“I do like it,” she admitted. “I like it very much, indeed. More importantly, I like the good it will do. But may we have a closer look?”
“We came for no other reason.” The sadness in his voice was gone, but his tone was inscrutable. He neither fawned nor diminished. He tended to the reins, securing the wagon with swift, efficient movements.
“No need to jump, Miss Allard,” he said. “Wait five seconds, I’ll hand you down.” Dani did not wait, she made her way to the edge and was gathering her skirts.
“Not partial to waiting, I see. Alright, hold on.” He forwent the steps and reached for her, fastening his hands to her waist. She grabbed hold of his shoulders as he lifted her up and over in a sweeping arc.
“Thank you,” she said, laughing a little. “If you lift me so easily, perhaps I can be foisted up to peer in a window? You’re too large to return the favor, but if we maneuver the wagon very close and—”
“Why would we peek through windows?” He had not released her. They stood face-to-face beside the wagon. “If we want to see inside, we’ll walk through the door.”
“But the house will be locked, sir.”
“And I have keys. So many keys. The palace put me in touch with an estate agent in Swanley. No house should require the number of keys I was issued. Although standing in the shadow of it, I see why.”
She stared at him, reminding herself that this was not a dream. He’d come, and he would inhabit Eastwell Park, and he was including her in every part of this so that she might inhabit it, too. And now they wouldlook inside.
“Shall we?” he said, turning to face the house. He kept a hand on her lower back and squinted at the house.
“But should we say a few words?” she ventured, following his gaze. “Mark the awakening of this ancient house and lands; something about the return to prosperity?”
He looked down. “You’re either highly sentimental or aspire to hold public office, Miss Allard. Which is it?”
“Sorry. I’ve been told I suffer from delusions of grandeur.”
“A little of both, then, perhaps.” He caught her hand and guided her toward the door.
He was so very amicable about being matched with her—her. Danielle Allard. Adopted daughter of Whittle and Miriam Dinwiddie. A maid of Kent. A girl of no—
“Do you want to see the interior of this behemoth, Miss Allard?” he called. “Or don’t you?”
She touched a hand to her lips, trying to suppress her grin. The mystery of this betrothal was as exciting as it was unexplained. Why her? Of all people? Why this man? It made no sense. She must ask him. Immediately after this tour, she promised herself, she would ask.
Chapter 7
I’ll give her the house, I’ll give her the house, I’ll give her the bloody house, Luke thought, jabbing the key into the lock.She’ll have the house, which clearly she values, and she can rule over this village like the princess who she (also clearly) was born to be, and what I do—minus the fortnight I’ll need her to help me rescue Linus—will make no difference.
It will all be fair in the end.
Or, fairenough.
“But has it rusted?” Danielle Allard asked from behind him. She’d pressed herself against his back while he wrestled with the lock, peeking over his shoulder. Like an idiot—nay, like a masochist—he’d introduced her to the torturous delight of nascent touching. She’d taken to it with agonizing proficiency. What began as gallant, gentlemanly gestures had rapidly devolved into hands lingering on her waist, fingers entwining, forearms settling over hips. He’d given her a pat here, a nestle there, a lingering nudge. By the time he handed her down from the wagon, he was subtly playing her body like an instrument. But, instead of tuning her up, he’d tuned up himself, and now he could not stop playing.
He justified this behavior because marriage was the ultimate goal, and there was no guarantee the house alone would do it. For better or worse, her parents had not used the evening to inform her of her true origin; so now he faced negotiating this arranged marriage and revealing that she was a French princess. Flirting with her was hardly an honorable thing to do, but perhaps it would make this startling news easier to take? Better than hearing from a cold, remote stranger, surely?
Or perhaps he simply wanted to touch her. Again and again. Longer each time. He’d never been one for pastel cotton dresses or beribboned bonnets, but one look at her when she emerged from the house and his body had snapped to attention. He’d been attending to her ever since.
In the moments when guilt threatened, he’d repeated his new vow:I’ll give her the house.When the guilt persisted, he distracted himself by touching her, which he was doing now, angling so his back pressed against her front.
“I don’t think it’s rusted,” he told her, “more like clogged—”
“May I help you?”said a man’s voice. It floated from behind them, low and mournful.
“Who’s—” Luke spun around, catching Danielle by the waist and tucking her between the door and his back.
An old man stood on the step, portly and hunched, clutching a flickering lantern in broad daylight. He wore the drab, threadbare clothing of a laborer. His expression was dour but not aggressive. Luke had no idea how he’d not heard the man drag himself up the steps or loom so close.
“Hello,” Luke began. “Forgive me, you’ve taken us by surprise. I am Captain Luke Bannock and this is Miss Danielle Allard. We’ve come to have a look at the house. I was given the key by the estate agents Rooney and Muldoon in Swanley.”
