‘Is this your first visit to Yorkshire, my lord?’ Caroline asked when the food was served and the butler had withdrawn.
Tonbridge paused in his carving of the roast duck and smiled politely. ‘Not at all. I came here often in my youth with my family. It has been some years since my last visit, I must say.’
‘Lucky for me you chose today,’ Merry said, fluttering her eyelashes in a fair emulation of the girls she’d despised at school.
Caroline cast her a startled look.
Tonbridge continued carving. ‘It seems we were both lucky. I doubt I would have made it to Skepton in the snow and I would never have found hospitality on so grand a scale elsewhere in the wilds of the moors.’
Grand meaning horribly bourgeois, no doubt.
‘May I help you to some of this fine bird, Mrs Falkner?’ he asked.
‘Thank you,’ Caroline said.
‘Not for me,’ Merry said, then waved her fork and the carrot on its tines airily at the picture behind her. ‘That is my grandfather, Josiah Draycott. He rose from shepherd boy to owning one of the largest wool mills in Yorkshire.’
‘Impressive,’ Tonbridge said. He put the best slices of the bird on Caroline’s plate and took the remainder for himself.
Merry wasn’t sure if he referred to the portrait in which her grandfather, with his full-bottomed wig and eagle-eyed stare, looked as if he could eat small boys for breakfast, or his accomplishments. Strangely enough she had the impression it was the latter when she’d expected the former.
She cut her roast beef into bite-sized pieces. ‘He left it all to me.’
He stilled, his duck-laden fork hovering before parted lips. Lovely full lips. The kind of lips that would cushion a girl’s mouth. No awkward clashing of teeth for him, she felt sure.
His eyes widened. ‘You are a mill owner?’ he asked.
Hah! She’d managed to surprise him. At least he’d managed not to sneer. ‘Owner of Draycott’s Mills.
His gaze met hers. ‘I recognised the name, of course. I just didn’t expect
‘A woman in charge?’
‘We sell Durn’s wool to Draycott’s,’ he said, neatly sidestepping her question. He put the duck in his mouth and chewed. How could anyone look so scrumptious, just chewing?
She dragged her gaze from his mouth. ‘And very fine wool it is.’
‘The best,’ he agreed.
‘But not producing as much in recent years.’
He blinked and she felt a little glow of satisfaction. She wasn’t just a mill owner, a reaper of profits. While she rarely visited the mill because the blunt Yorkshire men felt uncomfortable around their female employer, she received weekly reports, statements and accountings. She knew her business. Grandfather had insisted.
‘We’ve seen revenues fall off,’ Tonbridge admitted. ‘One reason for my visit.’
One reason? What would be the others?
He turned to Caroline. ‘Are you also involved in Draycott’s, Mrs Falkner?’
For a man of such an exalted position, he had exquisite manners. Merry found herself warming at the way he included Caroline in the conversation. But he’d not get carrot juice out of that turnip.
Caroline shook her head. ‘Oh, no.’
‘I don’t know what I would do without Caroline’s companionship,’ Merry said on her friend’s behalf.
Caroline smiled at her with gratitude.
Tonbridge’s dark eyes looked from one to the other. A question entered his gaze, a dark thought that caused a slight tightening at the corners of his mouth. More disapproval? ‘You are lucky to have such a good friend,’ he said quietly. The words seemed to hold more meaning than she could work out.
What on earth was he thinking? She found she couldn’t hazard a guess and that was annoying. Accompanying her grandfather on his business dealings had taught her how to read men very well. This one, however, was a bit of a mystery. A challenge.
‘What do you do when you are not visiting the outposts of the Mountford empire?’ she asked.
He laughed. ‘You are nothing if you are not direct, Merry.’ He held up a hand when she began to apologise. ‘I like it. It is refreshing.’
Refreshing meant naïve. Ignorant of the social niceties. She flashed him a sultry smile. ‘I’m glad you find it stimulating, my lord.’
Glints of amber danced in his eyes. ‘You have no idea.’
Oh, but she did, because her blood was stirring and her pulse fluttering in places she shouldn’t be aware of in polite company. She felt more alive than she had for months, perhaps years. For the first time since her fall into disgrace, she felt her body tingle with interest and excitement.
Lust.
Thank goodness she knew it for what it was and could resist it.
Caroline cast her warning glance, an admonition that the flirtation was getting out of hand.
What did it matter if she flirted a little? It wasn’t as if she could be ruined. And this man with his icy reserve deserved a little shaking up. Pretending not to notice Caroline’s unspoken message, she raised a brow. ‘Well, Lord Tonbridge? You didn’t answer my question. Perhaps you are a gambler or a rake?’
‘Both,’ he said, his expression suddenly darker. ‘Have you a wish to test my skills? ‘
Caroline coughed and picked up her water. ‘My throat is dry,’ she muttered after a sip.
Merry only knew one way to deal with a man of his sort. Call his bluff. ‘La, sir, where would we start? With a wager? Or a seduction?’
Dark eyes observed her intently, then flicked to Caroline, who was bright pink and looking mortified. ‘I bow to your wishes,’ he said, his deep voice a silky caress on her ears.
Her stomach did a long slow lazy roll that left her breathless. And speechless. Blast him, he didn’t scare easily. Most of the noblemen she’d met in the past would be running a mile by now at the thought of an entanglement with Merry Draycott.
Gribble entered quietly with his minion at his heels to clear the table for the remove, affording her the opportunity to marshal her defences.
‘Do you plan a long stay at Durn, my lord?’ Caroline asked, covering an awkward silence as the servants went about their business.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said, looking at Merry. ‘It depends on several factors.’
Merry really didn’t like the thrill that rippled through her at the thought that she might be a factor. Did she? He might be the handsomest man she’d ever seen, but he had an arrogance about him, a sense of entitlement, put there by wealth and position. There was also a coldness. It wafted from him like a chill wind. He’d judged her instantly and sensed his superiority. Perhaps he thought she should be honoured to fall at his feet. The thought jangled her pride. A need to take the wind out of his sails was pushing her into outrageous behaviour she could not seem to stop.
Finished with their tasks, the servants withdrew.
‘Can I offer you some of this very fine aspic, Mrs Falkner?’ he asked.
Caroline inclined her head. ‘Yes, please, my lord.’
He raised his gaze to her face. ‘Merry?’
She should not have given him permission to use her first