As he guided the caleche onto Amberley’s long approach, he ran a hand through his hair and shot her an appraising glance. Her expression had turned contemplative. He could almost see the wheels turning in her pretty red head.
“Perhaps we can put aside some money and invest,” she said. “In the future, with careful planning, playing the highwayman might become unnecessary. God willing, before you ever get caught and”—her voice dropped—“strung up at Tyburn.” She turned on the bench seat to face him. “I’ll help you.”
“You will not. I won’t have you endangering yourself—”
Her laughter rang through the deepening shadows. “I didn’t mean with the robberies, but with the investing. I’ve quite a knack with finances—you can ask Jason.”
“He lets you invest his money?”
She stiffened beside him. “Not independently, but I’ve helped him make decisions, yes.”
“Whoa, there.” He put a hand on her arm, pleased when she didn’t pull away. The scent of lavender wafted on the breeze to his nose. “I wasn’t disapproving, just asking.”
“All right, then.” Her expression softened. “It’s only that I don’t know you, and—”
“I don’t know you, either.”
“True enough.” After a considered pause, an unmistakable glimmer lit her green eyes. “As for the highway robbery, I have a good aim—”
“Ye won’t.” Hearing his accent broadening, he winced. What was it about this woman that could drive him to such emotion? Pulling up before Amberley House, he tugged on the reins with more force than was necessary before taking her by the shoulders. He brought his eyes to within an inch of hers. “I mean it, Kendra.”
“I was jesting,” she whispered, her smile sweet. Something melted in his gut. It was such a small space to bring his lips to hers; he did it without thinking. Her mouth was soft and yielding, and he felt her breath quicken, her pulse race beneath his fingers on her neck. Their lips clung for a long, sweet minute; then he deliberately pulled away.
“Oh,” she whispered. “I cannot keep my head when you do that.”
“Aye?” He couldn’t help but grin as he handed the reins to a groom and hopped down from the caleche.
Perhaps he would enjoy this marriage after all.
Eighteen
SEATED ATTrick’s desk, Kendra frowned at the ledger in front of her. “So you’ve been living here at Amberley for six months?”
“Aye. And I fired Rankill after two.” Trick took a sip of bracing whisky, then set the glass on the table beside his favorite leather armchair.
He’d returned from seeing to his London interests to hear his wife had spent the past week examining his books and inspecting his property. After recovering from the shock, he’d decided he was pleased. With that part of their marriage, at least.
Now that he was back home, he’d work on the physical part. He’d made progress before he left—he was sure of it. Though he’d as soon strangle her brothers for being right, he had to admit he and Kendra were a damn good match…the rest would come in time.
“Were my suspicions about Rankill’s dishonesty on target, then?” he asked her, feeling more than awkward requesting his wife’s opinion of his estate business. But between the king’s mission and the demands of his shipping company, he had precious little time to see to Amberley. “Was I right to let him go?”
“You should have done it earlier.” She glanced up. “Your father died three years ago. What brought you back now?”
He couldn’t tell her he’d moved home at King Charles’s request to track down a problem in the region. Or that he’d agreed to do so in exchange for a pardon from old smuggling charges. The threat of losing Amberley and the title had been veiled and, truth be told, unnecessary. Caring little for that legacy from his father, Trick would have agreed to the mission out of patriotism and friendship alone.
But, nay, he couldn’t tell Kendra any of that.
“I decided Amberley was in need of my attention,” he said instead.
“Well, you haven’t paid it much,” she countered with a dark glare.
Noticing she still wasn’t wearing his bracelet, he sighed and sipped again, feigning nonchalance. “What evidence is there that Rankill embezzled?”
“Look here.” She waved him over. “Amberley’s northwest quarter is capable of producing many more bushels than are recorded. And in the east”—she startled when he leaned over her—“this land will support more sheep than are shown in the records.” Slowly she shifted, turning to meet his eyes.
Enjoying her lavender scent, he braced himself with one hand on the desk and held her gaze with his. “Is that so?”
“Y-yes.” She drew a deep breath and looked back down. “As a matter of fact, I counted fifty more head than are noted in the ledger. And you should purchase yet more. You’re not maximizing your profits in this area.”
