The entrance hall wasn’t much warmer than the outdoors. Hadrian had expected that from the long years of living here. Even if there had been a hearth, it would have been difficult to heat such a cavernous space.

Handing his greatcoat to the footman, he noticed that Godwin had not followed at once. As the man trudged toward them, his complexion looked rather ashen. Had he recognized Miss Fanshawe’s name? Had he received her letters, after all?

Hadrian suspected as much, though it was difficult to be certain.

Her attention on the earl, Miss Fanshawe surrendered her cloak and bonnet. A hint of stiffness in her manner indicated she was unsure of her reception. She helped Leo remove his coat while allowing the boy to retain hold of his miniature ship.

When she turned toward Hadrian, a fist of desire struck him unawares. He was hard-pressed not to gawk at the shapely form revealed by the shedding of her voluminous outer garments. Not that there was anything indecorous about her appearance; rather, the simplicity of the plum gown served to accentuate her lustrous beauty. In London, she would attract a retinue of adoring gentlemen drawn by that stunning combination of upswept sable hair and luminous green eyes. With her head held high and her shoulders squared, she looked fierce and formidable. As if she were girded for battle.

“Lord Godwin,” she began, “I believe you may know who I am.”

“Perhaps this matter is best discussed in private,” Hadrian said smoothly. He willed her to understand that it would only make Godwin hostile if they broached the topic of a long-lost grandson in front of the footman.

She aimed a measuring look at Hadrian and gave a small nod. Just then, Leo tugged on her skirt.

“Miss Fanshawe, look at all the axes and swords!” Oblivious to any undercurrents, the boy was craning his neck to view the collection of armaments mounted on the paneled walls, and the suits of armor positioned on either side of the broad oak staircase. “There’s a real knight! Two of them!”

She smiled down at him, smoothing his disheveled hair. “So I see. Only imagine how heavy that contraption must have been to wear into battle.”

“You have to be a big, strong man. When I grow up, I want to be a knight. I’ll kill the enemy with my sword.”

As the boy pretended to jab the air, Godwin’s ice-blue eyes narrowed. In a guttural grumble, he addressed Hadrian. “The family is waiting for us in the drawing room. The footman can escort these two to the kitchen to wait. I will speak to Miss Fanshawe after luncheon.”

“No,” Hadrian stated. “They will accompany us upstairs.”

The earl firmed his lips in a vexed expression that Hadrian recognized from his youth. But Godwin was no longer his guardian and knew better than to gainsay a duke, especially one who directed an implacable stare at him. Hadrian seldom pulled rank out of respect for his father’s cousin; however, this was a situation in which ducal status came in handy.