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She felt it too, he was certain, just as unbidden and just as strongly. And seemed to have no more idea where it came from or how to counter it than he had.
It certainly wasn’t her beauty, nor a sophisticated wit that played seduction’s game. To be sure, she had a natural grace and a keen, if often biting, intellect. But far from trying to entice him, she proclaimed she had no interest in men or marriage. He had to believe her; the surprise and confusion with which she reacted, each time attraction flared between, was too convincing to be a sham. Besides, if she were trying to lure him on while playing the innocent, she’d surely allow a touch or a kiss, just to inflame him further.
Even if she weren’t too straightforward to make those claims to try to cozen an eligible bachelor, the fact that she had taken in a child she intended to raise underlined the truth of her uninterest.
A child she meant to keep even without her father to help smooth his way, she’d said, raising her little chin as if she meant to defy everyone and the world who might try to take him from her.
Which should provide protection enough from seduction and wedlock. As she’d noted, few men would want to begin married life with someone else’s cuckoo in their nest, a boy his own blood family refused to recognise.
Nor could he blame his reaction to her on the fact that he’d been too long without a woman—though it had been too long. Just two days ago, he’d kissed the hand of delectable blonde, blue-eyed Miss Wentworth, whom any sane man would consider far more beautiful than Theodora Branwell. And felt...nothing.
Was it the passion so evident in her eloquent defence of her orphans and her brisk, restless movements that called to him? A strain of barely controlled wildness he sensed thrumming beneath her skin, which drove him on some instinctive level to try to free it?
Whatever fomented it, the urge was strong. If that urchin hadn’t distracted her, he would have kissed her in full view of the whole group of orphans and their nurse. For no more reason than something primal in her called urgently to something in him.
Just thinking about taking her mouth, pulling that lithe, slim body against him, made his pulses race and his body harden further. He sighed and blew out a breath.
Pay attention, Dominic Ransleigh, he told himself sternly. Had that long fever addled his brain? Nothing about Miss Branwell’s circumstances had changed since the last time he’d speculated about his attraction to her. She was still a gently born virgin, therefore not a female available for seduction.
Unless he was thinking of marriage.
Ah, there was a brake to halt this runaway carriage! Attracted he might be, but having just extricated himself from one attachment for the express purpose of discovering what he meant to do with his life before committing himself to anyone, he had no business letting his senses lead him into another entanglement. Miss Branwell was not some experienced widow or bored society matron, whom he could dally and then part with amicably, both satisfied with the arrangement and no one the wiser. Keep less than a stranglehold over his passions, and he might compromise her, forcing him to do the honourable thing and compelling into wedlock a girl who’d expressed even less desire to marry than he had.
To save himself frustration—and temptation—he probably ought to avoid her.
Except...he’d just more or less promised her he’d look into the matter of a trainer.
Though he might know nothing about children, he did remember being a boy mad about horses, an enthusiasm he saw mirrored in Jemmie. He shuddered as he recalled the boy in the pasture with Diablo. A lad who could get near that beast without injury already possessed instincts that could not be taught, that needed only refining to turn him into a superb trainer.
Maybe he should help, sharing his love of and skill with horses. Guiding the sergeant-major’s orphan into a secure future would be a worthy task.
Then he had to laugh. Was that his destiny—becoming an orphanage instructor? He could just imagine the shock, disbelief, and derision among the toffs of the ton, were they to learn Dandy Dom had turned his hand to bear-leading youths.
But then, who cared what the toffs of the ton—or Lady Elizabeth’s ducal father, or the earl his uncle, the ‘King of the Lords’, thought of what he did? It was his life—his to remake.
He’d felt for so long like the old brown leaves scattered beside the lane he drove down, crumbling into nothingness as the new grass of spring grew through them. But maybe he was more like a skittering seed pod blown on the wind, just needing to reach fertile ground to take root.
Still, he’d be prudent not to make a premature offer he might later decide was unwise.
