in the buff. She knew a thing or two about anatomy?

Certainly, she had never viewed a man of this build and hue. Frankly the consensus among women who discussed such things, was that judging by the statues available, something seriously was lacking in proceeding decades, because there definitely were no males in their part of the world whose shape or face looked anything like that.

Then again, she had heard things about Greystone. She heard them from his grandfather who raised him here. She had never exactly formed a picture of him outside the usual image of men who would be heirs. All right, so he had been intriguing in the abstract, even if she thought the old dear was exaggerating his grandson's skill at sports and academics.

Old Charles, a recluse and scholar, had told confided in her that Thorn had been planted in France, to carry out covert missions, she also knew he'd been two years in a French prison before they could get him out safely. The public knew none of this, but then, Jane was the sort of serious minded female that old men seemed to speak freely to. Her deceased father had been Charles's private physician; they had practically lived here the past three years.

In the year whist his grandfather had died, apparently someone had kept his heir hidden until he recuperated and came to take his rightful place at Greystone. Victoria, her friend, believed it was Edmund de Lacy, the Marquis of Warbrook, for several reasons it fit the logical deductions.

He did not look as if he had suffered too much damage. Jane grunted mentally. If men in society were half so healthy, there would not be a number bluestockings and old maids desperately avoiding marriage.

Jane's fingers flexed on the satchel she carried. She fished her hanky out of her pocket with the other, to pat her forehead and neck under her long brown braid.

The movement must have caught the earl's eye, for he froze, appeared to be looking thought the glass, before he came down the ladder. Jane was shoving the hanky in her pocket and taking a step from the wall, when he was there, framed by the wide-open French doors.

Not three feet away, he stared at her and nodded, “Good afternoon.”

“My lord.” She did not curtsey but smiled stiffly, completely guilty of having sinful thoughts earlier. “I'm Jane Archer; I've brought some papers that you will probably like to have.”

His black brow elevated. He moved into the room and Jane followed his progress to a chair with a white lawn shirt over the back. He did not put it on, but wiped his face and neck with it, drug it down his chest; an action that drew her complete attention to that area and his abdomen.

My, but he seemed larger, darker, and more masculine on this side of the glass.

Jane jerked her gaze back upwards when he rang for a servant.

He said when Mrs. Campbell poked her head in, “Something iced, please, Mrs. Campbell.”

“Yes, my lord.” The woman beamed and glanced at Jane with a sly wink. “Hullo. Miss Archer.”

“Mrs. Campbell.” Jane smiled back at the lady she had played cards and had tea with many times.

When the housekeeper exited, Jane commented, looking somewhere near the earl's shoulder, whist he half sat on the huge desk, “I did some secretarial work for the late earl?”

“I thought there was a Sir Denning?”

“Yes. “ She walked toward him. “He's the solicitor, but I handled much of the every day correspondence. Some of his research I did from our rented cottage. My father was his physician.”

His lips parted as if a memory just struck him. “Ah, yes. Archer. “

“We had moved in, at the last. In fact I've a few things to collect from here also.” She handed him the case. He took it about the time Mrs. Campbell entered with a tray holding two glasses and juices in shaved ice.

“I'll see to it, Mrs. Campbell,” Jane murmured, taking the tray and walking to the side table, before pouring the earl a glass.

“Join me,” he offered setting the case to his other side.

Jane handed him the glass she had poured, noting his strong hands, veined and dark, and the scent of heated male wafting up her nose.

She poured a half glass for herself, and then stepped a safe distance away, though—she would have to have her eyes put out not to sneak peeks of him whilst she sipped, and explained, “Lord Charles did not trust many people. Sir Denning was nearly the same age as he, but worked out of London. Of course, my father was well known in his career, famous for his elite clients, but retired. Your grandfather trusted him and requested his care.

My father was recently widowed, so I thought it would also do him good. He had been at loose ends, and we took a house nearby.” Had she already said that? “But as the earl discovered my education, and we discussed my interests and work, he asked me to take care of daily details that he was no longer able to. It seemed to go from there.”

“Interesting.”

Since he was looking at her with those pale brown eyes, rimmed by thick black lashes, Jane felt as if someone had dried her mouth out with dust. “He was that. Your grandfather, I mean. He had written all of those books still used at the universities… amazing man.”

“Yes.” The earl downed the contents of the glass and leaned to pour another.

The stretching of his torso, the fan of ribs had Jane swallowing again.

