He stabbed at the center of it with a finger. “My gamekeeper uses this forest road, which peters out a half mile from Owltree Cottage.”
“Of course. I’m well aware of it.”
“It’s my intention to extend the road and join it up with the road to the village. It will cut off miles of travel for us when the weather is bad.” His hard eyes raked hers. Ignoring her rapid heartbeat, she shrugged, not wishing him to see that he’d frightened her. “You know, of course, heavy snow blocks our access to the village in the winter,” he said. “We are forced to travel many miles by the south road.”
“You speak of a mere trail. No carriage could use it.”
“It would carry small vehicles once improved sufficiently.”
She shook her head. “The terrain is heavily treed and there’s a brook.”
“There is a watercourse, I agree, which makes it impossible to place the road anywhere but here.” He ran his thumb over the page. “This, as you see, must cut across your property.”
There was something brutal about that thumb. She couldn’t turn her gaze away. Her panic grew to tighten her chest and restrict her breathing. “Absurd. I shall never sell my home. Nor will I agree to your invasion of my land.” She fought to hide her anger, but it was intolerable to think of his vehicles rolling through her garden, her peace forever destroyed.
“I advise you not to be too hasty in your refusal, Lady Brookwood. Should you not agree, I shall take it from you.” His smile was savage as he rolled up the map with jerky movements. “You must be aware that you would lose should you fight me in this.” He nodded at a painting hanging above them on the wall. “My great-great-grandfather granted Owltree Cottage to his steward. Your ancestor to be precise.”
“It was legally done. I have the deed.”
“You are sure it is legal? Loose arrangements were made back then. I have my solicitor searching the archives. He is confident he can prove the original document to be flawed. If so, I would regain the property, and you will not be paid a shilling.”
Althea spluttered, unable to contain her feelings a moment longer. “I don’t understand. Why would you do something like this?” She spat out the words contemptuously. “There are other ways; the village road might be improved, the bridge rebuilt for far less expense….”
She had made a mistake. His eyes glowed, satisfied to have shaken her. He stared again at the murky oil painting, his ancestor perhaps. A more decent man than him, it seemed. “There’s a way you can dissuade me.”
“And what is that?” She feared the answer, but felt compelled to ask. To hear the shabby words from his lips, she hoped it would shame him.
“By becoming my mistress.” He turned to her, his expression conveying such covetousness she dropped her gaze.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she countered icily.
He reached out and grabbed one of her hands. “Think about it. With me as your protector, you shall gain in so many ways, my dear. I know Brookwood left you in straightened circumstances.”
She pulled her hand away. “I’m not yet in debtor’s prison.”
“You’re not being sensible. A lovely young woman like you deserves to be dressed like a queen. I can establish you in London in the greatest comfort. You would want for nothing.”
It was a ploy to control her. Once she was his mistress, it gave him power over her. And he would still take the house. The thought of that man on top of her rendered her close to fainting. “You wish a reluctant mistress, Sir Horace?” She tilted her head. “I find myself wondering why you are reduced to buying your women.”
He was so sure of himself and his place in the world, he batted the insult away with an indifferent shrug. “Why do you wish to hold on to that old house?”
“That is my concern.” She put her hands on her hips. “You shall never frighten me into falling into your arms. Surely, you wouldn’t want a lover you have to threaten into sleeping with you. One who might bring a knife to your bed and stab you while you slept.” It gave Althea satisfaction to visualize herself in the act. “Let’s forget this foolish conversation ever took place.”
She’d touched on a nerve, for his face flushed bright red. “Say your goodbyes to Owltree Cottage, Lady Brookwood, for if you don’t agree with my demands, I will take it!”
“We shall see about that!” Althea rushed to the door and flung it open.
She ran to the stairs. Stupid to goad him, but she didn’t regret it. The man was a monster. No wonder his wife looked so unhappy! A footman stared at her from the entry hall. “Please fetch my cloak,” she called as she ran down the steps, almost losing a slipper. He rushed to comply.
As soon as the bewildered footman opened the front door, she breathlessly instructed him over her shoulder to make her apologies to his mistress. A megrim had forced her to return home. She stumbled down the steps to the gravel drive, cursing her flimsy footwear. Her evening cape was fur-lined, but her thin dress clung to her legs and was hardly fit for walking about in the night air. A glaze of frost whitened the grass. It would be a vigorous hike to Owltree Cottage even in good weather, and she could hardly cut across the muddy fields in the dark. When she passed the last of the braziers lighting the carriageway, the night would close in, and every rock and pothole would trip her up.
She was striding alone, the gates still quite a distance, when hoof beats and the clatter of a vehicle sounded on the gravel behind her. Did Sir Horace pursue her? Her pulse quickened. She spun to face him, then slumped with relief. Lord Montsimon drove toward her in a sporty phaeton. He reined in the matched pair of thoroughbreds and placed the whip in the whip holder beside the seat.
He leaned down. “May I escort you home?”
Close to tears, she was in no mood for another unwelcometête-à-tête. She shook her head and continued walking. “No thank you.”
“It’s a devilishly chilly night.” He slapped the reins, and the phaeton jingled and rattled alongside her. “Surely you don’t intend to walk home,” he called. “By the look of the weather it won’t be a pleasant trip.”
