Now I must do what I can to repair the damage. And for that I need your assistance.”
    The hardened sailor recoiled in horror. “My assistance? With a proper lady?”
    Luce lifted a slender hand. “Be at ease, you cowardly dog. I know you are allergic to the fairer sex. Or at least to those who do not frequent the taverns. What I need from you is information.”
    â€œWhat sort of information?”
    Luce narrowed his gaze. “Whatever you can discover on a Lord Thorpe. Especially any scandals that might be attached to his name, and if he is in need of a fortune.”
    The bushy brows rose in surprise at his clipped command. “Competition, Luce?”
    â€œThe enemy, Foster.” A hard smile touched his lips. “One I intend to defeat before he ever reaches the battlefield.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    â€œIt is . . . magnificent,” Kate murmured in wonder, leaning over the metal railing in the Whispering Gallery of St. Paul’s Cathedral toward the patterned marble floor below. “What does the book say?”
    Luce appeared remarkably content for a gentleman who had devoted the past two hours to trailing behind her as she wandered through the beautiful church. He obediently leafed through the small pamphlet he had purchased before beginning the tour.
    â€œLet me see, the fresco paintings within the dome were the work of James Thornhill, and that railing you are currently leaning against was created by Jean Tijou. Below us you will find an epitaph for Wren carved into the floor. It is written in Latin, but it translates to: ‘Beneath lies buried the founder of this church and city, Christopher Wren, who lived more than ninety years not for himself but for the public good. Reader, if you seek his monument, look around you. ’” He lifted his amused gaze to meet her expectant expression. “More?”
    â€œOf course. You cannot properly appreciate such beauty without knowing the history, can you?”
    â€œAfter eight and twenty years of presuming that it was perfectly possible, it appears I labored under a dire misapprehension. I do thank you for correcting my tasteless lack of sensibility,” he teased with that gentle humor that continued to catch Kate off guard.
    Of course, if she were perfectly honest with herself, there were a great number of things about Luce that had caught her off guard since his arrival in London.
    Her heart gave an odd squeeze as she recalled his arrival in her chambers that morning. Gads, surely almost any gentleman would have fled in horror when she embarrassed herself by nearly sicking up all over him? Instead, Luce had competently taken charge and even managed to make her feel better when she had been certain she was hovering near death.
    And then he had sat beside her and so earnestly attempted to convince her that he did not consider her a mere source of ready wealth. That he believed she was perfectly suited to be his bride and Countess of Calfield. And that he had been as uncertain and anxious as herself . . .
    With a considerable effort, Kate thrust the memories aside. No. She had determined when she so reluctantly left her chambers this morning that she would not dwell upon her sudden bout of uncertainty.
    Whatever confessions Luce might have offered changed nothing, she assured herself firmly. She had