Free Dilemma in Yellow Silk by Lynne Connolly Page A

away on the estate manager’s daughter. Society wouldn’t approve, either, and that could prove tricky.
    With regret, he discarded the passing thought.
    He’d read a poem that reminded him of Viola recently. Ah, yes. He recited it aloud.
    “ Noli me tangere , for Caesar’s I am
    And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.”
    She stopped, turned and faced him. “That’s pretty. Who wrote it?”
    “Thomas Wyatt. He wrote it for Anne Boleyn.” He should have remembered before he quoted the poem. That affair did not have a happy ending.
    But she smiled. “It’s pretty.”
    “So are you.” The words emerged before he could put a cap on them. But it was true. She was pretty. Very much so, her lively personality showing through when she danced, or smiled when she thought nobody was by. Or with a tranquil expression lost in reading unfamiliar music.
    He was not sorry he’d spoken. But he could not allow any more. They were on their own, and she was vulnerable. So was he, the way his mind was going this morning.
    “I’m returning to London soon,” he said, as much to remind himself as her.
    “Yes.” Her face lost a little of its animation, her eyes slightly duller.
    That made him happy, although it shouldn’t have. It meant she would miss him when he was gone. He was a selfish bastard for thinking that way, but his spirits, unlike hers, lifted. He would see her again in August, and despite what she obviously believed, he would ensure he had time for her.
    Marcus no longer bothered denying he desired her, but the knowledge his father had imparted complicated matters. He would have to force patience on himself and bide his time. As she was right now, she was safe. As safe as anyone in her position could be.
    Impotent fury filled him, as it had last night when he demanded to know why the marquess had not told him before. “It’s getting obvious that we are racing to discover the children before the Dankworths. Viola knows nothing of this, or of our struggle. How could you not tell her?”
    “Her father knows,” his father had told him calmly. “He is keeping her safe.”
    She should know, and today Marcus would ensure she did.
    The news would distress her, that the father who had cared for her all her life was no blood relative.
    Her father’s house came into view. Not far now, and then all hell would break loose. Marcus didn’t imagine for a moment Viola would accept her fate meekly and let the men take charge of her life. Oh, no, she was more likely to do something completely unexpected and shock everyone.
    “You nearly made me laugh at the most inopportune moments last night,” she said abruptly.
    “Why?” Shocked, he stopped walking once more. “I don’t make anyone laugh. What did I do?”
    “You make me laugh. You looked at me just so, and when you suggested I play that tune for the guests, you very nearly overset me.”
    She had noticed? “I shall have to guard myself closer. Everyone is convinced I’m a most staid, ordinary fellow. I am considered one of the safest prospects in London.”
    “I have noticed that in you, of course.” She skipped over a molehill and back on to the path, her skirts swinging indecorously. Her plain stockings and stout shoes flashed into his view. “Not the safest prospect, I wouldn’t know that, but you think of yourself as ordinary. You are definitely not ordinary, Marcus. But people treat you with the greatest respect and the kindest consideration. They defer to you.”
    He shoved his hands in his breeches’ pockets. “Yes, I know. It’s a bore, but if I tell them not to, they do it more. Or they become embarrassingly close. Overdoing it. I do have friends, of course, but most of them are in the same situation I am.”
    She clucked her tongue. “Poor boy!”
    So of course he laughed, and she joined in, which eased the situation considerably. Nobody made him laugh as much as Viola. Or sweat, like the time she’d taken the worst-behaved horse in the stables