‘And how would you know in what condition my furnishings are, might I ask?’
‘It is difficult to keep secrets in the country. Let us be frank, Miss Dane. Antonia. Financially, you are at a standstill. If you have any concern for your tenants, or indeed yourself, you must look to raise income.’
‘This is being frank, indeed.’ Antonia stopped abruptly and faced him. ‘I believe, Marcus, you cross beyond frankness. What concern can you have with my private affairs?’
He studied her from dark brown eyes. ‘I am, after all, a neighbour, but more than that, I am in a position to alleviate your situation. I have an offer for you.’
Antonia stared at him in wild surmise. Marcus Renshaw, Duke of Allington, offering her marriage? Surely there was no other interpretation to put on his words, especially after that kiss just now? Unless he was making an offer of a far less reputable kind.
‘Marcus, this is so sudden. I scarcely know you...’ She broke off at the look of astonishment dawning on his face. He had it under control in a second, but not before she realised the appalling error she had fallen into. Burning with humiliation she blundered on. ‘That is to say, it is very kind of you to offer help to someone you scarcely know.’
‘Our families have been neighbours for centuries.’ He spoke smoothly, but she could see a trace of colour on his cheekbones. His attempts at tact were as humiliating to her as her original error had been. ‘Your father sold me some land several years ago and I would give you a fair price for the remaining farmlands and the woods. It would leave you the pleasure grounds. Then, with the house restored, you would be able to sell it easily, perhaps to a London merchant seeking a country retreat. There are many such these days.’
Embarrassment turned to anger as his words sank in. So, Marcus Renshaw had only kissed her, been so sympathetic, in order to gain her confidence as a prelude to snapping up her lands.
His impression of her as an empty-headed female must have been compounded by her falling into his arms not once, but twice. To be arrested as a poacher, to be found in a twitter over ghosts and then to so misinterpret his intentions on the flimsiest of evidence – he must think her so foolish she would accept his offer without hesitation or calculation.
‘The day will never come when I am prepared to sell so much as one yard of my land, Your Grace. Not to you or anyone else.’ She gathered up her skirts and swept off, turning as a further thought struck her. ‘And your protestations of neighbourly concern would ring more true if you conducted yourself as a gentleman and did not manhandle me at every opportunity.’
He had swung up into the saddle. Her words obviously stung, for the horse tossed its head in protest as his hand tightened on the reins. ‘I am not in the habit of manhandling unwilling ladies, ma’am. I would suggest you look to your own behaviour before you criticise mine. I would hardly characterise you as unwilling just now.’
Before Antonia could do more than gasp at this attack, he had dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and cantered off down the track.
She was still seething when she re-entered the kitchen, now mercifully restored to order.
Donna was placidly brewing a pot of tea, the stock was simmering fragrantly on the range, mixing with the delicious odour of roasting pigeon, Mrs Brown had gone and the cats were sleeping off an excess of rabbit in the scullery. Through the half-open door she could see a tangle of tails.
‘My dear, whatever is the matter?’ Donna put down the teapot. ‘Your cheeks are flushed and you are positively scowling. You really should not, it is so unbecoming in a lady.’
‘That insufferable man.’
‘Which man?’ Donna asked, not unreasonably.
‘Are there more than one in the neighbourhood determined to interfere in my life at every turn? Marcus Renshaw, of course.’ She plumped down in a chair and began to fiddle irritably with a folded paper which lay on the table.
‘The Duke?’ What has he done to upset you now, Antonia? Drink this tea and calm yourself.’ Donna pushed the cup across the table and followed it with the sugar bowl.
Antonia took a deep breath. ‘I was in the Dower House, exploring. It
was very dark and gloomy in there, and in truth, after a while, rather unsettling. He saw the front door standing open and came in looking for burglars. I have never been so scared in my life when I heard the footsteps on the stairs. And then he... Then he... I was agitated and naturally, er, clung to him. And then…’ She found herself unable to finish the sentence.
‘Are you trying to tell me he kissed you?’ Donna seemed inclined to be amused rather than shocked, which only fuelled Antonia’s annoyance.
‘Really, Donna, I am surprised at you. I would not have thought you would regard such behaviour so lightly.’
‘Well, if you had cast yourself into his arms, he is but a man, after all, my dear. And,’ she added, musingly, ‘a most eligible one at that. Too eligible, I suppose, being a duke.’
This was uncomfortably close to the truth. Antonia sank her head into her hands.
‘Antonia, dearest – are you telling me he offered you some grosser insult?’
‘No. But, oh, Donna, I made such an abject fool of myself. I thought he was making a declaration of marriage, but he was only offering to buy the land.’
‘If he misled you in any way, then he must do the honourable thing, duke or not,’ Donna said hotly.
Antonia cut across her. ‘No, I kissed him back, I fear. And it was entirely my own stupidity in misunderstanding him. I said nothing which could not be explained away, but he knew what assumption I’d made, which is so humiliating.’
‘But when you came in just now you seemed angry, not embarrassed. Did you quarrel?’