Instead, he was her landlord, her father’s employer, the man who had the power to throw her out of the cottage. If he did... she had nowhere else to go. Somehow, she had to convince him to let her stay.
For some reason, he didn’t frighten her. In fact, she’d felt an instant affinity to him, and talking to him had been nothing like she’d imagined talking to the earl would be. He had a sense of humor and seemed kind...
When he’d first told her who he was, all she could think about was that long-ago day she’d found him crying in the ruins. She’d been very young, ten perhaps? Her mother had recently died, and her father had started drinking, turning his loss and fury upon her one moment, only to beg her forgiveness the next. She’d been feeling so lost and alone. Her father had been on a three-day drinking binge, and there had been no food in the house.
She’d gone out to look for some berries, then found herself drawn to the ruins in hope that perhaps something was growing wild in the old gardens. Then she’d heard his low, choking sobs. She’d rounded a crumbling wall and found him there, on his knees. His inky hair falling across his cheek could not hide the terrible bruises, and the pain she’d seen in those blue eyes of his when he’d looked up at her had broken her heart.
Without even thinking, she’d tried to offer him comfort, only to find herself crying as well.
It had been a strange moment, and she’d thought about it often over the years. He’d never said a word to her, and though she’d suspected he was one of the old earl’s children, given the fact he’d been in the ruins, she’d never been sure. But something had passed between them, something pure and sweet, and she thought he’d felt it, too.
Naïve of her, perhaps, to let that strange shared experience influence her, but somehow it did. She didn’t think he was the type to take advantage of her. Why would he need to? He was one of the most eligible bachelors in England. Women—beautiful, rich women—probably threw themselves at him wherever he went.
Still, she drew a little comfort from the pistol in her pocket. Once they arrived at the cottage, she’d see him settled and then lock herself in her room for the night. She doubted he’d try to force his way in, but if he did, she thought she could take care of herself. For the moment, all she could think about was that tonight she would not be alone in the old house, jumping at every sound.
Within ten minutes, they’d arrived at the gabled cottage she called home, and she let him in, a little embarrassed by how shabby the place was, though she supposed since he was the landlord, it was his fault the cottage had fallen into disrepair. But even though the paint was peeling and the roof leaked like a sieve when it rained, it was clean and homey and she’d lived here since she was a child. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
“I’ll start a fire,” he murmured once she’d shut the door behind them.
“No, please,” she protested. “I can do it. You’re my guest.”
“Nonsense,” he told her. “I don’t expect you to wait on me. I’m the one who is invading your home.”
She laughed nervously. “It’s your house. I’m the one who doesn’t belong.”
“Let’s not worry about any of that tonight,” he suggested. “Do you have anything to eat? I’m famished.”
“Of course,” she said, scrambling to think what she could make him that wouldn’t seem too pathetic. Her cupboards were running precariously low. If not for her chickens and garden, she would have run out of food weeks ago. Her father had taken every cent they had with him, and her situation grew direr by the day.
As he knelt before the large fireplace, she fumbled around in the cupboards, at last piecing together a cheese sandwich with some day-old bread and the last of the cheese she’d bargained eggs for in town. She sliced a few shriveled apples she’d gathered last fall and poured them both some cherry wine her father had always kept on hand.
By the time she took their plates to the table, he had a fire burning merrily and when he sat across from her, he didn’t show any sign that he found the meal lacking.
“Thank you,” he told her with a smile. “I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast.”
For a few minutes, silence fell between them as they ate, but then she finally asked the question she’d been wondering since he’d first identified himself. “Why are you here? Are you really going to rebuild the manor?” Had her letters alerted him that there might be trouble? Had she brought about her own destruction?
He sighed, and then reached into his coat pocket. “I’ve been wanting to rebuild for years. I studied architecture when I was at the University.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed them to her. “Here is a rough sketch of my plans.”
She spread the wrinkled papers on the table in front of her, then glanced up at him in surprise. “You designed this?”
He nodded, a charming blush on his high cheekbones. “Yes. The first workmen should be here in a few days. I want what’s left of the old house completely razed. Too many bad memories there.”
She knew his father had been killed in the fire that had destroyed the old manor. One of his younger brothers had also been badly burned. No wonder he wanted it gone.
“Then you plan to make this your home again?” she asked softly, surprised he was sharing this with her.
“Yes, I think it’s time.” He ran a hand through his inky black hair, mussing it in a charming way. “For so long, I’ve avoided this place like the plague. My inheritance came with three other estates and a London house as well. So, rebuilding the manor was never a priority. But Hawkesmere is my birthright, and I think my father would have wanted me to rebuild it. To start utilizing the land, taking on new tenants. This place once sustained a whole village. Now everyone is gone.” He gave her a half-smile. “Everyone except you.”
She bit her lip, still staring at the sketch. “That’s very admirable. I’m glad you want to breathe new life into this place.”
“Thank you.” He sighed and dug into the food she’d made him. The sight thrilled her in some deep way. She liked taking care of him.
“This has been difficult for you,” she said, suddenly sensing that he’d given her a very intimate glimpse of what drove him. “You’ve struggled with coming back here because it’s where your life fell apart.”
He glanced up at her, his blue eyes intense. Then, just as quickly, he looked away. “My mother remarried very soon after my father’s death. Even though I was the earl, Winters controlled my inheritance. For years, he wouldn’t let me do anything, and he drained the estates of everything he could. By the time he... died, the earldom was in ruins, and I was overwhelmed. It took me a long time to rebuild my other estates so that they were profitable again.”
“You’re not much over twenty years old,” she told him softly. “If you’ve done all that already, you’ve accomplished a great deal. I think you’re probably too hard on yourself.”
