Chapter Twelve
The dinner soon ended, and Heathcliff sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the Almighty for delivering him.
For more than one reason.
His extinguished curiosity was now burning brighter than before.
A governess who was familiar with Kean’s work?
A governess who was able to simplify the truth of society’s nonsensical hierarchy?
A governess who wouldn’t let him simply ignore her and eat his meal in peace?
He was in trouble, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to accept that ill-fated truth.
So much of their conversation that evening had created far more questions than answers, and he rather hated unanswered questions.
Bloody nuisance.
He’d retreated from dinner to take his port in seclusion in his study. The warm, sweet-tinged flavor was thick on his tongue as he watched the sun start its descent over the hill. Country hours were far more conducive to a peaceful existence, he affirmed that truth once more.
Yet the beautiful sunset wasn’t enough to distract him from his mind returning to the mystery that was Miss Miranda Smythe.
He swirled his brandy around his glass, the bouquet of its fragrance teasing his senses as he took another sip. It was one thing to be attracted to a woman’s body, an entirely different, and far more dangerous thing, to be attracted to a woman’s mind. And Miss Miranda had an intriguing mind, which was far more dangerous than her beautiful face and lovely form. A mind that was engaging, challenging, ever growing and developing, learning.
He swallowed the last of his port and set the glass on his desk, abandoning his study to take an evening stroll in the gardens. As he strode down the hall, he went out the front door into the warm, early fall evening. The scent of the sea gave the air a hint of a salty fragrance, along with the mixed blooming heather from the hills. The scent calmed his tight nerves and his shoulders relaxed.
Of course, the two glasses of brandy assisted in that relaxation.
He glanced to the front of the estate, debating on whether to take the road in front or find a path in the back of the house to wander. After a short debate, he started around the front courtyard and took the path toward the back of his property. A swallow darted overhead, followed by its friends, adding a bit of activity to the otherwise quiet evening. He started by the stables when he noted the door slightly open. He frowned, then strode over. It closed abruptly, and his body tightened with caution. It was probably nothing of note, but he was inquiring regardless.
He leaned back and opened the door wide, making sure any shots fired would go by his position.
When only silence met him, he peeked around the edge of the doorframe.
A horse nickered.
He relaxed.
Upon entering the stable, he met the curious stare of a chestnut mare and Miss Miranda.
“What an interesting way to enter a stable, my lord.” She tilted her head slightly, her eyes dancing with restrained amusement.
He tugged on his shirtsleeves, then continued into the warm stable, the scent of hay and linseed oil perfuming the air. “One can never be too cautious.”
“Are there often reasons to open doors, then hide from those within?” Miss Miranda inquired, a delicate brow arching in query.
He chuckled, though without real humor. Desperate men were often dangerous. More than once, a gentleman had come to the club with pistols, threatening to take back what he rightfully lost. Heathcliff had learned quickly to be cautious. “Depends on where you find yourself, Miss Miranda,” he answered simply.
“I see.” She turned back to the mare, stroking her nose softly. The horse leaned into the gentle touch and nickered.
“She likes you.” He nodded toward the mare.
“She has good taste, then,” Miss Miranda remarked, casting a sidelong glance to him.
“That’s left to be decided.” He shrugged one of his shoulders and approached the mare as well. “You see, she likes me too. Now what do you think of her taste?” He scratched behind the mare’s ears.
He glanced at Miss Miranda, curious to see how she’d respond to his invitation to flirt. Would she back away like a proper governess or would she rise to the occasion?
