Alessandro found himselfback in his father’s study, this time by the light of day, a few hours of sleep none the wiser, and the ledgers his thieving steward had left behind laid out before him. Also, the heavy stone of regret lodged deep inside him.
Following his shameful inability to control himself at the breakfast table, he had spent the remainder of the day touring the estate. Discovering fallow fields, cottages in disrepair, others abandoned. The wing of Marchmont Hall that had been damaged by fire needed to be inspected by an architect. Rain had been pouring into the compromised roof in several areas, leaving the remaining walls moldy.
The ledgers before him offered incontrovertible proof that his steward had been swindling him for the last several years at least, growing bolder as time wore on. Perhaps thebastardohad even been robbing Alessandro’s father, though he had yet to dig back far enough into the records to determine the veracity of his suspicions.
All around him was the undeniable evidence he had done exactly what Catriona had accused him of that morning. He had indeed been avoiding his duties. Marchmont had been going to ruin in his absence.
For the first time since returning to England, his obligations hit home. There was more, far more, he needed to accomplish aside from making certain his heir would inherit the line. He needed to restore Marchmont, or it would be destroyed. All the funds he had reserved to keep it running beneath his steward’s careful guidance—so he had thought—had been depleted.
What he had on his hands was one hell of a mess of his own making.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, staring down at the ledgers, unseeing. He was beginning to fear his stay in England would necessarily have to be far longer than he had initially supposed. And that was a problem in itself, because he was also growing increasingly attracted to his maddening wife.
The mere thought of her was enough to make his cock go hard, even as he sat at his father’s desk, wallowing in the depths of his own failures. He could still feel her lips beneath his, soft and pliable, giving and sweet. Could still feel the silken heat of her sheath, gripping him, pulling him deep into the depths of her body.
He had lost his head with her last night.
And then he had lost his head with her again this morning.
He told himself now it was merely lust that made him lose control in her presence. He was ravenous for more.
He could be in her presence without needing to toss up her skirts.
Sí, he could.
Beginning today.
Or perhaps, rather, tomorrow.
Or the next day.
Maldición.
This was not good. Not good at all.
Chapter Twenty
Catriona sniffed theair. “You need a bath,” she informed Olly.
They were working on the Marchmont library, which was in desperate need of something else. Organization. Books had been haphazardly stacked on the floor. Others appeared to have been thrown from shelves by someone in a fit of pique. With the household a bustle of activity and her husband once more avoiding her, she had deemed the library an appropriate task to tackle as it killed two birds with one stone.
She would set the room to rights and would also discover how literate the little scamp was.
“I doesn’t need a bath,” declared Olly, his bottom lip jutting out stubbornly.
And it was becoming apparent the answer was not very literate at all. The lad was able to discern letters, but he could not read. Nor could he speak properly.
“I do not need a bath,” she corrected absently, tucking volume one ofJortin’s Erasmusalongside volume two on a shelf she had emptied earlier.
“Are you sure you doesn’t?” Olly asked, sounding suspicious. “If there be’s something foul in the air, mayhap you need to look no further than the end of your nose for the source.”
Rude fellow, wasn’t he?
She looked over her shoulder at him, noting the grime coating his face and hands. It looked as if it had been present for some time. “Are you sure you do not?That is the proper way to say it, my dear Olly. And as I have recently bathed and there are no flies buzzing about my head as if I am a cow in the pasture, rotten with my own filth, I am sure neither myself nor my nose is the source of the stench.”
“Here now, I doesn’t see any flies.” Olly tossed a book to the floor and crossed his arms over his chest, pinning her with a frown.
“Yes,” she said grimly. “When was the last time you bathed?”
