Her Rogue: His & Hers, #4

By Charlotte Russell

Benjamin King never yet met a woman he couldn't charm. Until he strides into the village of Hatherden under an assumed name and meets the Viscountesses Dunstan. Not one of the three is captivated by his winning ways. Ben, though, needs to ingratiate himself into the family as he believes proof of a significant inheritance due him is located in their home. To his surprise and good fortune, he recognizes the youngest viscountess as a childhood friend. Ben proposes they enter into a fake courtship so he can search the house.

Harriet Rutledge, the widowed Lady Dunstan, chafes under the strictures of the guardian of her young son and her mother-in-law. Though she must tread carefully where they are concerned, she agrees to help her old friend. However, under no circumstances will she pretend to be courted by him. Harriet suggests a different ruse to enable Ben to find what he seeks.

Amidst late-night searches, the two discover unfettered passion, and perhaps something more. But for Hattie, the risk of loving a young rogue comes with a steep price. Ben is willing to make sacrifices for his lady's heart, but can he prove to Hattie that the cost of love is always worthwhile—when shared?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlotte Russell
• Release date: Feb 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9781735850351

Charlotte Russell

Charlotte Russell didn’t always know she wanted to be a writer. At one point she had grand plans to be an architect, until she realized she couldn’t draw anything more complicated than a stick figure. So, she enrolled at the University of Notre Dame and studied her first love—history. Now she puts all that historical knowledge to good use by writing romances set in Regency England. When not pounding on the keyboard or tending to one husband, two cats, and three children, Charlotte is privileged to serve the people of her community at the local library.  She's resided in numerous, varied locales, including Indiana, Mexico City, Phoenix, and Seattle but currently calls the heartland of the USA home.

Book preview

Chapter One

Hampshire, England

July 1817

Harriet, Lady Dunstan, not to be mistaken for Penelope, the Dowager Lady Dunstan, or for Margaret, the eldest Dowager Lady Dunstan, skirted the Hatherden assembly room, attempting to avoid eye contact with any gentleman over the age of twenty. Alas, the task was Sisyphean. Everywhere she turned, there was another gentleman, the possibility of triumph gleaming in his eyes.

Mr. Gaston, the sinfully wealthy and happily married brewer, sidled up to her. Lady Dunstan, this reel is particularly lively. Won’t you join me in a dance?

The vicar, Mr. Callan, whose thoughtful reasoning always left her with something to consider, stepped in front of her and bowed smartly. My lady, I would be honored if you would share this dance with me.

Colonel Portman, seventy if he was a day but still light on his toes, outflanked Sir John Larwood and took her hand. Please, my dear, I have but one last request before I shake this mortal coil. Will you dance with me?

Harriet wanted to dance. Oh, how she wanted to dance. But every time she was asked, she could feel the sharp glare of her mother-in-law, the aforementioned Penelope, Lady Dunstan, turn upon her.

Everyone—correction, every gentleman—within a ten-mile radius seemed to think that two and a half years after the death of her husband, the youngest Lady Dunstan should be allowed to dance. Penelope did not.

What Harriet needed right now was air. The July night was warm, and moisture hung in the air, as if the clouds couldn’t decide whether or not to drop their bounty. Her blue muslin underdress, one of her favorites, was beginning to cling indecently.

Instead, Penelope and her stifling air accosted Harriet. Why is it so difficult for you to let everyone know you are not dancing this evening? Why must you encourage them?

Penelope spoke under her breath and while her words were harsh, her smile never faltered. Harriet’s mother-in-law never looked anything but happy and serene in public. The effort must be exhausting. Nonetheless, Penelope’s outward attitude never wavered.

As always, I did tell them I wasn’t dancing, Harriet protested.

Then why do they keep asking? Penelope tipped her head. Her diamond drop earring swung away from her neck.

Harriet sighed. I believe the local gentlemen have now made a game out of it. Whoever convinces me to dance first, wins.

Wins what?

I don’t know, Harriet replied with growing irritation at the constraints placed upon her. Gentlemen just like to win. It’s in their blood.