“If you'd like, I can recommend some servants from the locals. I know Mrs. Campbell and the others did their best, but Lord Charles—”

“—did not like strangers,” he finished, having relaxed again with his glass and smiled. “I'm aware of my grandsire's quirks. It did not happen as a case of senility. It stemmed from his young manhood, when he had some manuscripts stolen and published by a man he thought was his good friend.”

“Really?” She breathed, eyeing those stark white teeth and a smile that likely melted female bones into water. His voice was deep and smooth, slightly accented and intimate.

“Mmm. Yes. A servant was planted in the household, apparently paid for by the man. But, as it happens, I do have house help for Mrs. Campbell, I don't mind, however, seeing to the repairs myself as I am unused to being idle, and with the social season and the exception of my going up to London, one must take what pleasure one can before the rigid boredom of ton amusements is upon one.”

“Yes. I suppose one must,” she murmured, seeing his gaze slide down her and up, before he drank from his glass.

The earl set the glass down and looked at the bookshelves, which were empty. Books were on the long tables at the end of the room and the shelves ready for polishing. He glanced back at Jane a moment. “You mentioned your work?”

She flushed. “Nothing lofty, I'm afraid. The usual charity boards and school contributions, some clerical work for father. I'd studied some in Italy and as my mother was well educated by her father.” She shrugged. “I had eclectic interests, but certainly could handle research and minor business details concerning Greystone.”

He was still staring at her. “Then you must know… that it teeters on the brink of ruin.”

“I have heard you intend to seek Countess for Greystone. I am sure that there will be as many heiresses this season as any other, so I would not worry too much about it. You certainly have enough to sustain you in style long enough to win your bride.”

“Yes. There is that answer.” His tone was flat, his gaze unmoving. “One I would have had to meet as earl in any case.”

“Yes.” She flushed, not knowing exactly what to add, since it was done and there was nothing for a man to dislike about it. Men got their heiresses, most of the time beauties, and restored their own fortunes, saved their birthrights, spawned their heirs, changed their lives very little, with every advantage.

He reminded, “You said you have things to collect?”

When his gaze went to the desk, she nodded, “And a few things in the guestroom I left behind.”

“Your father died, Miss Archer?”

“Last month.” She went to the desk and ignored the fact he watched her while she found a flat satchel in the bottom drawer and laid it atop. Her pen set and tablet, a few slim books. “I removed his things from here already and have them at the rented house.”

Unexpectedly, it seemed, he asked then, “Have you enjoyed the London season before?”

She glanced up at him. “Yes. I had my debut. My father was successful in his profession and well known. Nevertheless, I was not a part of the cream of society, and he preferred the company of intellectuals and artists, scientists. So, though we were a part of that life in London, we indulged our own interests.”

“You've not wed?”

She tied the flap down and walked around the desk and paused a foot from him. “No.” She could assume his look was assessing the reasons why; that she was no beauty or that she was the opposite of what a deb should be. Yet why she did not elaborate Jane did not know, other than the fact that reminding herself of the reality did not put her in the best mood.

Jane added, while endeavoring to focus on his face and not look down, attempting to ignore his darkly handsome looks, “Females with an education, and frank way of speaking, aren't particularly popular amid society, my lord. Not with the sticklers of the ton and social butterflies. I never quite mastered the art of simpering and eye batting and keeping my opinions hidden.”

He smiled, laughing softly, in a deep way that made her skin tingle. Greystone mused aloud, “You remind me of someone…”

She arched her brow.

“Not in looks, but in character.”

“A friend, I hope.”

His grin lingered. “Yes. A childhood friend who lived nearby, Elise Manning.”

“Ah. I am good friends with Lady Victoria.”

“Vicki…She was the youngest, was she not?”

“Yes. After Elise and her parent's died in India, she stayed there until she came into her inheritance. “Jane smiled dryly. “The Manning millions, and the bane of her life. I did not know Elise, as I only moved to this area recently. But Vicki is a very unique and outspoken woman, highly intelligent.”

He nodded. “I do not think Viscount Manning would have abided ignorant children.”

“So Vicki tells me.” Jane nodded. Her gaze dropped and hastily shifted away. “If you'll excuse me, I'll just get those things…”

“Of course.” He nodded.

Jane shot him a glance, then turned and hurried out, her boot heels clicking on the polished wood floors.

