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Adrian's mouth quirked up at the use of the word 'our', but it was evident that the master trusted his young caddie's expertise in such things.

He quickly ducked his head to hide the smile, unwilling to break their tentative truce by appearing to laugh at the lad.

His next drive landed just on the fringe of green, not perfect but a decided improvement over the others.

"That's getting better, but you need more snap."

"Snap?"

"Yes." She pantomimed a movement. "Snap."

He tried it himself, drawing a shake of her head. "Not quite. Your right wrist must not jerk through the motion, but roll more naturally."

"Snap but not jerk," he repeated under his breath, setting up for another swing.

His next effort still did not meet with her approval.

"You must to relax the—" Derrien heaved an exasperated sigh.

"—Oh, the deuce take it! Here, let me show you what I mean.

" She came over to him and took hold of his wrists.

The heat from his bare skin fairly singed her fingertips and she felt her own pulse suddenly quicken in tandem with the steady beat that had been raised by his own physical efforts.

She drew in a sharp breath, only to feel slightly lightheaded at the faint scent of bay rum and male exertion that wafted from his person.

Good Lord, she thought, what was wrong with her this afternoon that her senses were bouncing hither and yon like an errant drive knocked out onto the rocky strand?

She must get control of her emotions and keep them aimed straight down the fairway, away from all hazards.

She was here simply to teach the dratted man golf.

Alignment, aim, angles— those were the only sorts of things she should be thinking about.

With a tad more force than necessary, she gave his arms a shake. "Let them loose! You are not about to plant someone a facer?—"

"Ouch! I might be forced to, if you do not loosen your nails from my flesh." His lips gave a slight quirk upward. "I am aware that you would like to spill my blood, but I would prefer not being clawed to ribbons by a feisty little alley cat."

She dropped his arms as if they were hot coals, her face flushing scarlet with embarrassment.

"Don't fly into the boughs, I was merely teasing," said Adrian, his face twisting in a quizzical expression.

"I vow, you are the oddest lad— one would think you've never been subject to the normal teasing and taunts that boys are wont to give each other.

" He rubbed absently at the red marks above his thumbs.

"However, that is none of my affair. May we try again if I forbear from further comment?

I would like to understand exactly what it is you are trying to show me. "

With a deep breath, Derrien gingerly took hold of his wrists once more. This time, she guided them slowly through the full motion. "Do you feel the way the right one should roll?" She made him go through it again, then a third time.

A slow smile spread over his face. "Aye, I do." He repeated the swing, then added a bit more pace to it. His smile deepened into a broad grin. "Snap."

Derrien couldn't help but allow a faint smile to steal over her own lips. "Snap."

Their eyes locked for an instant, sharing the moment of enlightenment.

Then, suddenly aware that the beat of her heart had quickened considerably at the sight of his lean features alight with a rakish grin, she ducked her head and began to fumble in one of her pockets.

Her odd reaction wasn't making any sense at all!

Hadn't she remarked just the night before that no person with a pulse could possibly find the stiff-rumped English lord of any interest?

Well, she most definitely had a pulse. And one that was now racing fast enough that surely he must hear the thumping of her chest.

She stepped away abruptly. It was one thing to decide to tolerate the man's presence in order to fulfill her promise to Hugh, but it was quite another to find that he had a number of admirable qualities to him— not the least of which were a dazzling smile and mesmerizing gaze that seemed to do all manner of strange things to her insides.

Even worse was the realization that she might actually come to... like him!

She jerked her hand out of her pocket and threw down the rest of the balls.

"See if you can manage to keep these on the fairway while I go fetch the others," she snapped curtly.

Adrian's brows drew together as he watched Derrien jog off in a stiff trot.

The young caddie's moods seemed even more unpredictable than the flight of the golf ball.

For a brief while, it had seemed that the tension between them had eased.

And then, for no apparent reason, the rapport between them had taken another sudden veer, and appeared to have landed back in the rough.

He shrugged and after another moment of reflection turned his attention to collecting the balls lying scattered at his feet.

He had enough important matters to occupy his thoughts without becoming overly concerned about the quixotic character of a mere lad.

The next hour passed with the steady thwock of leather on wood uninterrupted by any conversation, save an occasional curt pointer or correction from his caddie.

When finally Derrien acknowledged that enough had been accomplished for the day, Adrian was not sorry to toss the club down from his chafed fingers.

However, as they trudged back to the shop, he couldn't help but puzzle at the silence— nearly as thick as the fog drifting down from Eden Estuary —that shrouded their steps.

Once a time was set for the morrow's lesson, he watched with further consternation as without so much as a glance in his direction, Derrien stowed his clubs in their allotted rack and, cap pulled low, hurried off down the cobbled street to disappear in the swirling mist.

By the time he arrived back at his townhouse, he had barely enough energy to peel off his damp garments and order up a hot bath.

A sigh escaped his lips as he sunk beneath the steaming suds.

It was not the physical exertions of the day that was wearing heavily on his shoulders.

If anything, the ache of his muscles felt satisfying, as if tangible testament to the fact that he had actually achieved some measure of progress in reward for his efforts.

He wished he could say the same for the other concerns that weighed on his mind.

As he took up a pitcher and let a stream of hot water wash through his locks, he had to admit that rather than engender any sort of enthusiasm in his heart, the arrival of his intended bride had left him feeling strangely flat.