Penelope stared at her as if trying to decide whether Harriet was having a laugh at her expense or if she was serious. Harriet and her mother-in-law were of a height but that was all their appearances had in common. Despite her fifty-nine years, Penelope’s black curly hair, which she kept short, harbored not a single grey strand. Her porcelain skin was marred by only the finest of wrinkles. Her fine brown eyes still sparkled with warmth. Except when they were turned upon Harriet, as they were now.

You will not dance. Penelope snapped open her fan. "Make conversation, play cards, do what you will, but you will not dance."

Until that dreadful day over two years ago when her husband Edward had died, Harriet had never lived under the cat’s paw. Since then, however, Penelope happened to possess the one thing Harriet could not live without—access to her young son, the current Lord Dunstan. Penelope, in league with her brother, the child’s guardian, unflinchingly but without glee used her grandson to control Harriet.

So, Harriet did not dance.

Repeatedly, she turned down offers from all the local gentlemen, even the Marquess of Edgerton when he deigned to attend. Harriet loved to dance and wished for nothing more than a twirl around the ballroom, and she had no doubt her husband would not have minded. None of the gentlemen wanted anything more than a dance, of that she was certain as well, but it did not matter to Penelope, who insisted her mysterious rules of decorum be followed.

Frustration kindled anew in Harriet’s chest as her mother-in-law hardened her eyes while smiling for all Hatherden to see.

Why should she not dance?

Why should she not live her life as she wished?

She was a woman grown, a mother, a respectable widow, and yet still she chafed under the constrictions of others.

Penelope flipped open her fan as she slipped by Harriet. Thank you, my dear.

Her cloying smile, her confidence in Harriet’s acquiescence, served as the tinder to the wick of annoyance inside Harriet. And when Penelope crossed the room and accepted Colonel Portman’s offer to dance, it was as if she tossed gunpowder on the smoldering mass of vexation.

Harriet would dance.

Yes, she would. She would dance with whosoever was persistent enough to ask her next, the consequences be damned.

She would not live her life under anyone’s paw.

Harriet sailed off around the room, head high, for once trying to catch the eye of any available gentleman. Her gaze immediately clashed with that of a young man.

A dashing young man. Out of sickening habit, she looked away. Then looked back. The young man looked familiar, but Harriet couldn’t place him. She blinked, her irritation with Penelope replaced by curiosity, then stared for an unseemly amount of time, searching the far recesses of her memory.

Aha! He resembled Mrs. King, the wife of her father’s former steward. That would make the young man...Benjamin King? Could he really be little Ben?

Abruptly, the man turned his back. Well, that was a first: someone else looking away before Harriet did. She’d caught a brief flash of mischief in his eyes that furthered her assumption of his identity. Young Benjamin King had been a rapscallion of the first order. But what would he be doing in Hampshire?

The last time she’d seen him he had been a ten-year-old hellion-in-training, running neck and neck with her youngest brother, James. Ben was the youngest son of the estate’s land steward, and those two boys got up to more trouble combined than the other dozen children who lived on the estate.

Curious now to know if he truly was Benjamin King, Harriet searched the crowd for the young man. She spotted his burgundy coat and set off in pursuit. After five minutes of chasing after him like a wild goose, she began to suspect he was avoiding her. He did nothing obvious like look over his shoulder, but every time she came near, he slipped away. Feeling a bit foolish, Harriet was about to give up and return to her boring amble around the room when she spied the young man caught in Mrs. Portman’s trap. There was no getting away from the colonel’s wife in under a quarter hour, as Harriet well knew.

Approaching him from behind, she was momentarily distracted by his broad shoulders and so ended up much closer to him than she wanted to be when she addressed the colonel’s wife. Mrs. Portman, how do you do this evening?

The man stiffened. Harriet was close enough to notice. She was also close enough for his bayberry cologne to tickle her nose.

