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And although I never managed to prove his guilt to my father’s satisfaction—he only punished me for invading Alban’s privacy—it did reveal this skill I have for puzzling out languages. I’m sure the old man was as relieved as I was when he gained me early entrance to Oxford based on that talent.”
    Lily stroked the cat thoughtfully. “And you’ve stayed there ever since.”
    “It became my home. I eventually became a fellow and then a professor . . . I know my father looks upon my profession with disdain. A Nesbitt, working for a living. But I like my life. The university is orderly.”
    He looked toward the window again, his eyes turning hazy. “At Oxford, the world makes sense.”

Chapter Seven
    No sooner had the carriage door opened than Ford whisked Rand upstairs. “How was your stay at Trentingham?”
    “Fine.” Rand looked around at the chaotic jumble of scientific instruments that littered Ford’s attic laboratory.
    “Is there nothing I can do downstairs, where the damage—”
    “’Tis all being handled. I’m in the middle of something here—I’ll be with you in a minute.” Ford added a noxious-smelling substance to some cloudy liquid in a beaker.
    “Fine, was it?”
    “Actually,” Rand admitted, “’twas damned awkward.
    Will the guest room be ready for me to sleep here tonight?”
    “If you can live with a bare, damp floor.” Ford stirred the mess with some sort of stick made of glass. “I’ll let this sit until tomorrow. Let me go get the book.”
    Rand plopped onto a chair, rubbed his face, then dropped his hands. In two short days, his placid life seemed to have become overly complicated. He felt absurdly relieved to be moving back here this afternoon.
    Trentingham Manor was a lovely home, but at Lakefield he ran less risk of finding himself alone with a certain lovely daughter.

    He felt much safer here. More in control. Less likely to have stupid things come out of his mouth.
    I’ve thought about you for four years . . .
    “Here it is,” Ford said, setting the book on the table and taking a seat beside him.
    “It” was Secrets of the Emerald Tablet , a small, brown leather volume that looked to be of little consequence.
    Ancient and handwritten in a cryptic code, it could be naught but a simple diary. But it was much more than that. ’Twas purported to hold the key to the Philosopher’s Stone—the secret of how to make gold.
    Ford had found the book years earlier and brought it to Rand to translate. When the task had proved a difficult one, they’d set it aside for a time.
    Now Rand looked forward to the challenge. It would take his mind off another challenge that had much more personal repercussions.
    “Awkward,” Ford repeated thoughtfully, moving closer with a scrape of his chair. His laboratory was a homely space, huge but hardly luxurious, cluttered as it was with every toy a scientist and alchemist could desire.
    “My mother-in-law is generally good at setting her guests at ease.”
    “And her daughter is good at unsettling them.”
    “Rose?” Ford chuckled. “Although she can be rather forward, I assure you she’s an innocent at heart.”
    “ Rather forward hardly begins to define Rose. But I meant Lily.”
    “Lily? Lily soothes those around her. Creatures as well as people. What could sweet Lily possibly do to discompose you?”
    Rand met his old school friend’s eyes. “She can look at me. That is all it takes.”

    “Holy Christ,” Ford said, borrowing his father-in-law’s favorite phrase. “You’re falling for her.”
    “I didn’t say that,” Rand protested. ’Twas a long way from lusting after a woman to falling for her, wasn’t it?
    His friend’s laughter was more irritating than convincing. With a huff, Rand opened the book.
    His feelings on the matter seemed to get more complicated by the minute. These cryptic writings would be a hell of a lot easier to figure out.
    Downstairs, Lily and Rose had joined their oldest sister in her