“When hell freezes over would be suitable.”
He looked at her. His mouth did that odd twitching thing again.
“Tomorrow then. Noon?” he asked.
“I won’t be at home.”
“Generally…or just to me?”
She gave him a look that would have made a lesser man run for the hills.
Murray just looked…amused. “All right, have it your way. But we have business to settle, Miss Brown, and it will happen, if not tomorrow, then sometime soon. Until then.”
“There’s nothing to settle,” she began.
He’d already turned and headed back to the wall. To her astonishment, he started to scale the barrier again, a display of male athleticism that she told herself wasnotresponsible for her racing pulse. Reaching the top, he vaulted over the iron spikes, pausing to look back.
“Adieu, ladies,” he called.
Did the blasted man justwinkat her? Before she could aim a squinty glare in his direction, he disappeared down the other side.
“Why didn’t ’e just ask if ’e could leave through the manor?” Fancy asked in perplexed tones.
“Because he’s an arrogant bastard who enjoys showing off, that’s why,” Bea muttered.
6
Usually when Beavisited her tenants, she spent time taking in the fertile farms and robust livestock. She took great pride in her flourishing estate and the accomplishments of her farmers. As she rode past the farms today, however, she was lost in her thoughts.
Does Murray know that I’m the masked lady? Has he given up and returned to London?
She hadn’t seen him since yesterday, yet his absence felt like the calm before the storm. Her intuition and what she’d read about him indicated that he was not a man who would give up easily—if at all. Beneath his easy charm lay predatory instincts. He reminded her of the lion she’d once seen at the Zoological Gardens in Regent’s Park. Tawny and sleek, the beast had been taking a lazy stroll, seemingly unaware of the rabbits released into its cage.
The next instant, it had pounced on its supper.
She did not plan on becoming fodder for any man. No matter how attractive, charming, or skilled in bed he was. Yet her position was precarious, and she’d slept poorly, plagued by the possibilities. If he figured out that she’d been his lover at the masquerade, what would he do with the information?
Would he hold it over her? Use it like a bargaining chip? Would he threaten to ruin her reputation if she didn’t sell him her land?
Her hands knotted on the reins.What’s done is done.You can’t take back that night.
The dashed thing of it was, even with the looming threat…she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Her first experience of lovemaking had been magical, and she wouldn’t let anyone—not even her lover—take that away from her. And what could Murray do to her, really? As she’d told Fancy when they’d discussed the matter, in the eyes of Society, she wasalreadyruined because of her scar. Who cared if her damaged reputation suffered a few more dings? Certainly not her.
I’m not going to fret over the unknown,she resolved.I shall simply cross the bridge with Murray if and when I get there.
She dismounted at the Ellerby residence, one of the two dozen cottages on her property. When she’d first purchased the estate, the abodes had been in shambles due to the previous landlord, who cared more for profit than the comfort of his tenants. One of Bea’s first projects had been to modernize the bungalows, replacing the thatched roofs and antiquated heating systems. She’d had new wells dug so that fresh water was minutes rather than miles away. New windows, floorboards, and fresh coats of paint had completed the renovations.
The tenants did their part, keeping the properties in shipshape. Tying up her horse, Bea took her basket and walked up the path to the Ellerbys’ cottage, admiring the trimmed rosebushes and the sparkle of the spotless windows. She knocked on the cheerful yellow door, which promptly swung open.
Bea lowered her gaze to meet the farmwife’s twinkling blue eyes.
Standing a shade over three feet tall, Ellen Ellerby had once earned her living as a curiosity in a travelling circus. Then she’d met her husband Jim, and the two had started a new life on Bea’s estate…literally. Balanced on Mrs. Ellerby’s hip was her babe Janey, and the shouts of her four-year-old son, Johnny, could be heard from within the house.
“’Ello, Miss Brown.” The good lady ushered her inside. The cottage was neat as a pin, a curtain separating the main room from the sleeping quarters. “I was ’oping you’d arrive soon. I’ve got me oatcakes ready to throw on the backstone.”
“You needn’t have gone to the trouble, Mrs. Ellerby. How's Janey today?”