Meanwhile Mrs. Portman, a diminutive woman of Indian descent with lively brown eyes and flushed cheeks, smiled in delight. "Harriet, darling, your ears must be burning. I was just telling Mr. Fauntleroy here about our surfeit of viscountesses and how one often finds oneself talking in circles about ‘Lady Dunstan this’ and 'Lady Dunstan that’ and ‘oh of course I don’t mean that Lady Dunstan.’ It is all too much! But we love you all dearly and I can’t imagine life here in Hatherden without each of you."

Throughout this, Harriet smiled at Mrs. Portman while sliding a sideways glance at Mr. Fauntleroy, somewhat dismayed to discover he wasn’t Benjamin King after all. All she spied in her peripheral vision, however, was a burgundy-covered chest nearly as broad as his shoulders. She shifted her gaze up, prepared to gracefully admit that her powers of recognition were off.

Except they weren’t.

Those green eyes and that charming half-smile might have belonged to any young man. But that inch-long scar on the right side of his chin, that unmistakably belonged to little Ben King. She recalled the day he’d tried to jump from the oak tree’s longest limb into the pond and smacked his chin on a floating branch. She remembered because he’d immediately come crying to her even though she had expressly told him and James not to attempt the jump. They had never listened to her.

Harriet shook herself back into the present. Why was he not using the King name? She reached out and clasped Mrs. Portman’s hand. Would you please introduce me to your newest admirer?

Of course, of course. Mrs. Portman squeezed Harriet’s hand and pulled her close. May I present Mr. Bennett Fauntleroy? And Mr. Fauntleroy, may I present Harriet, Lady Dunstan? She’s the youngest of the three Lady Dunstans and my particular favorite, she added with a wink in Harriet’s direction.

Harriet held out her free hand. The young man, who was certainly Benjamin King even if he chose not to say so, took her hand and bowed over it. His hair was the same thick, dark brown it had always been, but heaven help her, this was not little Ben King. This was grown-up, square-jawed too-handsome-for-his-own-good Ben King. Even as ridiculous as it was, Harriet desperately wanted to fan herself.

It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Dunstan, he replied in a perfectly grown-up baritone. What had happened to the high-pitched boyish voice that had never managed any level below a yell?

Harriet dipped a small curtsy. I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Mr....Fauntleroy. A sharp glance told her he noticed the hesitation, but she still had no idea if he recognized her or not. She smiled at him benignly and patted Mrs. Portman’s arm. I hope you haven’t told him all of Hatherden’s secrets. Especially not the fact that we have the most scrumptious cheesecake baking contest in all of southeastern England.

With that, Mrs. Portman was off and running, regaling the two of them with the tales of her recent victories and past defeats. Harriet knew the stories by heart, but she still listened with half an ear because Mrs. Portman was a born storyteller and her enthusiasm for talking bespoke her need to connect with others. Who was Harriet to deny her that small joy?

She also took the time to evaluate Mr. Bennett Fauntleroy. He was handsome, there was no doubt of that. His thick hair fell just below his ears and curled enticingly toward his neck. His nose was just the slightest bit bent near the bridge. That would be from the very accurate punch one of his brothers had landed during a particularly nasty scrape. His coat fit him well, though the cuffs were worn and some of the seams frayed.

As for his mouth, well, that had always been made for smiling, but also for scowling when he didn’t win. Now, how easy was it to imagine those lips curving in roguishness just before they claimed hers?

Oh dear God. She really did need that breath of fresh air.

She must have made a moue of distaste, for Ben’s green eyes took on a questioning look. Harriet turned her attention back to Mrs. Portman. Ben, too, listened attentively and even asked a couple of polite questions of the older woman. Harriet shouldn’t have been surprised by his civility, but she was. She had so despaired of Ben ever outgrowing his rambunctiousness. Heavens, she still marveled at her brother James’s gentlemanly behavior even though he was a man grown and about to be wed.

At this point she didn’t know what to do about Benjamin King/Bennett Fauntleroy. She wanted to drag him off to a corner and demand answers to a thousand questions, chief among them: why was he pretending to be someone else? Alas, she could do no such thing.

So instead, she asked Mrs. Portman about the rose bush she was cultivating with her husband. How are your trials with the Hatherden rose coming?

