“Provided that sister does not fuss you,” Miss Westcott was saying in response to her brother’s words, that thread of humor still in her voice. “But we are running out of terrace, Harry, and will need to turn back.”
“You cannot know how good this air feels to me,” he said, drawing in a deep, audible breath of it before turning, “and the sunlight and the smell of grass—and horse. And to have my legs under me. I am coming out again later. Perhaps we will have a picnic on the grass. How will that be for a grand adventure?”
“I am not sure I will be able to stand the excitement,” Gil told him.
“I shall arrange it with Mrs. Sullivan,” Miss Westcott said. “And how I like the idea of doing that—of being mistress of my own home.”
Damn it, Gil thought, he did not like the sound of it at all. He had looked forward to being part of a bachelor establishment for a while. He had looked forward to Harry’s family leaving. Most of all he had looked forward toherleaving. But why so? She had done nothing to antagonize him since that first day—which had been mostly his fault. Why, then, had he wanted her gone more than any of them?
Because he was attracted to her?
He wantednoentanglements with women. With women of her class, anyway. Her illegitimacy took nothing away from the fact that she was a lady, a member of a powerful aristocratic family, which guarded its own. She was also Harry’s sister.
He turned his head impatiently and whistled for Beauty. She came loping across the lawn toward them, tongue lolling, ears flopping, rear end jiggling, tail waving.
A dog’s love at least was eternal and unconditional.
And uncomplicated.
•••
Abigail had been dismayed to discover that Lieutenant Colonel Bennington intended to stay indefinitely at Hinsford. She felt cheated of the privacy and sense of home and peace she had so craved. She would surely not have stayed herself if Harry had thought oftellingher.
Anyone but him, she had thought.
But why?
He was not the brute she had taken him for on that first day. Besides, he had apologized for his behavior on that occasion, and she had accepted the apology. Was she still bearing a grudge? It would be unreasonable and wrong if she were. He had done nothing to offend her since then, or anyone else in the family. Quite the contrary, in fact. He had kept away from them for long spells each day and never joined any group or conversation when he was present unless he was drawn in by someone else. And he wasundeniably good with children, a fact that had taken her completely by surprise since it seemed to contradict his severe, sometimes almost morose looks and demeanor. He had apparently even allowed Robbie, that troubled little boy whom even three years of love and patience from Camille and Joel had still not quite soothed, to spend hours in his room with Beauty.
And of course he was Harry’s friend. Her brother, she guessed, needed male company more than he needed that of a mere sister. She ought to be happy the lieutenant colonel had decided to stay for a while.
She was not, though. She was not happy at all about it.
But why?
She asked herself that question as she directed one of the male servants in the placement of the chair he had carried out onto the lawn for Harry. And then she sent him back for two more so that her brother would not feel that he was being treated like an invalid while she and his friend sat on a blanket on the grass. Or perhaps she sent for extra chairs because she did not want such proximity between herself and the lieutenant colonel.
Oh, this was ridiculous. Why was she so resentful? She ought to be enjoying the chance to play hostess for a guest.
Was it because she was horribly aware of him as a man?
Horribly?
Andwasshe?
He was not even handsome. She did not believe he ever had been, even before he acquired that scar on his face. His hair and eyes were too dark, his features too harsh and angular, his complexion too sun darkened, his habitual expression too stern. And he was too big. Every time she glanced at him she remembered what he looked like without hisshirt, his breeches riding low on his hips, the huge axe held diagonally across his body—which had been glistening with sweat. It was uncivilized. It was barbaric. It—
She sounded like a prude. She probablywasa prude.
But that realization did not endear him to her either, though he was not the one who had called her that.
He made her feel uncomfortable. What an inadequate word—uncomfortable.But she could not think of a better one. She wanted to be able to think of him merely as Harry’s friend. And she wanted to see him every time she looked at him or thought of him ashaving his clothes on. She wanted to obliterate that ghastly memory of raw masculinity.
Oh come, Abigail,she chided herself,it was not ghastly.
She had never encountered masculinity before. Men, yes. Handsome men, yes. Attractive men, yes. Masculinity, no. Notrawmasculinity, anyway. Not naked chests and... Oh dash it all, she reallywasa prude.
She watched him now approaching slowly across the lawn with Harry. She did approve of the way he never tried to assist her brother physically, though he must often be tempted to do so just as several members of her family had been, especially the females. Nothing could be more designed to irritate Harry. Lieutenant Colonel Bennington kept his hands clasped at his back whenever he walked with Harry, though he stayed close enough to offer assistance should it become necessary. He bore himself very erect, a military man in every line of his body. She wondered if his men had feared him—or adored him. Or perhaps a bit of both.