Besides, training the orphan would mean spending way too much time around Miss Theo.
Recalling her allure heated his simmering senses anew.
He could seduce her—he was sure of it. Contemplating the passion promised in that lush mouth, those vibrant eyes sent an anticipatory thrill through him.
Wise or not, he couldn’t seem to bury that fact that he wanted her. More intensely than he’d wanted a woman in a very long while.
If he couldn’t subdue the craving, maybe he should try to assuage it in a more acceptable way. He’d had mistresses before his engagement to Lady Elizabeth. If it would distract him from this frustrating desire for Miss Branwell, maybe he should consider setting up another.
He conjured up the image of a lush female in a diaphanous gown, her mouth in a seductive pout, her bosom covered with jewels and little else. Somehow, beside Theo Branwell’s fresh, straightforward appeal, such a woman seemed...overblown.
He uttered a curse, startling the horse he’d just turned down the drive to Bildenstone.
He had too much free time on his hands—that was part of the problem.
Now that he could manage more than sleeping half the day and lifting his head to sip some gruel, he needed something more challenging to occupy him.
He’d been with the army so long, he had trouble recalling the rhythm of his days before he’d become a soldier.
Blocking out the hunting and steeplechasing activities still too bitter to contemplate, he tried to remember. In the country, he’d been up early, he mused, consulting with his grooms, training horses, or travelling to fairs or farms to evaluate others he might wish to purchase. Studying bloodlines in the evening if alone, or socialising with like-minded friends. In town, he’d stop by Tattersall’s to check out the horses for sale, visit the tailor and bootmaker and haberdasher, pay calls by day and spend his evenings at dinners, balls or entertainments, charming the ladies.
Contemplating returning to most of these activities still evoked distaste. The only endeavour that called to him was working with horses.
Putting that thought away to consider later, he returned the tilbury to the stable and walked to the house.
Wilton met him at the entrance. ‘Some refreshment in the library, sir?’
‘Thank you, some ham and ale would be good,’ he said, pleased to find, after months of no appetite, that a morning of driving and walking about had left him both hungry and not too fatigued to eat.
* * *
He’d found his place again in Herodotus by the time Wilton knocked at the library door. Miss Branwell’s advice came back to him as he watched the man carry the tray to the table. To his chagrin, it did seem the elderly butler struggled to manage the heavy item, his thin frame bent back under its weight as he balanced it.
Deciding on the instant, he said, ‘Wilton, a word, if you please.’
‘Of course, Mr Ransleigh.’
‘I’ve been intending to ask you to convey my appreciation to the staff for the excellent work they did, preparing Bildenstone Hall for my arrival. I know it took a great deal of effort, after the house had been closed up for so long.’
Expressions of surprise, then gratification, illumined the butler’s face. ‘I’m pleased you found everything satisfactory, Mr Ransleigh, and I’ll certainly pass your approval on to the others.’
‘With the increased workload of having a family member in residence, we should hire some additional employees. I’m thinking we will need an under-butler, an assistant for Cook, plus a couple of maids and perhaps another footman, as a start.’
The butler’s eyes lit with enthusiasm. ‘That would indeed be helpful, sir. We had nearly twice the staff when the late Mr and Mrs Ransleigh resided here. Though as a bachelor, of course, you won’t do as much entertaining.’
‘Consult with Mrs Greenlow and hire as many as you think necessary. ‘
The butler nodded. ‘Very good, sir. I shall be honoured to assist you in reviving Bildenstone Hall.’
‘Thank you, Wilton.’
The butler bowed himself out. Dom sat for a moment with a bemused smile. Well, Miss Branwell, I’ve taken care of the house, he thought, satisfaction warming him. Perhaps it was time to arrange a tour with his estate agent and check on the tenants. If the lord of the manor was going to reside here—and it appeared he was—he ought to become better acquainted with his land and the people who farmed it.