Oh Harriet, you would not believe the compost the colonel and I have concocted. It smells absolutely vile, but the resulting blooms are proof positive that it works. If you wish, I can send a batch over for Henry to use on the hydrangeas at Rutledge Manor. I know those are your favorites.

Thank you so much, Mrs. Portman. I will let you know how they get on with your secret composition. Perhaps this might be the year I beat the vicar in the Best Bloom category.

The two of them reminisced about last year’s garden party for a few more minutes. At a lull in the conversation, Ben turned to the older woman.

Mrs. Portman, I find I can no longer just stand here with such lively music playing. Would you honor me with a dance, ma’am?

Harriet stared at him, just managing not to place a hand over her heart at the generosity of his spirit. He would grow into a fine man indeed, one day. So lost was she in her admiration that she missed something crucial, for the next thing she heard was:

My lady, would you dance with me?

She just stopped her customary reply of ‘No, thank you, I’m not dancing this evening’ from tumbling out of her mouth. If she danced with him, she might be able to find out what he was up to. At the least, she could discover if he recognized her.

And hadn’t she just sworn to dance with the next gentleman who asked?

It would undoubtedly take no less than two days for Harriet to make her way back into Penelope’s good graces. Two days in which she would likely be barred from seeing little William. Unless she snuck into the nursery in the dead of night or happened to meet her son and his nurse while out walking with her three daughters, tactics she had employed in the past when Penelope was being unreasonable.

This avalanche of rationalizing cascaded through her mind in a flash, but her silence endured for long enough that Benjamin tipped his head to one side and arched his eyebrows. Lady Dunstan?

Mrs. Portman squeezed her hand. I had to turn Mr. Fauntleroy down since these old bones are not up to dancing this evening. But Harriet, do dance with him. You deserve a little diversion.

She absolutely did. She deserved more than a little, really, but she would settle for a dance. A dance with a purpose, though that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy it as well. She nodded and offered her hand. It would be my pleasure.

Benjamin bowed, his mouth turning up in a half smile that countless girls undoubtedly found captivating. He led her over to the dancers where they joined a quadrille.

On their first pass, neither of them spoke, though Harriet was struck by the intensity of his gaze.

On the second pass, he grinned. Hattie, how are you?

Her suspicions grew tenfold. Perhaps Harriet had been correct when she’d thought he was trying to avoid her. I’m quite put out you did not acknowledge our acquaintance earlier.

His saucy smile faltered but he was saved from responding, to his immense relief it seemed, by the requirements of the dance. For the next several minutes they exerted themselves in concert with the couple across from them, and Harriet took the opportunity to indulge herself in the activity she’d not enjoyed for some time. Ben proved to be a graceful partner with a flair for a dramatic touch here and there, which did not surprise her in the least. As the youngest of ten children, he’d constantly had to vie for attention.

At last, they retired to their positions on the side and allowed the other two couples in their group to dance.

Though slightly out of breath, Harriet cast a sideways glance at the man beside her and murmured, After so many years, I thought I might be mistaken in recognizing you. Fourteen years will much alter a boy.

He, of course, was not winded in the least. I should hope so, dear Hattie. You yourself look as exquisite as ever.

She highly doubted his ten-year-old self had ever thought of her as ‘exquisite,’ but she graciously accepted the compliment, however gratuitously spoken, as she’d been taught. You are most kind. May I ask what brings you to Hampshire?

A bit of this, a bit of that. His shoulder rose a fraction in a vague shrug and her hand nearly slipped off his arm. He reached across with his other hand, captured hers, and secured it once more over his forearm. The weight and warmth of his gloved hand remained atop hers. Next thing she knew, his thumb was caressing the underside of her wrist. Harriet couldn’t stop herself from gaping at the sight and was only marginally relieved to note that tucked into the crook of his arm as her hand was, no one else could see what he was about.

What was he about? She should be shocked by the brazen touch, and she was of course, but she was also distracted by the intimacy. The rhythmic movement and sensation lured her in, lured her under.

