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P hilp sucked in a mouthful of pungent smoke and slowly stroked the tip of his chin. He sat for what seemed like an age, staring at the viscount before finally speaking.

"Turn around, please."

Adrian's eyes narrowed slightly in irritation but he did as he was told.

"Now face me again." When the viscount had complied, Philp murmured another request. "Bend forward slightly from the waist, sir, and let your arms hang straight down."

"What the deuce am I, an ape on display at the Tower Menagerie?" growled Adrian under his breath. He fell silent on catching a warning look from Rafael but his expression didn't hide what he thought of the proceedings so far.

His misgivings were only exacerbated when Philp came over and gave his wrists a shake. "Looser, sir. You must relax."

When he had complied, Philp wrapped the viscount's unresisting hands around a tapered stick.

"I thought you were going to teach me about golf," Adrian said with some impatience. "In case Bowmont didn’t make it clear, I have precious little time in which to gain any proficiency in the sport, so I would prefer not to waste even a morning of it."

Philp only gave an enigmatic smile and continued to make a number of marks on the length of hickory with a piece of chalk.

However, the slender figure seated in the shadows of the workroom gave a snort of derision. "Perhaps the gentleman has no more brains than a monkey, Mr. Philp, if he has so little faith in your knowledge and expertise."

The words were spoken just loudly enough for Adrian to hear them.

"As you have often said, even a monkey may be taught to strike a golf ball. But to be a real player he must be willing to listen and learn. And trust that his teacher knows what he is talking about."

"Derry," warned Philp in a low voice as Rafael stifled a chuckle.

A faint flush rose to Adrian's cheeks. "Who’s the brat?"

"Don't take offense, sir," murmured Philp as he straightened and began to measure the width of Adrian's palm and the length of his fingers with a piece of narrow canvas tape.

"The lad may have a sharp tongue—" He directed another pointed look at Derrien.

"But he possesses a knowledge of the game that is equally well-honed.

He's going to serve as your caddie these coming weeks. "

"The devil he will! If you think I'm going to allow some impudent?—"

"Ahem." Rafael cleared his throat with deliberate loudness, causing the viscount to bite off the rest of his retort. "Mr. Philp does come highly recommended, Adrian, and we are quite fortunate to have his help. I think we should trust his judgment in matters of golf."

Adrian fixed Derrien with an icy glare but remained silent. The caddie’s look of disdain was much more obvious. However, a sign from Philp to bring over a bundle of unfinished clubs forestalled any further comment from her as well.

"And though you may chafe at the delay, milord, a set of clubs tailored to your stance and height will greatly add to your chances of performing well.

After all, you wouldn't attempt to ride to the hounds in a pair of boots several sizes too large, or on a saddle whose girth was too tight around your hunter, would you now? "

The viscount acknowledged the sense of Philp's words with a curt nod. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Philp. I didn’t mean to imply I doubted your expertise, and I shall try to refrain from questioning your methods," he said rather stiffly.

"One of my men will finish up a number of these to your specifications by morning, sir," continued Philp, picking out a selection of scrapers, middle spoons and cuttys from Derrien's arms. "In the meantime, if you return here this afternoon at two, I shall take you out back of the shop and we may begin working on the rudiments of the stance and swing. "

Despite the assurances he had just uttered, Adrian couldn't refrain from another sharp question. "Why not out on the course? I am anxious to see what a real fairway—or whatever the deuce it is called—is like."

Philp smiled. "In good time, milord, in good time. When you see the sort of exercises I have in mind, you will not object to our first lesson taking place in a more private venue."

Adrian took his snugly tailored jacket back from Rafael and slipped it over his linen shirt.

"Oh, and it would be best to wear a loose-fitting shirt, with only a Belcher neckerchief, as well as a shorter jacket, sir. You are going to be... exerting yourself more than you might think."

"More likely he's used to starched shirtpoints that come up past the ears and a cravat that requires half the Royal Navy to tie in a knot," snickered Derrien from behind Philp's back.

The viscount pretended not to hear the remark, though in truth it took a concerted effort to stop himself from informing the impertinent little urchin that he had never in his life dressed as such a ridiculous poppinjay.

