He wished she’d laugh more often. “I assume you ride, Miss Jenner?”
As if a cloud passed over the sun, the smile faded from her eyes. “Yes. Papa put me on a horse as soon as I could walk.”
He regretted upsetting her, and yet he had to know more. “You must miss the exercise.”
She bent to pick a daisy with a bright yellow center. When she straightened to add it to her basket, she said, “I rarely think about it.”
He didn’t believe her. Riding was obviously very much a part of her life at Northoaks. An invitation for her to ride with him hovered on his tongue. He firmly closed his lips. It would stir unwelcome gossip and she would refuse, sensible woman that she was. He wished she weren’t quite so sensible. That he might take her in his arms. Bend her to his will? He hated the thought, but it didn’t quash the desire.
She added another daisy to the basket. “Mr. Yardley enjoyed his stay?”
“I believe so.”
“He seemed quite interested in the house.”
“George approves of the changes.” He raised his brow. “Why, did he tell you so?”
She bent and picked a leaf off her gown. “Yes, when he asked me to come to his bedchamber. He wished his portmanteau to be packed.”
“I see.” He eyed the slight flush on her cheeks. Did George proposition her? He expressed a desire to. Dominic scowled. He wished he’d known about it.
“If you’ll excuse me, I must put these in water.”
She picked up the secateurs from the ground, offering him a glimpse of her nicely rounded derriere. Dominic repressed a sigh. “Then I shall see you later this afternoon, Miss Jenner.”
He swiveled and returned to the house. At the corner, he turned to watch her make her way to the servants’ entrance through the kitchen gardens. When the time was right, he wished to learn about her life at Northoaks and what happened afterward.
Dominic stepped up onto the front porch, admitting he was infatuated, even to the extent of being jealous of a harmless fellow like George. He cursed softly, raked his hair back off his forehead with his fingers, and entered the house.
Michael stood at the door. His eyes widened at Dominic’s perplexed scowl. “Is anything amiss, milord?”
“Nothing that cannot be fixed, Michael,” he muttered, wishing it were true.
Dominic strode to the library, relieved to have engaged a secretary. He’d written yesterday to confirm it. Joseph Grant was Oxford educated, his father the owner of a successful Spitalfields import business. Joseph explained he had no desire to work for his father in his business. He hoped one day to write academic treatises. Liking the sound of him, Dominic was prepared to wait the few weeks until Joseph could take up the position. In the meantime, he must deal with all this himself. It bored him; he’d much rather be out in the air riding or working on the land. He laughed. Laboring like a born farmer. What would his friends make of him? Charles, such a correct duke, would good-naturedly chide him, and Nicholas, who found great pleasure in running his estate, would secretly approve while ribbing him unmercifully. He sighed. He missed them since leaving London.
He returned to his work. A good steward had proved difficult to find, although equally important as a secretary. Williams took care of some of those duties, as did Miss Jenner, who did more than a housekeeper should.
Olivia Jenner. He knew from the first moment he saw her he would find it challenging to have her under his roof. His days seemed to revolve around her, leaving him wishing his nights did, too. She was in his blood. Her smile, her laugh, even her thoughtful frown. Her sense of what was right. And he did not know what to do about it. Was this love? He fought for a cool response to the alarming question and changed the nib of his quill while considering the possibility. It sent a rush of fear through him—and a vulnerability he’d never experienced. An attraction strengthened by their proximity, he decided, and quickly banished the notion. He took a piece of bond from the drawer, dipped his quill in the inkwell, and forced his mind into more mundane and less emotive thoughts.
*
The flowers arranged,Olivia ordered Polly to put them on tables in the entry and around the reception rooms. As she stood back to admire those in the drawing room, she thought of Redcliffe and their earlier conversation. She’d been far too pleased by his flirty suggestion her eyes were the color of delphiniums. Attempting to dismiss his comment as a rake’s flattery failed to diminish her delight. Dominic didn’t treat her the way other men did. Not in the lustful manner of the wheelwright or the farmer, Ian Kershaw, who didn’t love her, yet saw her as a mother to his children. Mr. Yardley, too, had behaved in the insolent fashion some men had. As if she were someone they could dominate for their own pleasure and then forget. Redcliffe listened to her and respected her opinion, even though he might not always agree.
At three o’clock, she nervously climbed the rickety attic stairs.
Entering, she found him searching through a cupboard, the lantern placed on a table nearby. He turned as she came in with a smile of greeting. “If there’s something here, we should discover it today.”
Anticipation curled through her, tightening her stomach. She tied the strings of the apron around her waist. “What if there’s nothing here?”
“We’ll continue in another part of the house.”
She wished her heart didn’t leap at the prospect. “That will arouse the servants’ suspicions.”
He rested his hip on the corner of a desk and swung a long leg, drawing her gaze there. How well proportioned, and how graceful his movements. “I’ve considered that. We’ll look for secret passages. The staff are unlikely to find us then.”
It sounded like a liaison. “Are you sure there are any here?” she asked faintly, imagining them crushed together in a tiny space.
Dominic nodded. “My uncle would have been familiar with them. My father talked about how they played in them as children. I wish I’d been more attentive.” He slid off the desk. “We should begin before the light fades.”
