He moved to his desk, shuffling papers into some semblance of order while silently berating himself.
He was the Duke of Calborough. He had tenants depending on him, an estate to manage, and responsibilities that stretched back generations. And he had nearly forgotten all of it because he couldn’t stop thinking about a woman he had no right to want.
Mr. Cartwright entered with the quiet efficiency that had made him invaluable these past seven years. A tall man in his fifties with silver-streaked hair and shrewd eyes, he carried a leather satchel bulging with documents.
“Mr. Cartwright, thank you for coming. I trust the journey wasn’t too arduous in this weather?”
“The roads were passable, Your Grace. Though I confess the last mile through London proved more treacherous than the entire route from the country.” Cartwright settled into the chair across from Aaron’s desk and began extracting papers. “Shall we begin with the tenant reports?”
“Please.”
Cartwright launched into a detailed account of the winter’s impact on the estate. Roof repairs needed for three cottages. A dispute between two farmers over grazing rights for the coming year. The new drainage system was performing admirably despite the heavy snow.
Aaron listened, nodded, and asked the appropriate questions. But his mind kept drifting.
The softness of Louise’s lips. The way she had gasped his name. The desperate hunger in her kiss that had matched his own.
“… and the Miller family has requested an extension on their rent, given the difficulties with their eldest son’s illness. I thought perhaps a reduction of twenty percent for the quarter might be appropriate, but of course, the decision is yours, Your Grace.”
Aaron blinked. “Yes. The reduction. That seems reasonable.”
Cartwright paused, his pen hovering over his notes. “You seem distracted, Your Grace. If this is an inconvenient time …”
“No.” Aaron straightened in his chair, forcing himself to focus. “Forgive me. I’ve had a complicated few days. Please continue.”
But even as Cartwright moved on to crop projections for the spring planting, Aaron’s thoughts betrayed him again.
He could still feel the press of her body against his. Still taste her on his lips. Still hear the small sound she had made when he deepened the kiss, a whimper of surrender that had nearly shattered his control entirely.
Fool.
He was a fool. She was under his protection, vulnerable and dependent on his goodwill. To want her was to risk becoming everything he despised about his father. To act on that want would be unforgivable.
And yet he had kissed her. Had pulled her into his arms in that freezing room and kissed her like a man drowning, like she was the only air left in the world.
“Your Grace?”
Aaron realized Cartwright had asked him something. “I apologize. You were saying?”
“The matter of the new barn for the home farm. You had asked about reviewing the builder’s proposals before making a final decision.”
“Yes. Leave them with me. I’ll review them this week and send word.”
Cartwright nodded, but concern lingered in his expression. In seven years, Aaron had been nothing less than fully engaged in matters of the estate. His distraction must be glaringly obvious.
They concluded the meeting with discussion of staff wages and the upcoming repairs to the manor’s east wing. Aaron signed the necessary documents, approved the expenditures Cartwright recommended, and thanked him for making the journey in such weather.
“Will you stay the night?” Aaron asked as Cartwright gathered his papers. “The roads will only worsen after dark.”
“Most kind, Your Grace. I’d be grateful for a bed that doesn’t sway with every rut in the road.”
Aaron rang for Thornton to arrange accommodations, then sat alone in his study after Cartwright departed.
The fire crackled. Outside, he could hear faint sounds of laughter from the garden, where Emily and Buttercup were no doubt wreaking cheerful havoc in the snow.
He should review the builder’s proposals. Should attend to the stack of correspondence accumulating on his desk. Should do anything other than sit here replaying every moment of last night in excruciating detail.
Instead, he stared at the flames and thought about copper hair spread across a threadbare pillow. About green eyes wide with want. About the way Louise had said his name, justAaron, as if titles and propriety meant nothing.