Rafael quickly propelled him toward the door, ensuring that he could have no second thoughts about remaining silent. "Er, thank you, Mr. Philp. I shall have His Lordship back here promptly at two."

Once they had reached the street, he turned and regarded his friend with a look of bemused surprise.

"What’s got into you lately, Adrian? I don't believe I've ever seen you display your pique like that. You are usually the very picture of self-control. But since we left London, I vow, you’ve been most unlike your regular self. "

"Sorry, I?—"

"No, no, don't apologize." His lips quirked upward. "Actually, I'm not sure it's a bad thing at all. You know, your work fairly blossoms with exuberance and life, and yet, if you don't mind me saying, in public you choose to appear a... rather dry stick, though I know you are not."

Rafael hesitated for a moment and slanted a look of concern at his friend. "There is nothing wrong with allowing an occasional curse to shoot forth. A laugh or two might serve to lighten your spirits as well. "

Adrian clamped his curly-brimmed beaver more firmly on his dark locks.

" It's hardly a laughing matter. My entire future is riding on a damnable game of golf!

Not to speak of the other undertaking I must finish while I am here.

" He shook his head. "However, you're right about losing my temper back there.

It's absurd to let some muddy-faced urchin with a tongue as loose as that floppy tweed cap on his head get under my skin. "

He walked on for a few more steps before a snort escaped his lips. "Hmmph! The notion that a pipsqueak of a lad could teach me anything..." His words trailed off into an unintelligible grumble that went on until they turned the corner.

Adrian stopped in his tracks. "Mr. Philp seems to have some decidedly odd ideas. You don’t think that he’s truly out to make a monkey of me, do you?"

Rafael pursed his lips. "I cannot think Bowmont would suggest him if he was.

Jamie wants to see Hertford beaten nearly as badly as you do, and it's clear he thinks very highly of Mr. Philp.

" He slanted a sideways glance at his friend's frowning face.

"Adrian, I also believe that you are going to have to get used to a number of odd notions here in Scotland, if you wish to have any hope of securing your future. .. happiness."

The viscount's expression darkened to match the low clouds scudding in from the sea. "I shall do my best." Under his breath he added, "But that doesn't mean I shall like it in the least."

That evening a weary Adrian couldn't help but wonder if his best was going to be anywhere near good enough.

Easing his lanky frame into the armchair by the banked fire in the library, he rubbed absently at his aching shoulder while contemplating the lunacy of embarking on such a cork-brained quest. Not only had he looked like a monkey for the past several hours, but he had also felt like the verriest of fools.

Why, he must have appeared a complete cawker, with his ungainly movements and precarious balance.

He winced on recalling his more awkward cuts at the little ball lying on the turf.

Lud,,. he had actually missed it outright on several occasions, and it wasn't even moving!

How his friends would have whooped with laughter to see one of London's leading Corinthians stripped down to his shirtsleeves, flailing furiously at a perverse little sphere of stitched leather that refused to budge from the stubbly grass.

But worse than merely looking like an idiot was the disquieting feeling that perhaps he wasn’t up to meeting the challenge, both physical and mental.

Excelling at such sporting endeavors as riding, boxing, shooting and cricket had always been easy for him, so he supposed he had taken it for granted that he would learn golf with little difficulty.

The past afternoon had been a rude awakening.

He had been awful. Truly awful. That the game looked so maddeningly simple only exacerbated his sense of frustration.

Hell's teeth. What was he going to do?

If things didn't improve rapidly, he might as well slink home with his proverbial tail between his legs, for ignominious defeat—and with it the loss of his beloved Woolsey Hall—seemed inevitable.

With a bitter grimace, he raked a hand through his still damp locks, then rose a bit stiffly and went to pour himself a generous glass of the local spirits. As the heat of the whisky rolled over his tongue, he couldn't help but feel in danger of being drowned by a fear far deeper than failure.

Was he a coward as well? A number of Rafael's recent words echoed in his ears.

Much as he wished to deny it, his friend's sharp observations had begun to chop away at the carefully constructed walls that guarded his true feelings.

He had always prided himself on the ability to keep all emotion locked safely away, but perhaps, as Rafael hinted, he had only created a prison rather than a place of refuge.