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Why was it that men became more attractive in the rain when women just looked so soggy?
He watched her expectantly, and she realized all too soon that she hadn’t responded to him yet, too taken with all his bearded goodness.
“My dad is good friends with Mr. Wintour,” she finally said.
Matthew’s eyes were impassive. What was he thinking in those blue depths?
“Well, I suppose you’d know best, then.” He gave her a short smile, then turned toward his horse once more.
He might have been finished with their conversation, but Winnie had a bit more information to glean first. “I take it you’ve worked with Mr. Wintour directly,” she said in a casual tone.
He placed a white cap over his wet hair, then pulled his hooded chainmail on next. “I have. A time or two.”
“And both times were…unpleasant?” she prodded.
“Not at all,” he returned. “I only said the Wintours can be crotchety. They know what they like and can be difficult to make bend. One in particular.”
He was obviously talking about Mr. Wintour. But why? What had happened for Matthew to say that?
He raised his helmet over his head next, then faced her as he lifted the visor, his features framed in the small window he was allotted.
Even with her limited view of his face, his attractive traits still shone through. “I just wanted to warn you,” he said. “That’s all.”
Warn her or scare her off? The two were synonymous in her experience.
“Well, thank you,” she said. “But like I said, I’m not too concerned. I’ve had my fair share of working with difficult people.”
“I’m sure you have.”
Silence hung between them, and his pointed look made her pause. Wait, was he saying that she was difficult?
Before she could ask, he walked to the other side of his horse, untied the reins from the tree, and pushed himself into the saddle, his armor clanging with each movement. How had he managed that, mounting by himself?
Clearly, he was ready to get back to his knightly ride, but she still wasn’t finished.
She shifted her umbrella back a degree to see him atop his horse. “Before you go,” she started, inching closer to the edge of the road where the mud began, “I have to ask, since you already know why I’m here, is there anything you’d like to share with me that would make your life as an employee of the Wintours better? Anything that should be brought to my attention? Anything that could be improved?”
His horse started walking ahead, but Matthew held back on the reins, reaching for his lance. With grace that revealed he’d done the action before, he gently tossed the pole in the air little-by-little, shifting it up until he gripped the handle firmly in his hand.
“No,” he finally responded, eying the top of the lance that he held straight up in the air. “The place is pretty well perfect as it is.”
Obviously, the man didn’t think he could trust her with the truth. But she was used to breaking down those barriers quite simply. All it took was a bit of encouragement and a whole lot of charm.
She smiled up at him, blinking slowly with a look that said, Come on, you can trust me.
She’d practiced this look in front of the mirror a thousand times as a high schooler. She’d learned it from one of her sisters. Samantha had achieved hundreds of dates with such a look.
Winnie had been…less successful. But it was worth a try now.
“There’s not one little thing you want to share with me?” she asked sweetly.
He shook his head in silence, the lance still steady in his grip.
All right. Charm wasn’t working. Maybe a little trust exercise then.
“So you don’t see a problem with the GPS system not taking guests directly to the house?” she asked. “Or that the roads are unfit to travel in the rain due to puddles and pockets of mud? Or that there’s not a single sign posting or welcome that lets visitors know they’ve arrived at the estate? None of that matters to you or the others who work here?”
The air between them grew cold. Matthew’s eyes hardened, and she knew she’d offended him. But, why? Was he simply loyal to the Wintours?
