‘If I tell the authorities you have my permission to live at Dayspring, nobody will be able to tramp about the place willy-nilly in future.’
‘And you think men like that will take notice? The law is run by and for the rich, Lord Mantaigne. It takes a dim view of those who’re too poor to pay it to look the other way.’
‘There are plenty of good magistrates,’ Tom argued lamely.
‘Luckily for us, Mr Strand is an indolent one. He’d turn a blind eye to anyone not robbing or murdering in front of his nose rather than leave his fireside on a night like this one.’
‘Which must have been a good thing for you at times,’ Tom pointed out absently, frowning at the notion any criminal who wanted to run tame about the area had a virtual carte blanche to do so if the local magistrate was as lazy as she claimed.
‘True, and luckily he’s terrified of Lady Wakebourne. A royal scold from her has saved us from eviction more than once.’
‘I will let him know Dayspring is my business and who does or doesn’t live here has nothing to do with him.’
‘A nicely ambiguous reply—have you ever thought of taking up your seat in the House of Lords?’
‘How do you know I haven’t?’
He heard her snort of disbelief at the very idea and tried not to let her opinion of him as an idle and useless fool hurt. It was true he disliked politicians in general and avoided allying himself to the Whigs, Tories or Radicals, but he had a conscience and often voted on it. He even spoke out about causes close to his heart on occasions, for all the good it ever seemed to do. Since he had met Miss Polly Trethayne’s incredible eyes earlier today, with that flash of contempt in them to make him wonder about himself more than was quite comfortable, he’d been wondering if it was time to stop taking life quite so lightly and properly espouse a few of those causes.
Since they exchanged that hasty kiss in the darkness her low opinion of him stung even more, and he fought off an urge to plead for her understanding and a better opinion of him. Her contempt was a useful shield between them, her scathing opinion of his morals and motives might keep him from falling on her like the ravening beasts he’d hated the very mention of when she spoke of the casual violence she’d met on the roads before she got to Dayspring and a sort of sanctuary. He sighed and wished her warmth at his shoulder and her scent on the air wasn’t quite so intimate and endearing and that he wasn’t quite so drawn to the prickly female. Begging sometimes seemed a fine idea if it would win her over and get her back in his arms for a lot longer than she had been tonight.
* * *
‘What on earth have you two been doing in the dark all this time?’ Lady Wakebourne demanded the instant they approached the still-burning lamp he had hung by the old steward’s lodgings. She had obviously grown tired of waiting for Miss Trethayne to come in and was keeping watch for her ewe lamb to make sure she was safe from the big, bad wolf.
‘Suddenly I know exactly how your Mr Strand feels,’ he murmured and heard that delightful huff of feminine laughter again and felt the warmth of it to his toes.
‘Terrifying, isn’t she?’ she whispered back, then stepped forward to greet her mentor with a serene smile. ‘You did mean us to settle some differences and make everyone else less uncomfortable, didn’t you, Lady W.? We had a lot of differences to sift through and it took some time, but I think we have finally agreed on a truce of sorts, have we not, Lord Mantaigne?’
‘Indeed,’ he said as solemnly as he could with the thoughts of what they had actually been about crowding into his mind. ‘Miss Trethayne has agreed to take me and Peters on a tour of the closest parts of the estate, starting tomorrow,’ he added.
It might test that truce to the limit, but she couldn’t run round trying to find out more about tonight’s unwanted visitors on her own if she was with them. With any luck it would take days to familiarise himself with his estates and in the meantime he and Peters could find out what the devil was going on here and do something about it while she was busy.
‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you, my lord?’ she spat so softly he was sure Lady Wakebourne had no idea how far from a truce they were.
‘No, being clever is far too much effort. It must be low cunning,’ he muttered before bowing to her with such exquisite grace and wishing her a good night, so she had to curtsey back and return it with such overdone sweetness he knew she secretly wished him anything but a good night.
* * *
Polly had no choice but to follow her ladyship into the little entrance hall, but she went past the wretch without letting even a thread of her gown touch him. In the kindly shadows cast by the single candle he was as immaculate and exotic as he’d been at dinner. She told herself it was a timely reminder how far apart they truly were. Awareness of his subtly powerful body sent prickles of unease shivering across her skin like wildfire and yet he looked calm and unaffected as if she had never fallen on top of him and felt the brilliant jag of attraction shock between them.
She took the lamp and held it lower to hide the flush that was making her cheeks glow and told herself it was as well if her ladyship didn’t look too closely at his lordship’s once-immaculate clothes. She’d kissed the man, for goodness’ sake, sunk down and seized his mouth in a hasty snatched kiss that still sent shivers of awareness and want through her like a fever she couldn’t seem to break.
‘For heaven’s sake, girl, I can hardly see a foot in front of me,’ Lady Wakebourne chided so Polly had to raise their lantern to light the way after all.
Lord Mantaigne gave a warm and almost sleepy-sounding chuckle that made her think even more darkly sinful thoughts of rumpled bedsheets and sleepless nights of far too much intimacy. What had the wretched man done to her? She heard her own lips let out a muffled moan of denial as the thought of waking up beside him crept into her secret thoughts and settled in. No, he was an impostor—a rich and idle aristocrat, but not quite the harmless and noble gentleman he pretended to be. Nothing about his gaze—smoky with shadows as well as hungry and mysterious in this soft light—seemed either safe or gallant.
He knew he was a handsome and powerful man in his prime and she was painfully aware she was an awkward and gawky female, aware of him in every inch of her lanky body. All the time her head was trying to block him from her senses, she’d felt the power he could hold over her wilder senses, if she let him, and ordered herself to be very wary indeed.
He could walk right over a woman’s most tender hopes and dreams and make them his before either of them realised it, then he’d walk away. Whatever else he was capable of, a deep-down sense of fairness told her he wouldn’t inflict pain on another human being in pursuit of his own pleasure. She wondered about all the women who’d loved him, then watched him go without a backward look. The shudder that racked her at the very idea of being one of them was a powerful antidote. She imagined the desolation he’d leave in his wake when he left her and recoiled as if he’d brandished a lethal weapon instead of that rueful smile.
She raised her chin and met his eyes with as much indifference as she could summon. He stepped back and nodded as if to admit she couldn’t take a lover of any sort and certainly not one like him. His bow said she might be right and he gently closed the door before either of them quite took in the fact he was gone.
‘The boy has far too much charm for his own good,’ her ladyship murmured and ignored Polly’s sceptical snort with the queenly indifference of a true lady.
‘If you say so,’ Polly replied in as neutral a tone as she could after such a day and gave a weary sigh as she lit her ladyship back upstairs and whispered a soft goodnight before running up the next flight of steps to her own room.
* * *