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It had nothing to do with the chill of discomfort that made his pores rise when Miss Mason fixed those resolute shimmering eyes on him and declared that he didn’t like being seen.

The girl was correct in her assessment of him, of course, which made it even more disconcerting.

He had elected to leave the army because his prospects there had been unpromising regardless of his efforts.

Scotland Yard had somehow been worse. He was more used to being underestimated than anything else and as a result had learned to use it to his advantage.

He knew what people saw when they looked at him, or at least he generally did until Mrs. Theodosia Burghley-Harrison and her investigation into him, and now Miss Mason.

That was twice now he had been read like a book by virtual strangers and he didn’t like it.

Even now, half an hour later his heart was still racing in his chest from that little encounter.

Or the walk. Somehow between the Trawley Ball and this morning, he’d forgotten that Regina was nothing if not a strategist. So, when he’d seen her sitting on a bench next to her horse in the park, looking despondent, he’d decided to cheer her up.

Or at least that had been his original intention before his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

He didn’t know how that young woman had managed to turn that conversation on him so deftly.

A part of him, the part that didn’t have cold sweat running down its back, was impressed.

The part that always stayed an observer like she had said and knew that he shouldn’t have stayed to speak to her in the first place, let alone ask those questions.

Did he have a right to the answers? Would they change anything about the reality of who she was and what he had decided he would have to offer?

No.

Why did it matter to him that she was choosing a marriage that would most certainly make her miserable to complete the circle of protection her father had started?

She had said it so calmly, her voice was so steady without a trace of self-pity.

He knew the realities of what it meant to have a bad husband, he’d seen too many broken women with no recourse.

From the look in her eyes, she understood what she was doing and the cost. He never imagined seeing someone like Regina Mason, a girl gently bred and most likely sheltered, look that future in the eye and plant her feet instead of scrambling to escape.

He’d always heard stories of saints and martyrs walking into flames or lion’s dens with nothing but their faith to guard and comfort them.

Miss Mason was no saint, nor would she consider herself a martyr, but it was unquestionable that the path she walked would strip her of what little shielding she had in order to provide it for her family.

He knew adult men who couldn’t and wouldn’t make that choice, and yet she had managed it with grace.

Perhaps it was because he’d never seen that level of bravery or self-possession in a young woman of two and twenty.

She was young to be sure but perhaps not as sheltered as he had previously imagined.

She was much more than stunning and unconventional.

She was a guardian, a protector, someone who faced a frightening and uncertain future with determination instead of resignation.

He didn’t know how she had time to pay attention to him while she was dealing with so much herself but the fact that she had made him… twitchy.

Mostly because he hadn’t noticed her noticing him, much like he hadn’t noticed Mrs. Theodosia Burghley-Harrison.

Only with her he’d assumed she was watching him out of distrust, not recognition.

He hadn’t contacted her since that tea she’d requested his presence for, and she had kept her distance, seemingly leaving the decision in his hands.

It had cooled the worst of his ire at her for stirring up his life for her own revenge on people who were long dead and buried.

For that at the very least he was grateful.

He had decided then and there to leave it in the past and pretend as if the encounter had never occurred, but every time he saw Regina Mason the possibility became too intriguing.

He walked up the stairs to his home and once inside, removed his shoes, replacing them with house slippers.

“Mother, I’m back,” he called out and was met with dead silence.

Was she not home? He glanced at the rack as he hung up his coat.

Hers was still there, so why didn’t she answer?

He walked into the dining room and saw her sitting at the table with a stack of documents in front of her.

In the dim sunlight he saw his grandfather’s name and in a second he understood what had happened.

That meddlesome old harpy had sent her little parcel of confusion to his home.

“What is this?” his mother asked, her voice unnervingly calm.

Leo stared at the documents, wondering if he could get away with feigning ignorance. His instinct when cornered was to find the quickest route out, through guile or force. He couldn’t attack his mother, so guile it was. “You tell me.”

“This was delivered here about an hour ago by courier. Don’t try your games with me on this, Leopold.” She tapped one tapered fingernail sharply on the stack of papers. “Answer my question. Now.”

“It appears my great grandfather was the son of a baron.”

Her eyebrow came up, which meant the ice was getting thinner by the moment. “I can read. What does this mean?”

“According to the meddlesome old woman who produced this information, I am now the heir to the Barony of Starkley. Apparently, all the cousins ahead of me died from excess or stupidity.”

A moment’s pause and then. “That night you were followed; this is what it was about?”

Damn . He had foolishly hoped she wouldn’t put that together so quickly. “Yes.”

“And you have known this since you had that meeting?”

“Erm…” How had he fallen into this level of hot water so quickly? Were all the women in London conspiring to thwart him?

“And you elected to keep it to yourself because…?”

“Because I have no intention of taking up that title.” The minute the words left his mouth he knew they were the wrong thing to say.

His mother rose slowly, drawing herself up to her full height, her eyes wide and flashing with temper. “I don’t give a damn about the title. You were followed home by two men in the dead of night. Did you think I’d forgotten that fact?”

Damn. She had been worried. Of course she had been worried. “I’m sorry.”

It was too late for him to apologize. His mother was well and truly vexed, and when Naomi Kingston was vexed, there was nothing to do but wait out the storm.

She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the wooden table. “You couldn’t even let me know it had been resolved and that your safety wasn’t at risk?”

“I’m sorry.”

“And then you have the audacity to behave as though it doesn’t affect me?”

Not for the first time in his life, he wished his father was still alive to help him smooth things over.

Not that the man would have been helpful in this particular moment.

The bastard would have stood to the side fighting to hide his amusement behind his hand, waiting for him to hang himself fully before offering any assistance.

It was what he had done when he had announced to them his intention to join the army.

He was concerned to be sure and after he’d expressed as much to Leo.

But in the moment, when his mother had made her displeasure abundantly clear he had merely watched with that sparkle in his eye, his lips pressed firmly together, his arms folded.

Much like Richard. The similarities between Richard and his father had never been so apparent to Leo before this.

Perhaps it was why she favored him so much.

It was no doubt what had drawn Leo to him when he was at Eton, homesick and nervous.

No one was coming to help him with this current mess, however.

This one he’d have to smooth over all on his own from beginning to end.

“Mother,” he walked towards her, and she held up one imperious hand.

“Don’t call me that.” She straightened and shook her head.

“Mama…”

“Who is ‘mama’?” she looked over her shoulder theatrically.

“Where is your mother, young man? Clearly, I am not your mother.” She fixed a glare on him with an ire that instinctively had him backing up a few steps.

“I must be one of your business associates, yes? One of your contacts. Don’t bother telling me anything, I must be some person you let in off the bloody street! ”

With that she stalked away, gliding up the stairs and leaving the resonant crack of a slammed door ringing in the uncomfortable silence behind her.

Wonderful. Yet another unneeded upheaval he could thank Mrs. Burghley-Harrison for.