They weren’t the first to make the discovery. A sleek chestnut was tethered to the wall, shaking its head nervously. The owner, a man, had his back toward them, bent over one of the prone sheep. The man straightened, revealing his height. His hair was brown. The cut of his coat, flapping in the wind, was that of a gentleman. Just his luck Thomas would find the poisoned sheep first.

The man turned, and Harry’s thoughts scattered. For a moment he couldn’t think at all.

The man’s shoulders were broader than Thomas’s, his hair a shade lighter, curling around his ears. His face was broad and handsome, laugh lines framed his sensual lips, and his eyes had heavy lids. It couldn’t be.

The man approached and vaulted the stone wall easily. As he got nearer, his green eyes glowed like phosphorus. Harry felt Lady Georgina come alongside him. He realized absently that he’d forgotten to help her from the gig.

“Harry,” he heard her say, “you never told me you had a brother.”

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

It had always been her downfall: failing to think sufficiently before speaking. This was brought home to George rather emphatically when both men swung to look at her in shock. How was she to know it was some sort of dark secret? She’d never seen eyes as green as Harry’s, and yet here they were, the same green eyes, staring at her from another man’s face. True, the other man was taller, and his features were of a different cast. But who, looking at their eyes, could draw any other conclusion than that they were brothers? She really couldn’t be blamed.

“Harry?” The stranger started forward. “Harry?”

“This is Bennet Granville, my lady.” Harry had recovered quicker than the other man and was now expressionless. “Granville, Lady Georgina Maitland.”

“My lady.” Mr. Granville bowed correctly. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

She curtsied and muttered the proper words by rote.

“And Harry.” For a moment, emotion flashed behind Mr. Granville’s emerald eyes; then he controlled himself. “It’s . . . been a while.”

George nearly snorted. In another year or so, he’d be as adept as Harry at hiding his thoughts. “How long,

exactly?”

“What?” Mr. Granville seemed startled.

“Eighteen years.” Harry turned and glanced at the sheep, obviously avoiding the subject. “Poisoned?”

Mr. Granville blinked, but caught on quickly enough. “I’m afraid so. Would you like to take a look?” He turned and scrambled back over the wall.

Oh, for goodness sake! George rolled her eyes heavenward. Apparently both men were going to ignore her faux pas and the fact that they hadn’t seen each other for eighteen years.

“My lady?” Harry was holding out his hand, presumably to help her over the wall.

“Yes, all right. I’m coming.”