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Geoffrey choked back the reply he wanted to make. Giving the portly baronet a charming smile, he indicated his unwelcome guest take the seat opposite him. Geoffrey sat languidly in the other chair. Then, looking his most angelic, he proceeded to mollify his visitor with the aid of numerous glasses of very good wine.
Once his uninvited guest had left, Geoffrey took a key from his pocket and unlocked one of the desk drawers. He picked up the pile of papers inside and tossed them on the desk.
Bills. Lots of bills. Damn tradesmen. Though they weren’t the problem—he could put them off. But he couldn’t put off his peers, ones like Somerville. Not for much longer. They were starting to ask questions. He had to pay his gambling debts. What he needed was some luck.
He went over to the window. Reflected in the glass, he could see his own image, a pale, ghostly, insubstantial shadow. Beyond his image he could see the swiftly flowing stream at the bottom of the nearby hill. That stream marked the border of the two estates. Ever since he was a boy, he’d looked at his uncle’s estate and known that one day it would be his.
Geoffrey set his jaw. No thieving jade was going to stand in his way. Nor was a backstabbing servant.
Going to his desk, he unlocked the middle drawer, took out a vial, and put it in his pocket. Grabbing a bottle of wine from the sideboard, he left the room by the doors that opened onto the terrace.
In the dim twilight, he made his way through the gardens to the small cottage on the banks of the stream.
Blackwell opened the door as he heard him approach. “It’s about time you got here,” he said brusquely.
Rather than berate him for his lack of respect, Geoffrey fingered the vial in his pocket, smiled sweetly, held up the bottle, and said, “Would you like some wine?”
14
“I dismissed my estate agent yesterday.” Ria looked along the slender barrel at the target.
“For any particular reason?”
“We did not agree on estate matters.” She paused, concentrated on the center of the target, and pulled the trigger.
A direct hit.
Turning to look at her tutor, she saw he was smiling slightly. His insistence on her practicing over and over was paying off. Basking in his approbation, she swiftly reloaded her pistol.
She eyed the target. Pretending it was John Blackwell, she once again took aim.
She had no regrets about dismissing him. None at all. She felt confident it was the right decision. Geoffrey’s appearance soon after proved that. Not that she’d needed proof.
Luc’s elegant hand moved to cover hers. He adjusted her arm. “Like this. You need to keep it straight but not too stiff.”
She shivered at the feel of his warm breath on the back of her neck.
“Don’t lose control. Use your emotions—don’t let them use you.”
Gently she squeezed the trigger and once again hit the center of the target.
He nodded in approval. “Very good. Anger seems to suit you.”
He took the gun from her, then asked, “I presume you are now in need of an estate agent?”
She nodded. “Yes. There are some good people on the estate but none with the experience needed.”
Thoughtfully, he told her, “I know of someone. He is young but has spent the past five years learning from my agent at Arden. He is ready to go out on his own. Shall I suggest he come for an interview?”
“Yes, thank you.”
On the surface, their conversation was perfectly calm and ordinary—two landowners discussing estate matters. Underneath, for her at least, it was a different story.
While talking, Luc had cleaned the weapon and packed it into its mahogany case. The shooting lesson was clearly over for the day.
By the time they reached the orangery and the secluded clearing, her nerves were tightly stretched. He hadn’t yet touched her, but she felt breathless. The anticipation was unbearable.
Her gaze heated, she watched him remove his gloves, coat, and cravat.
