Checkmate, My Lord - By Tracey Devlyn Page 0,24

already, during a time when she should have been concentrating on her own difficult circumstances. How could he ask for more? “I am sorry to have inconvenienced you, Mrs. Ashcroft. My summons was a regrettable mistake.”

“Mistake?” A shot of dismay skittered across her features. “You have not inconvenienced me, sir. I would be grateful for the opportunity to help.”

The tendons in Sebastian’s neck pulled tight. “You have already provided more assistance than I deserve, madam.”

“The process would go much more smoothly and quickly with my aid.” She tilted her head to the side. “I assure you, this task would be a welcome diversion. You do recall that I offered to help?”

“Yes, I recall,” he said. “But I also know you likely did so because it is in your nature to set things aright.”

She started to protest, but he held up a staying finger. “Within the last three months, you have lost your father, your husband, and you have dueled with my steward. I will not add to your burden.”

Dropping her gaze, she said nothing for several seconds. He followed her line of sight, to where her hands clutched the drawstrings of her reticule with crushing force.

Finally, she lifted her chin and straightened her back. “Very well, my lord,” she said. “Please feel free to call upon me should you change your mind.”

“Do not fret, Mrs. Ashcroft,” he said, driving the point home. “If I find myself in need of counsel, Grayson is more than up for the task.”

Nodding, she regarded the door behind him. “Grayson would make an admirable attempt at seeing to your needs.”

Against his will, he asked, “Attempt?”

He could see the topic made her ill at ease, but she eventually answered. “When Mr. Blake began refusing to meet with your tenants, Grayson tried to resolve their issues without the steward’s knowledge, but then his knee started bothering him and he could no longer move about the estate.”

Sebastian had noticed a subtle limp in his butler’s gait. “Go on.”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Blake became aware of what was going on and made a terrible scene, embarrassing Grayson and infuriating some of your tenants.” Indignation strengthened her voice, her gaze steadied. “This is the main reason why I became involved in your estate affairs. Not only did I keep the issues in front of Mr. Blake, I relayed information between Grayson and your tenants.”

Few people distinguished themselves enough to warrant Sebastian’s notice or garner his admiration. Somehow the widow had managed to do both. “How unfortunate that I did not know any of this before releasing the man.” The sideboard, with its stoppered decanters of various colored liquors, drew his attention.

He glanced outside and noted the narrow shadows around the hedges. Lifting his watch-fob, he confirmed the hour. Bare minutes before eleven. Eleven. Much too early to indulge and much too late to have lingered for an absentee earl.

Had she really waited an hour for him to arrive? If any of his agents learned he had been late for a meeting that he’d set, they would never let him live it down. At least those who dared to tease him wouldn’t. Most didn’t.

Unlike many members of the ton, he never slept past seven, even when he stayed up into the wee hours of the morning. His body did not need much sleep to function properly. Or, at least, it hadn’t.

“It would take me no time to turn the list of repairs I gave you into an actual work schedule,” she pressed.

If she were a man, Sebastian would swear that God had finally thrown a kindness his way. But she was a woman. An intelligent and tempting woman. Therefore, God was not involved. Only the Devil, and he had his trident pointing straight at Sebastian’s heart.

Sebastian wasn’t certain why he felt compelled to resist her generous offer. The reason might have had something to do with his continuous and overwhelming desire to feel her bare body wrapped around his, to tangle his fingers in the loose skeins of her silken hair. To free his mind of everything but her.

Or the reason might have had something to do with Ashcroft asking him to watch over his wife, and making love to a woman he was supposed to protect felt wrong. Even to a ruthless bastard like him.

Whatever his motivation, at that precise moment, his decision to resist seemed vitally important. Stepping toward the bell-pull, he gave it two hard yanks. “Mrs. Ashcroft,” he said, “I can see that you have a genuine need to

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