*
Griff wanted tocrow and strut like a rooster. One seemingly innocent comment accompanied by a lascivious glance was all it had taken to get Lady Susan hot and bothered.
Mind you, the pebbled nipples and the way she squirmed in her seat were rather titivating—too much so, he realized when his groin tightened and familiar urges stirred at the base of his spine. Who would have thought a prim and proper bluestocking could be aroused so relatively easily? Or that she’d hold any appeal for him? It was almost a pity Rebecca Waterman was coming with them.
He sipped the last of his coffee, willing his erection to subside before he stood.
Unfortunately, Gabriel was already on his feet. “We’ll repair to the library for our discussions. Blair is waiting.”
Left with no choice, Griff stood, holding his napkin against his body until he could turn away from the table. “Lead on,” he replied jovially, tossing the linen back onto his chair.
He had to get his male urges under control, though he’d had little experience reining them in before. However, this was a game he couldn’t afford to lose. He mustn’t let Susan get the upper hand; that might prove more difficult than he’d anticipated if he allowed himself to become emotionally involved.
The notion sent chills racing across his nape. He didn’t even like brunettes, nor olive-skinned women, though he had to concede Susan’s raven locks and gypsy coloring made for a potent combination.
Rack and Ruin
Griff followed hishost, thankful his interest in Susan was abating. The enormous mahogany desk in one corner of the small library indicated the earl used this space as a study. Floor-to-ceiling shelves were crammed with a wide variety of books, some leather-bound and weighty. He could imagine Susan spending many enjoyable hours in this well-stocked library.
Where had that thought come from? He had to get her off his mind and concentrate on the urgent matter of Clifton Heights.
A man rose from his seat in front of the desk and offered his hand. “William Blair, my lord earl,” he said, his smile genuine.
Griff accepted the handshake. “Mr. Blair. I appreciate your taking the time to enlighten me,” he replied.
“Please, sit,” Gabriel said, indicating a chair next to his manager while he took a seat behind the desk.
“I’m not sure how I can be of help,” Blair said, clearly comfortable opening the discussion—a sign Gabriel trusted him.
Griff hesitated. He’d be obliged to explain that the main reason Clifton Heights had fallen into disrepair was his own lack of oversight. “I’m unhappy with my estate manager,” he began.
Blair rested an ankle atop his thigh, very much at ease.
Gabriel steepled his fingers.
“The staff he hires are useless, and the man seems to spend most of his time at the village pub.”
“Ye’re speaking of the household servants?” Blair asked.
“Yes, maids, footmen, the housekeeper, cooks, and so on.”
“To be frank, my lord, I don’t manage those aspects of the manor. Frame is in charge of the personnel in this house—more of a majordomo, ye might say. What ye need is a competent man such as he to organize yer household.”
“I have a butler who could do that,” Griff conceded. “In fact, he was the butler at Clifton Heights for many years.”
“And now?” Gabriel asked.
“He takes care of my London townhouse,” Griff replied. “I moved to the capital and took him with me.”
“I see,” Blair said, uncrossing his legs. “Since ye’re absent most of the time, ye need trustworthy people. It’s a tall order for an estate the size of thine.”
Griff didn’t detect censure, nor did he fault the man’s skepticism. As the newly-minted earl, he’d thought nothing of fleeing to London and trusting his ancestral home to the safekeeping of a man who’d turned out to be untrustworthy.
“I believe ye also own a farm down south, my lord?” Blair asked.
“Not really a farm. Pendlebury Stables. I breed horses.”
“And ye have a manager there who is taking care of things in yer absence?”