She sighed. “You think I’m absurd.”
He hid a smile. He thought her instincts right on the money. His intentions were far from pure. Although he meant marriage, he also meant to gain her gloriously sensual surrender. She was made for his bed. And he intended to see her there before too much longer.
* * *
It wasn’t yet snowing, but Rory could smell it on the air as they left the house through the warren of kitchens and storerooms. Miss Farrar strode along beside him with a firm ground-eating countrywoman’s gait. She was more at home on dry land than he was. Although he gradually found his feet in this new life he must learn to inhabit.
A flush marked her cheeks. Perhaps because of the chill wind, perhaps because she was with a man who stirred her blood. He dearly hoped the second reason was the right one. He’d lent her a greatcoat for their excursion to catch Daisy, and between that, the scarf she’d drawn from a pocket and tied over her shining hair, and her sensible half-boots, she looked ready to march to China.
“I hope you know where to find Daisy.” His breath formed clouds as he spoke. Odd to be so perishingly cold and so overheated at the same time. “It’s too cold to go to the ends of the estate.”
“Haven’t you seen her?”
He shook his head. “I might have. I’ve inspected so much livestock in the last few weeks that all the cows and sheep and pigs have become a fog in my mind. I’m a man of the sea, not a farmer.”
She sent him a sympathetic look. “You’ll have to learn fast, or every fellow north of London will try to cheat you. What you need is a good steward.”
“Do you know someone?”
“Not in the village. And Banks, your brother’s steward, retired last year. His son is working as assistant to Lord Leath’s man down in Yorkshire. Perhaps the chance of promotion and a return home might coax him back.”
“You see?”
“See what?” she asked and to his satisfaction, didn’t withdraw when he took her elbow to help her over a muddy patch.
He’d never touched her before. Her arm was strong and slender in his grasp, and even through several layers of good English wool, he could swear he felt her vitality. Touching her certainly helped to keep out the cold.
She couldn’t be further removed from the delicate beauties who had clustered around him when he’d dropped in on London, freshly in possession of his title. He’d been cynical enough to note that ladies who might flirt with a younger son had much more serious plans for a rich, unmarried earl. Not that he’d lacked for gold even before inheriting. He’d taken enough prizes on the high seas to set himself up very nicely indeed.
“How I need your help.”
“I can look into finding you a good housekeeper, too.”
“You’re the only person I’ll trust the house to.” He drew in a lungful of winter air and caught her scent. Lavender and lemon. Slightly astringent. Like her. With a base note of sweet honey. Again like her.
The path took them through wintry woods. Dead leaves crackled beneath their boots and bare trees stretched their branches to the pewter sky. When she turned to study him, the shadowy light turned her into a creature of beguiling mystery. “I’m not sure.”
It was better than a no. Especially when he still touched her.
He drew her to a stop. “Can I do something for you in return? A new roof for the church? Repairs to the vicarage?”
“No, thank you. Your brother kept everything in good order.”
Again his saintly brother. The laddie seemed never to have put a foot wrong. “Is there nothing I can do to persuade you to help me?”
“Actually…”
“Aye?”
She sent him a quick smile. “You might be sorry you asked.”
Rory had an inkling that she might be right. On the other hand, when she set up the house, she’d be under his feet and ripe for courting. She wasn’t quite as ahead of him as she imagined. “Try me.”
“You can reinstate the village Christmas party.”
He regarded her steadily. “That means getting the house into fit state in a hurry.”
“Only the public rooms. Just the great hall really.”