Distracted. She refocused on her erstwhile partner.

Ben, who’d been staring straight ahead, unfurled a smile. Off we go then, Hattie. He swept her back into the middle of their square where, thank goodness, her feet moved in time to the jaunty music from sheer memory.

He’d meant to distract her from his ambiguous answer to her question, she was almost certain of it. Many years had passed but she had not forgotten the wily ways of Benjamin King.

She sharpened her gaze on him as they passed through the center again. He wasn’t, supposedly, Benjamin King anymore. He didn’t want to articulate what he was doing in Hampshire. Nothing more was required to pique her curiosity. She would have answers.

Harriet swung around on Benjamin’s arm with an enervated spirit. He seemed to respond in kind, and they finished off the dance with a flourish that left her breathless and feeling more alive than she had in a long while. Benjamin then bowed gallantly over her hand and flashed her a roguish smile before turning away.

Ah, ah, ah. She caught up to him and slipped her arm through his once more, much to his surprise. Mr. Fauntleroy, I do thank you for the opportunity to dance. She then lowered her voice. I will speak to you privately, good sir, unless you would prefer to explain your false name in front of all Hatherden.

He heaved an exasperated sigh. I am still unable to get away with anything under your watchful eye. Can you not leave well enough alone for the sake of our previous friendship?

Their past acquaintance had barely resembled a friendship at all, given the years between them, but Harriet let that go. I am afraid not. As Lady Dunstan, it is my duty to protect the good people of Hatherden from rogues such as yourself.

They were now in a far corner of the assembly room, well out of earshot of anyone. He turned a baleful eye upon her at that ridiculous statement. When she replied with a lift of her eyebrows, he said, Please, Hattie?

She shook her head firmly.

His mouth straightened into a line so serious she could hardly credit it. Very well. Can you get away in the morning? Name the time and place.

What is wrong with right here and now, Benjamin?

Bennett Fauntleroy, he whispered furiously.

She tipped her head to the side and waited patiently.

It is too much to explain. Tomorrow, please.

Truly, Harriet couldn’t quite recall Ben ever using the word ‘please’ with such frequency. It was almost touching.

Almost. How do I know you won’t sneak away in the dead of night?

To her surprise, he cocked an eyebrow. I save those expeditious exits for when I leave a woman’s bed.

Her first instinct was to laugh at this bit of male bravado but with the way his gaze swept over her from toe to head, it was almost as if... Dear Lord, was that an invitation?  No. No, of course not. He was trying to distract her again. She glared at him.

His green eyes softened. and he put a hand over his heart. I promise I will be there, Hattie.

She relented as well. Ben had always been adamant about keeping promises. After all, he’d never told anyone where she’d been that one scandalous evening long ago. She would have to trust him on this, for the longer they remained off in this corner, the more gossip they would generate. She’d stretched Penelope’s restraining leash enough for one night.

There is a wood about two miles north of town, she explained. Take the path to the right for another half mile and you will come across a clearing. I will be there at eight o’clock.

You cannot know how much I am looking forward to it, he declared with much earnestness. Then he winked at her and strolled off.

Chapter Two

Hattie could have no idea how much Ben was looking forward to their clandestine meeting in the woods because the truth was, he was looking forward to it very little. Oh, he more than liked the idea of seeing beautiful Hattie again, but still, he must curse her very presence here in Hatherden.

Subterfuge was difficult to pull off when a childhood acquaintance recognized him. Somehow, he would have to convince Hattie to go along with his new identity. Lucky for him, his charm and smile never failed him when women needed convincing.

Ben let his black gelding meander down the road north of the village, giving himself time to think. He’d left his room at the Old Bell and Crown early enough that he was in no hurry. He crested a rolling hill and saw the wood Hattie had indicated in the distance. The trees were lush and full, their leaves deepened to a dark green now that July was half gone, so there was no chance he would spy her before he entered the wood. That was all well and good because that meant no one else would see the two of them meeting.