Thorn went to the tray, poured the last of the juice into a glass and drank it. He sat there a moment, half on the desk, his gaze absently on the open door leading to the hallway.

Miss Archer. He half-smiled, thinking that his first impression was of a small brown wren, however as he had been closer he had noticed her hair was a rich, deep brown, with red highlights. She was not beautiful, but rather intriguing; handsome bones and deep moss colored eyes. There was directness in her, something absent in too many women he had met in his lifetime, something he would not see much of when he went on the heiress hunt this season.

Thorn mentally ground his teeth, though as he had said, he would have to wed in any case and provide Greystone an heir. It may as well be a rich one who could restore the family fortune.

She, Miss Archer, was not a tall woman, around five foot five he would estimate, and though she wore a plain black skirt and high necked silk blouse, he judged she was likely better shaped than corsets and layers showed. There was modesty about her, in spite of the simple long braid and frank eyes, or perhaps it was a pride or confidence.

He suspected his celibate state, whilst recovering aboard Edmund's ship, was getting to him, that and the thoughts of wedding. He conjectured from Edmund, that among those choices would be either a cold beauty, who would sacrifice in bed, or a petulant deb used to being spoiled, one that would require restraint of his hungers and traits. There would be the expectation that they attend every social event and party of importance.

Then again, she could be like Edmund's wife of ten years, a genteel woman on the surface, and a whore behind his back. Poor Edmund, to return from war and find your wife of ten years openly living with another man. To realize, he'd never known her at all. To have to publicly divorce her, and?

Bloody hell. He had been about the business of war, and put the earldom and the ton behind him, because even before he became the heir he had avoided that society. He never cared for their stamp of approval and had attended only a few functions, where he found himself either bored or feeling like meat in a lion's cage. If not for his meeting the Marquis of Warbrook, he doubted seriously if he would have ever gone to London.

Then, it was through Edmund that he began his training as an agent. He knew many of his peers believed the only purpose of their aristocracy was to indulge themselves and wallow in the luxury of their status, the superiority of their birthright. To stand around sprouting politics and pretending to know what was best for every man of every class, and to believe, the better belonged to them.

A different sort of man had raised him, and he had been dangerously close to becoming a rakehell, though not the dissolute his father, when he had finally met Edmund and begun planning his mission, Thorn felt that he had finally discovered a purpose beyond the title and rank and expectation of society.

Now of course, it was his reality that he'd become the Earl of Greystone, and his responsibility to see it survive another generation and thrive. It was his place to provide the heir.

Thorn blinked to attention when he heard voices in the hall. He straightened and casually slid on the shirt that he had discarded, doing a few buttons and crossing the room. He had deliberately kept his back to Jane, though he did not think her missish. He simply did not like having to explain the scars.

In the hall, he noted that Jane was talking with Mrs. Campbell. For a moment, he could overhear their conversation.

“I've the cottage rented for the rest of the year. I have just finished fulfilling all of father's business, sending books and letters to those on his list, his good friends and such. I do have to go to London and finalize some papers soon.”

“Well, Now. I was right sorry he went, but your father was tired, Jane. And he missed your mother very much.”

“Yes.” Jane smiled. “I thank you, Mrs. Campbell, for sitting and listening to him talk about her. They were very much partners though society would never have a woman physician. Her father was such, and her mother an herbalist, so she quite knew what she was about. They were the best of friends. I remember every night they talked and talked…”

“I could tell, my dear. And it was no trouble to me. His lordship was ill so long, and the house so empty of visitors. He was good for the earl and I do think he lasted out in order to ease his lordship's own passing.”

“I've thought so.” Jane sighed. Thorn could see a heavy valise at her feet. She added, “When things settle down here, do come by on your days off, and see me."

“Oh, I will. Though if the earl's to get a bride, I expect the house will be humming.” Mrs. Campbell grinned. “Quite exciting for those of us who are older, to see Greystone coming alive again. “

“Yes. It should be. And he'll have cronies down, weekend parties, mayhap, just to give your practice.”

The women laughed.

Then Mrs. Campbell said, “Let me call Ted to carry this out for you.” She motioned to the valise.

Jane opened her mouth, but Thorn strode to them, offering, “I'll see to it.”

She looked at him somewhat startled. “Oh? That’s quite all right, my Lord. I?”

“Thorn.” He offered his hand.

She stared at it, shook it, though she seemed surprised.

