innocent, he understood. He saw the same awareness in her eyes now that she doubtlessly saw in his—that they were a man and a woman, alone in a secluded place throbbing with heat, and that some invisible rope kept tugging at him to step into her space, to slide his fingers into her collar and pull her against him. And as he watched her, her mouth softened, softened as if it would welcome . . .
A bird of paradise squawked and flapped and landed on the terrarium with a thunk.
She jumped.
“Ah, Peregrin,” he said, annoyed. “He feeds them. They think you will feed them when you stand here.”
Two hectic red flags were burning on her cheeks, not the kind of blush he liked to inspire in a woman. She stepped sideways, straight out of his reach. He gave the bird an evil stare.
“Your Grace, I had been meaning to discuss my departure with you.”
A bucket of cold water would have had the same effect on his head.
It took him a moment to formulate a response. “I assume you want to ignore the doctor’s orders and leave posthaste.”
She nodded.
“You said there was no one to look after you.”
“I have relations in Kent, and they are expecting me.”
The cousin with the dilapidated house. More sleep deprivation and malnourishment.
“The doctor was clear,” he said. “Seven days. And you are welcome at Claremont.”
Determination flickered in her eyes. “Thank you, Your Grace, but I have matters to attend to.”
“Matters more urgent than your health?”
She looked away. “I’m well now.”
She wasn’t; she was suffering from severe stubbornness.
Sweat slid down his back, because God help him, he stood in a greenhouse in his bloody winter coat.
“You are free to leave anytime,” he said, “but have a care for my conscience, since I will be called upon to abet your demise by supplying a coach.”
That seemed to give her pause.
Ah. So she had a care for others, if not for herself.
“And your friends,” he added. “They were worried about you and it would undo all their good work at your bedside if you relapsed.”
The look in her eyes said she knew exactly what he was doing, that it was working, and that she resented him for it. So be it. If she were his, they wouldn’t even be having this discussion, she’d be upstairs in bed, snug and warm.
“Well,” she said reluctantly, “I suppose it would be more sensible to stay.”
Disconcerting, how much he liked hearing that. “Until Christmas.”
She gave a hesitant nod. “Until Christmas.”
On the way back to the house, she was silent. Her profile was drawn and too pale. The outing had taken its toll on her. What would it take, for her to allow, no, to expect, someone to take care of her? She was twenty-and-five. Too young for the self-possession she displayed. Too old to still be unmarried. But that had to be by choice, unless every man in Kent was deaf and blind. His report said she had disappeared from her father’s home for two years and returned only after her father’s passing. There was hardly ever a good reason for a young woman to leave home for two years. What price have you paid for your independence, Annabelle?
“Would you accompany me on a walk through the stables tomorrow morning?” he asked.
She gave him an opaque look.
“The stables are warm,” he said. “And the horses are some of the finest in England.”
She was silent for a long moment. “It will depend on the state of my health.”
And even more so on the state of her mood, presumably.
He offered her his arm to ascend the steps to the terrace. With some hesitation, she placed her hand on him. What had happened in the greenhouse had unsettled her.
What had happened in the greenhouse?
Nothing had happened. Wanting was a perfectly normal reaction when a man looked at a beautiful woman, wasn’t it?
Chapter 13
It had been an unusually pleasant morning: clear skies and a good yield of birds. Sebastian hadn’t expected to get a good shot after spending half the night at his desk outmaneuvering unruly party members. His contentment spiked when he saw a slender figure approaching the stables from the direction of the house.
“You seem improved, miss,” he said, greeting her over the whining beagles swarming round his feet.
Her eyes swept first over him, then over Stevens, who was wearing the pheasants they had shot on strings around his neck.
“It occurred to me I owe your horse a treat,” she said, and opened her right