Marcus had calmed the chestnut, but made no attempt to dismount, staring haughtily down at the stranger. Mr Blake squared his shoulders in his admirably-cut coat, drew his brows together in an expression of so
me severity and remarked coldly, ‘Sir, you have alarmed the ladies.’
It was as if he had not spoken. Marcus looked over his head and bowed slightly. ‘Good day, Miss Dane. I trust I find you well, Miss Donaldson.’
Mr Blake, who probably had more than his fair share of experience in dealing with arrogant aristocrats and who had a very good sense of his own breeding and worth, was not to be bested by this carelessly dressed man on the superb horse. His expression showed clearly that even if the intruder was known to the ladies that did not excuse his abominable bad manners.
He turned his shoulder on the rider, bowed slightly to Antonia and continued with his farewells as though the other man did not exist. ‘Thank you again for your hospitality, Miss Dane. I hope to return to Rye End Hall very shortly. I will, of course, write at the earliest opportunity.’ He mounted his curricle, looped the reins neatly and set his pair in motion, sweeping past the Duke without a glance.
Antonia waved energetically at the departing carriage and saw the set expression on Marcus’s face with some pleasure. She squeezed Donna’s hand in warning, although it was unlikely that her companion would prattle of the lawyer’s identity or purpose. It was too much to hope that this display of displeasure was jealousy because the Duke felt some partiality for her, but on the other hand, it would do no harm to keep Marcus guessing about her visitor.
Antonia stepped forward with a cool smile. ‘Your Grace, good day.’ She might entertain warm, even foolishly romantic, feelings about him when he was absent. She might daydream about the pressure of his lips on hers and speculate about his intentions but, faced with the man himself, she found herself provoked by his arrogance. ‘A very fine day, is it not? One really feels that summer is around the corner.’
Marcus dismounted, tossing the reins to a groom as he did so.
‘Oh, a visit. How nice,’ Antonia prattled brightly. ‘I had assumed you were merely passing. What a pity we have just finished luncheon.’
‘I have eaten, ma’am, some time ago. I would not have intruded if I had realised you were entertaining company.’ Marcus was chillingly polite.
‘Of course you would not,’ Antonia replied with what she hoped was maddening complacency.
Donna shot her a reproving look, made an excuse and left. Antonia glanced sideways at Marcus’s unsmiling face. ‘You seem out of sorts.’
Marcus met her eyes steadily, then suddenly smiled, his brow clearing. Antonia had the distinct impression she had overplayed her hand. ‘Not at all, Antonia. I merely called to see if you had experienced any more difficulty with the bank while I have been in Town.’
‘Oh, have you been away? Now that I think of it, I do believe one of the servants mentioned that you were not at Brightshill. Have you been absent long? For ourselves, we have been so busy that time has just flown by. Thank you for enquiring, everything has proceeded most smoothly.’
They were strolling towards the house as they spoke. Antonia was very conscious of his nearness. From the very beginning, she had found Marcus a dominating physical presence, but since experiencing his kisses she was acutely aware of his hands, of the breadth of his shoulders, of the very scent of him. It was most unsettling to find the sensations she had experienced under the moonlight recurring now in full daylight. There was absolutely no excuse for it, she told herself severely.
When they arrived at the front door, which still stood open, she asked, ‘Would you care to see the work we have had done?’ She felt that some conciliatory gesture was owing, considering that Marcus had been so helpful in obtaining the necessary funds for the work.
It became obvious as they walked through the house that he must take a personal interest in the practical details of his own estate. The questions he asked the plasterers and roofers who were putting the finishing touches to the attic rooms were informed, and Antonia was surprised by his easy manner with the men.
It was partly explained when the plumber said, 'If you care to take a look at the roof, Your Grace, you will see we used the same way of fixing the lead-work as we did at Brightshill.’
Antonia stepped back into the shadows and watched Marcus talking to the men. They were deferential, she realised, not entirely because of his rank, but because in him they recognised someone who understood the needs of a big estate and of their place within it.
As he talked his face lost all its severity and his whole frame was relaxed as he handled a damaged piece of lead pipe handed to him by the plumber. Here was a far cry from the magistrate punishing a poacher, or the brusque landowner giving orders to his gamekeepers.
William Hunt the plumber pointed at something out on the leads. To Antonia’s astonishment, Marcus stripped off his coat, rolled up his shirtsleeves and swung out of the cramped dormer window onto the flat section of the roof.
When the plumber and his mate had followed him out she strolled across to the window and watched them. To her alarm, Marcus was leaning dangerously over the parapet, prodding at brickwork and throwing comments over his shoulder to Hunt. Incomprehensible remarks about flashing, downpipes and rain hoppers floated back to her.
Gradually her alarm ebbed. As Marcus got to his feet, Antonia found her eyes drawn to the play of strong muscles under the fine linen the breeze was flattening to his back. He stood, one foot on the parapet, looking out over the grounds. As he turned to toss a remark back to the plumber, the wind caught his hair, blowing unruly tawny locks into his eyes.
‘I agree, you had better talk to Miss Dane about those downspouts. A decision must be made one way or another,’ he was saying prosaically as he pushed back the hair and met her eyes.
Across the space their gazes clashed and locked, his eyes holding a question she could not decipher. As she searched his face, Antonia realised with a jolt that she was falling for Marcus Renshaw and that if he made any answering sign of partiality she would run to his side, however many workmen were present, however inappropriate the setting.
The moment seemed endless, but only a few seconds could have passed because Hunt was saying to her, ‘It’s like this, ma’am. The weight of rainwater coming down off this roof is too great for the size of hopper. It’s difficult to explain without you seeing it.’ He scratched his head, clearly at a loss for the words that could better explain the situation to a lady who, he clearly assumed, could not hope to understand technical matters of this sort.
Marcus strode across to where she stood at the window and extended his hand. ‘Come, Miss Dane, it is safe to step out. The roof is quite flat for the most part.’
Antonia let Marcus take her hand. His grasp was warm, firm and sure and she experienced no fear as she stepped up on to a box, then stooped to climb over the window ledge.
‘Thank you, Hunt,’ he said to the plumber. ‘I am sure you want to be getting on inside. I will show Miss Dane the problem.’
‘Oh, look, you can see for miles,’ Antonia exclaimed, gazing out over the greening Hertfordshire countryside and the great beech woods rolling over the scarp edge of the Chilterns towards the Vale beneath.