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Deep in thought, she slips the baking tray into the oven, washes and dries the bowl, and then sets the small round table for the two of them. When she returns to the oven to check on the bread, she’s startled to find Maxim watching her. He’s leaning against the doorjamb, dressed in a long-sleeved white T-shirt, and his black jeans with the tear at the knee. Her favorite. His hair is tousled and wet, and against his tanned face, his eyes are a vibrant spring green. She inhales sharply, drinking in the sight of him.
He’s stunning.
And hers.
He takes her breath away, but his expression is unreadable, and he remains mute as his eyes pin her to a standstill.
She swallows. “Are you mad at me?”
“No. I’m angry at myself.”
“Why?”
“Because I overreacted.”
She moves forward, standing so close that she feels his heat bathing her skin. “I should have told you I am in the spare room. I’m here. I’m safe.”
He tips her chin up as his eyes sear hers. “I was… anxious.” He plants a soft kiss on her lips. “It’s not a feeling I like.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” Gingerly she wraps her arms around him, placing her cheek against his chest. He rests his chin on her head, folding her into his embrace and breathing in her scent.
“You smell amazing,” he whispers.
“So do you. Clean.”
She senses his smile and relaxes as he kisses her hair. He grasps her face between his hands and raises her lips to his. “I need to know you’re safe.”
“I’m safe. With you.”
He kisses her—soft, sweet, wet, and warm, and she surrenders to his skilled tongue. He rests his forehead against hers and blows out a breath. “Is that fresh bread I smell baking?”
She grins. “It is. Bubble bread.”
His answering smile is dazzling. “Your father warned me.”
“My father?”
“Yes. He said you’d make me fat.”
“I will only make this on Sundays.”
Maxim laughs, his good mood restored. “Good plan.”
Alessia takes a deep breath. “But I will need to go out sometime. Shop for food.”
“I know. I know. Of course. I’m being ridiculous.” From his back pocket, he produces the key he gave her not so long ago. “Just let me know where you are. Please.”
Alessia takes the key. “Thank you.” She examines the leather fob. “What is this place… Angwin House?”
“It’s our Oxfordshire estate. We’ll go later this week if you like. Today even. We could take a quick trip there if you wish.”
He takes a seat at the table, and Alessia grabs a tea towel to remove the bread from the oven while she digests this piece of information.
“What were you doing in the spare room anyway?”
“I was unpacking. My clothes. There’s no space in your closet.”
“Oh. I see.” His mouth flattens in a line. “We should get a bigger place for the two of us.”
Alessia gapes at him.
“The estate owns a great deal of property,” he answers her unspoken question. “I’ll talk to Oliver and see what’s coming available.”
Another home? Just like that? Alessia’s brow furrows in consternation.
“What is it?”
“How much land…um…property do you own?”
“Personally, not much. All the Trevethick Estate property, and that includes the three great estates, and all its assets, are held in trust. The trust is the legal owner of the estate, and Kit, Maryanne, and I were trustees. Now, with Kit gone, it’s just me and Maryanne—but as the earl, I’m the beneficial owner. Does that make sense?”
* * *
Alessia stares blankly at me.
“It’s complicated,” I concede, knowing it’s not easy to understand. “Basically, the estate owns a great deal of property, and its income is made through rents and leases on all the residential, retail, and business premises the estate owns.”
“Oh…” Alessia says. “And your job is to…um…run this?”
“Oliver, whom you met through a car window, is the chief operating officer of the Trevethick Estate. He does the day-to-day running. I’m… his boss. It was my brother’s job, and Kit had the business acumen for the role. Me, I’m still learning.” My mood heads south. This is the crux of the problem I have with assuming the title. I’ve not been trained to do it, while Kit was skilled at it. Not only that, but he was so economically astute that he increased the fortunes of our individual trusts too.
Hell. I don’t want to think about this now.
“Look, it’s the last day of our holiday,” I add. “Let’s enjoy it. We could take a drive up to Angwin. It’s about two hours. Have a look around. Then tomorrow, the work will begin.” I reach for one of the bread buns Alessia has placed on the table. “We need to find a new home. Organize a visa for you to stay here. Get back to work.”
Now, there’s four words I never thought I’d utter.
Shaking my head in mock self-disgust, I spread some butter on the roll and watch it melt before I add some blackcurrant jam, then take a bite.