He’d had no idea Lady Harriet Danforth had married Lord Dunstan. That’s what came of losing contact with his friend Lord James Danforth. Ben and James had been nearly inseparable in their younger days, as the old Duke of Taviston had allowed his steward’s son to be educated alongside his fourth child. Eventually, though, James had been sent off to Harrow, and Ben’s father had decided to leave the duke’s employ.

Ben pulled his hat a little lower to shield his eyes from the sun. Even if he’d been wise enough to consult the Debrett’s Peerage entry of Viscount Dunstan and realized that Hattie was Lady Dunstan, he still would have come to Hampshire. His and his aunts’ future depended on it. He had to find a way into Rutledge Manor and if that meant presuming upon his acquaintance with Hattie, well then, it must be done. The trick would be in convincing her to do so without revealing what he was really doing.

After another quarter mile, Ben guided his mount onto the path that veered right. Soon enough he’d entered the wood, drawing closer to that moment when he’d have to lie to Hattie, a task he’d tried often enough in years past, though he had not usually succeeded at it. This time would have to be different.

The wood was cooler and darker, even as the sun’s rays fought to penetrate the shaded canopy of the trees. The path narrowed until there was room for just a single rider. Ben pulled out his watch and checked the time in the shifting light. One minute until eight. He had not a single doubt that Hattie would already be at the designated meeting spot. She’d always been punctual; her attire had always been impeccable; her hair always artfully dressed; her demeanor always compassionate and patient. Well, nearly always patient. He, more than James, had tried that virtue every other day. However, in the chaotic life of a family with nine siblings, no mother, and a busy father, Ben had taken comfort in Hattie’s orderly appearance and sensible character.

The path widened and curved and then he saw her, as composed and punctual as ever. Not to mention striking. Ben slowed the gelding so as to look his fill. Though he’d never given the matter a thought when he was younger, Hattie was a fine-looking woman. She stood next to a grey mare, sunlight illuminating the left side of her curvaceous body. Those curves, wrought by full tits and flared hips, were nicely accentuated by her form-fitting dark blue riding habit. Most of her auburn-colored hair was tucked up beneath a hat with a jauntily waving feather.

She’d been fiddling with the saddle on her horse but noticed his arrival just then. Ben couldn’t have said what she was feeling at that moment. She didn’t smile, but her eyes brightened with something that could have been familiarity or curiosity or even awareness, though perhaps he imagined that last one. He did not, however, imagine how her shoulders straightened, lifting her breasts higher. Ben never failed to notice things like that.

He grinned and raised his hand in greeting as the horse fully entered the clearing. Hattie tipped her head in a much too dignified manner.

Ben dismounted with more flourish than was necessary and strode over. Taking her hand, he bowed low. My lady.

Benjamin, really.

He rose, keeping hold of her hand, to find her staring at him with pursed lips. That would never do. He squeezed her hand and brought it to his lips. Bending it slightly, he exposed a bit of her wrist in the gap between her glove and sleeve and pressed his lips to the soft skin. His mouth curved in satisfaction at the small stutter of her breath.

Alas, she snatched her hand back and there was no denying the censure in her voice. Benjamin Charles King.

He straightened again and tipped his hat. Good morning, Lady Dunstan. I prefer to be known as Mr. Fauntleroy now.

She narrowed her gaze. "So I hear. Fauntleroy. Son of the king. Very clever."

It’s not as if I wish to deny my father. However, I have my reasons for not using his name.

And those reasons would be?

Can we not even have a chance to reacquaint ourselves, Hattie?

She tipped her head back and shot him an annoyingly patronizing look. I think perhaps I would prefer to assure myself of your true purpose here in Hatherden first.

This was not going to be easy. Then again, he wasn’t ten years old anymore. Ben looked down at Hattie’s disapproving grey eyes.

Hmmm. No, he certainly wasn’t a lad any longer. He had more weapons in his arsenal. He cocked an eyebrow at Hattie and began to circle her slowly.

She bristled and seemed to grow at least an inch. "What are you doing?"

Admiring the view from up here. He stopped and grinned down at her. I do believe I was at least a foot shorter than you the last time we saw each other. He swept his fingers along the underside of her jaw. I like what I see from this angle.

