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I find Alessia in the small sitting room, seated at a table set for lunch. She looks up from the Daphne Du Maurier that she’s reading, anxiety etched on her face.
“What is it?” I ask as I take a seat opposite her.
“Do you want me to sleep somewhere else?”
“What? No. What’s this about?”
“Danny was talking to me about moving rooms.”
“Ah.” The penny drops. “I’m not sure I want to move rooms. Do you?”
“No. I want to stay with you.”
I laugh. “I’m glad to hear it. We can sleep where we like. The earl’s room has been my father’s and my brother’s.” I shrug. I’m in no mood to move in there. “And as for the countess’s rooms, that’s up to you. They’re not far from my bedroom, and there’s a dressing room there that might come in handy. You don’t have to sleep there. I’d rather you slept with me. Unless I snore.”
She exhales and laughs. “Good. That’s what I thought. And you do not snore.”
“I have an idea of what we can do this afternoon.” I change the subject.
“Oh?” Alessia tilts her head to one side with a coquettish look, and I know she’s thinking about sex.
I laugh. “No. I’m going to teach you to drive.”
“Drive! Me?”
“Yes. You don’t need a license on private land. We can take the Defender, or maybe another, smaller vehicle, and I’ll teach you.”
Danny enters, holding two plates. “Lunch, my lord.”
I roll my eyes. “Maxim. That’s my name.”
“Maxim, my lord,” Danny concedes, and she places two plates on the table. “Salad Niçoise with a Cornish twist.”
“Cornish twist?” I ask, intrigued, examining the plate in front of me.
“Pilchards, sir, instead of anchovies.”
I laugh. “Okay then.”
“Steady, a little more gas, and slowly ease the clutch up,” I direct Alessia. We’re in the Defender that Danny normally drives around the estate. It’s battered but quite serviceable.
Alessia is grasping the steering wheel like her life depends on it, and her tongue peeks out between her lips because she’s concentrating so hard. The car suddenly jerks forward and stalls, and Alessia stamps on the brakes.
I’m thrown forward, my seat belt cutting into my chest. “Whoa!”
Alessia lets out a string of invective in her mother tongue, which I’ve never heard her do before.
She’s not happy.
“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “It’s about finding the biting point on the clutch when the engine engages. You just need a little more gas. Take it steady. We have all afternoon. And it’s okay—driving can take a while to learn.”
She gives me a quick, determined scowl and starts the car again.
My girl is not going to give up.
“Take it slow. Put it into gear,” I murmur.
She fights the gearshift to put it back into first, and I wonder if we should have chosen an easier car.
Hell, if she can drive this, she can drive anything.
“Okay. Deep breaths. You can do this.”
The gears grind as she thrusts it into first and revs the engine once more.
“Easy does it. Not too much gas.”
She scowls at me again, and I shut up because if I don’t, I suspect she’ll be tempted to remove one of my limbs. I’ve never taught anyone to drive, and I learned here on the estate when I was fifteen. It was one of the last duties my father fulfilled before he died. He was calm and reassuring, his best self…and I hold that memory dear. He was a great teacher.
I want to be the same for Alessia.
At a snail’s pace, we roll forward.
Yes! I let out a silent, internal cheer so as not to distract Alessia, and we inch across the gravel behind the stables.
“Okay, now into second. Clutch. Second gear. Ease up on the clutch.”
Her tongue appears again, and she shifts smoothly into second gear, letting the Defender pick up a little speed.
“Well done! Okay. Take it steady. Head straight toward the gates. Yes. Good!”
Alessia gingerly drives toward the gateposts where the cattle grid lies.
“We’re going into the lane. Keep it going.”
She steers—successfully—between the gateposts and heads down the lane. A wild grin erupts on her face, and it’s infectious.
“You’re doing it. Keep your eyes on the road.”
She continues to drive slowly but solidly down the lane, concentrating hard; her tongue makes the occasional foray, peeking from her mouth.
It’s sexy as hell.
But now is not the time to tell her. Or to think about that—it’s distracting.
“You’re doing so well. But beware, there might be deer in the lane. They should get out of the way when they hear this crate coming. You don’t want to hit one. Kit did. Once…”
Shit.
And look what happened to him.
Hell.
I clear my throat, pushing my grief away, though I’m reminded that there’s a mythical story about the deer that ties them to the estate, which I’ve forgotten. I must try to remember to tell Alessia. “At the end of the lane by the north gatehouse, let’s take the left fork. Take that, and we’ll do a crisscross tour of the estate.”
