Page 65 of The Gentleman’s Leading Lady

“I am thinking of adding on a wrought iron verandah around the first floor, at least in the front,” he said, all but ready to roll out the designs and show her. “And there is a terrace to the sides and back, leading into the garden.”

She tilted her head to the side. “There is a sort of austere beauty to it,” she said. “I wonder if buildings take on the character of their owners, like animals are said to do?”

That was mischief in her eyes, the merry glint of the nymph who’d leaned on his arm in the Montpelier Parade to taunt Bathsheba. That was the fire of the girl who had pressed the buttoned tip of her sword into his chest and urged him to fight her. She’d pushed him to declare his passion for her, and he had.

What did she want from him now, the little minx? Heart and soul?

Devil’s toes, he’d give her anything she asked, and what was not within his power to give, he would move heaven and earth to procure for her.

“Austere beauty,” he repeated. Hell’s teeth, he’d become a dolt around her. This was worse than their first meetings, when he’d thought her a harpy and had been unable to find his tongue, so cut and defensive that a lovely girl would choose to heap scorn upon his head.

She reached up with her other hand and lightly touched his chin. It was a gesture both tender and firm in its mark of possession. He was hers to touch, and she knew that.

So did everyone watching them.

“You are too stern,” she said. “You do not laugh enough.”

Was that why she’d pulled away? He was too dour? He glowered too much? He’d had little enough reason to laugh before he met her. There was no time in his life, no space in his ambition for recreation, for pleasure, for mirth.

He firmed his grip on her hand. “Doubtless there are several flaws about me you will have to set about fixing.”

It was as good as a declaration. She kept her hand in his, staring into his eyes for an endless moment, weighing.

Then she smiled again, and there was a secret, self-satisfied knowing in the smile, but he couldn’t guess whether he had passed in her judgment, or failed. “Show me more,” she said.

There was that pinch at his heart again. “The grounds you see belong to the house. Everything leading down to the river, and I own a strip on the other side. There’s a pond for fishing, and beyond, the coppice I call The Grove. Imagine this all properly landscaped one day.”

“I like it as is.” Her eyes danced. “A bit wild. Not entirely tamed, much like its owner.”

First he was gruff, and now he was wild? Was she telling him, as gently as she could, that he was not to her taste?

He caught the glint in her eye and realized she was teasing. She only teased people she felt close to.

His tailor would need to let out his coats, if his chest were going to keep paining him in the company of Cerys Evans.

She turned in a circle, pointing. “Is that the stable?”

“Yes, with a dovecote behind, and a barn I might use for a dairy or a laundry house. I haven’t quite decided.”

“Cherry orchard?”

“Cherries, apples, and damsons, I think. There are some brambles against that wall lining the road, but they haven’t fruited yet for me to tell what berries I’ll have.”

“That is a good spot for the kitchen gardens,” she said. “Unless you want them behind the house.”

“I was planning flower beds for behind the house. Perhaps a vista from the road. I don’t want every passerby peeking in the window, but the terrace ought to overlook a pleasant view.”

“And your sisters will enjoy having a walk, as well as your guests.”

“Who says I will have guests?”

She lifted her brows at him. He did adore those thick brows of hers, as strong and decided a feature as her cheekbones and that nose. She looked back at the building. “How many bedrooms?”

“Eight bedrooms and two dressing rooms, altogether.”

“Reception rooms?”

“Four. A formal drawing room, a separate dining room, a morning room, and what I’m calling the conservatory.”