She swatted his hand away. Why are you here, using a different name?

The suspicion in her tone banked the flames of lust that had just begun to flare. Just as well. Time to be honest. To a degree.

He offered her one hand and waved the other toward a fat log which, from the looks of it, hadn’t stood upright for over half a century. Would you care to sit?

She hesitated only a moment before letting him guide her over to the makeshift seat. Once she had settled in and arranged her velvet skirts, Ben lowered himself next to her. Hattie glanced his way and shifted an inch in the opposite direction.

He let that go without remark. If she felt the need to put distance between them, she wasn’t completely unaware of him. Thank God, because a plan had just begun to take shape in his mind.

Can I trust you, Lady Dunstan?

She straightened her spine. I cannot recall a time when you didn’t. I hope my character has not changed that much.

Ben leaned his head a little closer to her. Do not take umbrage, Hattie. I just need to be certain. You see, I am here in Hatherden on a very delicate mission.

Oh. She turned her face to him then. That sounds intriguing. What sort of mission?

Ben swept his gaze around the clearing and, despite the presence of two horses and no other humans, lowered his voice. I must find something.

Something in particular? Or will that primrose over there do? Or perhaps the bark of that oak?

She was laughing at his dramatic overtures. He should probably take offense but the amusement brightening her eyes was beguiling. The longer he looked at those practical lips of hers, the more he wanted to lure them into hot and wild impracticality. He leaned closer still.

Well, Benjamin?

With an effort, he swallowed a huff of frustration. Hattie resorted to pronouncing his full name in that sharp tone whenever he got too near. On the bright side, he was affecting her. He’d let that simmer for a while.

Leaning his forearms on his thighs, he watched her mare nibble on a plant. I’m looking for a piece of artwork. A stolen painting, as a matter of fact.

"That is intriguing. Was the painting stolen from you?"

No.

Then why do you care about its recovery?

The silent groan echoing through his head was so loud he feared Hattie would hear it. Not only did he happen to be acquainted with Lord Dunstan’s widow of all people, but she was also too intelligent for his own good. God save him.

With no other choice, Ben plucked an imaginary thread from the recesses of his brain and began to weave a tale. I’ve been commissioned by the owner of the painting to find it. Over the course of the last few weeks, the trail I’ve pursued has led me here, to Hatherden. He glanced at Hattie out of the corner of his eye. As a matter of fact, I believe the painting is currently at Rutledge Manor.

She stiffened. You think Rutledge Manor houses a stolen painting? That is a bold charge to make against my in-laws.

"Therefore, I do not intend to make the charge public. I am fairly certain the painting is hidden at your home. In an attic, perhaps. Hidden behind another painting, maybe. Possibly, probably, locked up somewhere.  I do not necessarily contend that your in-laws stole the painting, and truthfully, that is not for me to decide. However, the gentleman I am working for wants his property returned."

Ben wasn’t looking for a painting, but there was something secreted in Rutledge Manor. Something that must be returned to its rightful owner. He just needed an opportunity to search the ancestral home of the Viscounts Dunstan.

You won’t tell me the name of this person who sent you on this mission, will you? Hattie asked.

No.

She turned to him then, a furrow in her fine alabaster brow. Why are you doing this for him, whoever he might be?

Ben laughed, a reaction that startled Hattie. "For the money he will pay me, of course. We cannot all be the children of wealthy dukes who in turn marry wealthy viscounts, my lady."

She blinked twice and just like that, practical equilibrium resurfaced in her grey eyes. Do you often accept such commissions then?

I do. The seventh son and tenth child of a steward must survive somehow. Ben offered her a sheepish smile, relieved to have spoken at least one truth. He did accept payments to find things or information for those who were looking. He’d become skilled at prevarication, could dissemble at the drop of a hat, and usually succeeded in his quests, much to the gratification of those who employed him.

This time, though, he worked for no other. His search was personal, and not even dear Hattie would stand in his way of finding what he’d come for. And well she