A flicker of surprise passed over his face, but he held his tongue. Instead, something else shone in his gaze—was it... admiration?
‘Most impressive, Miss Skye. Who taught you?’
‘My father, and later, our last steward, Travers. He was hesitant about new agricultural methods, so I turned to books and articles. I made mistakes, of course, but I had patient people around me, willing to let me learn.’
As she spoke, he suddenly leaned towards her, as though drawn by some unseen force. Grace inhaled sharply, startled by his closeness. The scent of sandalwood and something inherently masculine filled her senses, sending an unwelcome flutter through her stomach.
Then she realised—he was merely reaching to refill his teacup.
Annoyed with herself, she jerked back abruptly.
He noticed. That ghost of a smile returned, and she knew—he knew—the effect he had on her. The brute.
His tone turned indifferent. ‘And I believe Mr Charles Skye has taken over your care?’
The question stung. It pained her to admit that she had been disowned by her only living male relative, but there was no use in hiding it—he could learn the truth easily enough.
‘No, sir, he did not. But I have my independence.’
Something shifted in his expression. A flicker of understanding. And was that... concern? Grace quickly turned the conversation elsewhere before she thought too much about it.
‘You can advertise for a new steward. I am sure you will find someone suitable, Mr Stone.’
He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Just as she was about to rise, he spoke again.
‘I do not have the luxury of time, Miss Skye. I must travel abroad soon and wish to resolve this matter before I leave.’
She arched a brow. ‘As a man of business, I would think you need to stay close to the Duke.’
‘Quite right. But I am only holding this position temporarily until His Grace finds a suitable replacement,’ he replied smoothly. Then, after a pause, ‘Miss Skye, I am looking for someone trustworthy, hardworking, and knowledgeable. You fit the bill. This may seem unorthodox, but how would you feel about working with me to set things right—at least until I find a new steward?’
Grace stiffened at the word trustworthy, fully aware of the irony. When she hesitated, he added, ‘I will, of course, compensate you for your time—and ensure you are protected from any gossip.’
Thoroughly shocked by this turn of events, Grace did the only sensible thing she could.
‘I will think about it.’
Chapter 9
Heather and Mrs Merriweather awaited her in the morning room, their usual tasks abandoned in their eagerness to hear what had transpired.
‘Well?’ they asked in unison.
Grace recounted everything, carefully omitting her more embarrassing reactions. It would do no good for Heather to hear what a fool she had made of herself—she could not bear the inevitable teasing.
‘So, he wants you to work there?’ Heather mused. ‘But how will you manage with your disguise? I mean, your face... it’s already melting.’
Grace shot her a glare. ‘Which is why I said I would think about it, Nimrod! I couldn’t say no at the time because... well... I couldn’t think of a way to refuse. How should I do so now?’
‘Just send him a letter declining the offer,’ Mrs Merriweather suggested. ‘Or perhaps you could claim you are not well enough?’
Heather, however, had a different view. ‘Why can’t you work there?’
‘Because it is too dangerous. It could be a trap. We don’t know who else is involved in all this,’ Mrs Merriweather said firmly, voicing Grace’s own concerns. ‘We know next to nothing about Mr Stone. He could be working with Gibbs or his associates. If he is, then Grace is walking straight into a viper’s nest! Even if he isn’t, we don’t know who else might be behindthe kidnappings. There could be a whole gang operating out of Skye Estate—she could get snatched on her way there!’
Heather shrugged. ‘I don’t think Mr Stone is working for Gibbs. If he were, he would have poisoned Grace’s tea already.’
Grace shook her head at her sister’s casual assessment of murder.