He winked at Mrs. Campbell. “In fact, it's Thornton, but my grandfather didn't like the name. Didn't like my father, actually. He gave it to me—I believe, because grandfather detested it.” He laughed and picked up the bag, following Jane out the entry and seeing her light buggy waiting. He put it in the floor.

Thorn then turned, and Jane stood there.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He nodded.

She answered the traces of his smile and murmured, “I'm aware the previous Earl did not care for your father.”

“Father was a complete wastrel, “he said smoothly, having always seen his grandfather as his father. “My mother died when I was born, and father gave up any pretence of being respectable. “

“Gave you up, to your grandfather also?”

“Yes. Thankfully,” Thorn supplied. “He died very much the way he lived, shot in a duel for cheating.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Ah. Well, so many gents are stuffy and starched; it's rather exciting to have at least one black sheep.”

He muttered, “He was more than that. He is why the money ran out. Grandfather had to bribe and pay to cover his scandals and get him out of messes too often.”

“Yes. He rambled about it sometimes.”

Thorn looked around the rolling green lawn and then to the side where the stables were. He finally glanced back to Jane Archer, watching a few strands from her braid tease her forehead. “I loved it here as a lad. “

“The past earl said you did. He also said everything came easily to you, sports, your studies, particularly languages and sciences.” Jane was looking past him. “He was supremely proud of you. He felt you were Greystone. Meant to be its future.” She finally met his gaze and Thorn could only stare at a twinkle in her eye. “He also said you were quite the flirt and that he was fully aware you'd sneak to the village tavern.”

Thorn chuckled. “Um. And here I though I was so very sly.”

“Nope. Not a bit. I overheard him telling father, how you'd think he was abed and sneak out on horseback.”

Shaking his head, still grinning, Thorn sighed. “It is too bad that I did not see him once more.”

“I'm sure. But he felt very close to you, very proud all the same.”

“Thank you, Jane.” Thorn held her gaze. “For your father, for everything you did here. I am not so foolish as to believe it was simple letter writing. I know it had to take some skill to keep it all together until I returned.”

“It was my pleasure. I enjoyed seeing my father find a purpose. It filled him with a sense of being needed, until his own passing.”

Thorn noticed that in the day light, the shadowy grotto green of her eyes, so unusual that he thought someone at a distance might mistake her eyes for brown, were very unique. He murmured aloud, without thinking, “I do not think I've ever seen eyes like yours, the hue.”

She flushed obviously, but said, “My mother was a dark woman with a mulatto grandmother. “

“Ah. No doubt an exotic beauty?”

“Yes.” She laughed acknowledging that as a gentleman's effort to avoid having his comment construed as an insult. “I take after father, except for the eyes.”

He sensed that self-consciousness and thought it at odds with her intelligence and apparent confidence. “A very handsome man, obviously.” He smiled.

She chuckled dryly. “Thank you.” Then turned to step in the buggy seat.

Thorn assisted her, watched her pull gloves from her pocket and expertly takes the ribbons.

“Your house is nearby?”

“A few miles, yes. I walked the distance and have ridden it. It used to be a guest cottage, your grandfather said. Sold off a long time ago.”

“Ah, I remember it. A stone cottage with black shutters.” He stepped back. “If you have forgotten anything else, feel free to return. In fact, I hope you shall feel welcome here anytime, Jane."

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Thorn.” He scolded with a grin. “I will hear too much formality in London. And, if there is anything at all I may do for you? To assist you or whatever else, I am quite happily at your service.”

He saw her eyes go over him in that quick way they had in the library. Far from the mockery, or the teasing he would have done, should have felt, Thorn felt his instincts react on the basic level of a man whom a woman was stealing glances at.

He had bloody well better get to London soon, and to a mistress.

“I...shall. Thank you again.” She began turning the buggy toward the drive.

Thorn watched her until it reached the main road. He shook his head then and turned to go inside, wanting to finish the physical work and put off the mountain of paperwork, the going through his grandfather's things, the lists he needed to make before he went to London-- The many, many lists he must make? Not looking forward to opening the Greystone townhouse there, which would have to be re-staffed.

Standing at last in the library, he cursed and went to the desk, then dashed a quick note off to Edmund.

He was cognizant society was treating the Marquis like an aberration because of his divorce, and at the moment, Edmund detested every last one of them; the cliques, the superficial sophisticates, and the gossips. He would be damned if he went through the season though, without his friend and ally.