Was it his imagination or had Honoria's smile become more brittle during their time apart, her manner even more measured than before?

Or was it that Rafael's careful criticisms had sowed some seeds of doubt in his mind as to the wisdom of his choice?

His jaw set. Damn Rafe— there was no kernel of truth to his friend’s words. It was merely that he was experiencing a bout of low spirits.

Adrian ran the sponge over his weary shoulders.

And damn the impudent brat! For some reason, it bothered him more than he cared to admit that, despite his progress in physical skills on the golf course, he had made little headway in breaking through the young caddie's obvious aversion.

Oh, for a moment there had been a camaraderie of sorts between them.

He had sensed it for an instant in the lad's touch as he made to show the nuances of the wrist snap, but the feeling had disappeared just as quickly as the odd, wistful smile on the smudged face of— what was the moniker he had overheard one of the other boys whisper? Dirty Derry ?

The viscount gave a rueful grimace. A strange lad indeed.

Though why it should irk him that a ragged, sharp-tongued imp held him in dislike was just as puzzling as the caddie's unfriendly attitude.

He knew he should simply dismiss Master Derry's surly scowls, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the fleeting expressions he had managed to glimpse beneath the oversized tweed cap were caused by something more complex than mere bad manners.

But as of yet, he had no inkling as to what it was.

It seemed that an understanding of people was proving just as elusive as the intricacies of the golf swing.

With a snort of frustration, Adrian rose and reached for the towel.

No doubt a good part of the reason for his depressed state of mind was due to the fact that he had not made nearly enough progress on the design for his latest commission.

Ignoring the twinge in his back, he tugged on his dressing gown and resolved to spend the whole evening at the desk in the library before retiring for the night.

It was sometime later that the heavy oak door opened a crack and Rafael ventured a glance as the viscount sat hunched over his sketchpad.

"Do you mean to starve yourself of sustenance as well as company?"

Adrian looked up with a start. "What? Oh, er..." His eyes darted to the clock on the mantel. "Lord, I hadn't realized it was so late."

Rafael slowly walked over to the banked fire and stirred the embers to life. "I told McTavish to bring a cold collation up here for you. Have you forgotten that you, as well as Lady Honoria and her parents, are invited to the Playfair's musical recital this evening?"

A sharp oath cut through the air.

"I thought as much," he replied dryly. "I made your abject apologies, explaining that your efforts on the links had left you rather exhausted.

" His gaze lingered on the dark smudges under the viscount's eyes.

"In truth, Adrian, I am becoming concerned for you.

Are you sure you are not trying to tackle too much? "

It was just the question that he had been asking himself of late.

"Oh, Hugh! Of all the cursed luck!" Derrien kicked at a pile of wood shaving on the floor of the workshop.

"To think that Jock MacKenzie has actually asked me to help him design a plan for a series of lochside gardens at Rossdhu House and.

.." Her voice trailed off as she scuffed the toe of her boot along the rough planks.

Philp looked up from the laborious task of tapering a hickory shaft by hand. "And?" His shaggy brows arched in question above the silver rims of his spectacles. "I should think you'd be elated, lassie."

She ducked her head in some contrition, suddenly aware of the import of her complaint. "I-I am. It's just that, well, I won't have quite as much time as I might wish to work on my ideas."

"Ah. Because of Lord Marquand's lessons." He went back to work with the fine blade. "If you wish to give up this endeavor, I would well understand it. This whole masquerade will have to come to an end soon in any case. It may as well be now."

"Why, what do you mean?" she cried.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "My dear Derrien, a small child has grown into a lad without attracting undue notice, but what is to happen to the lad? Lads eventually grow up. You cannot remain a downy-faced boy forever, my dear."

Her eyes betrayed the sudden shock of awareness his gentle words had caused. "I-I hadn't thought of that, Hugh, but... but I suppose you are right."

"As I said, I can write to Peter McEwan for?—"

"No! I gave my promise. I'll see it carried out before 'Dirty Derry' disappears, and that's all there is to it."

The razor sharp blade shaved away another thin curl of wood.

"Very well, I know better than to argue with you when you have made up your mind like this, lassie.

" He slowly and methodically turned the shaft around to the other end and began the same meticulous process.

"Tell me, how do you think His Lordship is doing? Have we any hope?"

"Aye," she muttered. "He's not half bad. If he continues to improve as he has been, we should have a sporting chance at besting Hertford."

"I am glad to hear it." He looked up for a moment, his gaze sharper than she would have liked. "And you are sure the task is not proving too odious?"

Derrien couldn't help but think of the chiseled strength of the viscount’s broad shoulders as they whipped through a golf swing, and the rather dazzling smile his finely molded lips were capable of when the ball was well struck.

She swallowed hard, hoping Philp would not notice the faint flush of color creeping to her cheeks. "It doesn't matter what I feel. I told you, I mean to see it through."

"So you did." He reached for his pipe and a flint. "Well, then you had best fetch Lord Marquand's baffing spoon and rewrap the underlisting. I noticed that the grip has shifted somewhat. Oh, and take some of the new cord in back and replace the whipping of his putter."

"Yes, sir."

"The next time you two go out, you had best begin work on his short game." A puff of smoke drifted up among the racks of unfinished clubs. "Word has it that Lord Hertford arrived in town last night."