An Unexpected Gentleman (16 page)

Oh, blast. This was dreadful.

Worse, she could see the growing light of humor on Connor’s face.

Infinitely worse, she felt a matching spark of amusement.

Dear heavens, what sort of husband and wife were they going to make? He with no care for her, she with visions of torment for him, and the both of them impossibly stubborn.

“Go on and scratch, Adelaide. I’ll try not to think the less of you for it.”

She caved—but only, mind you, because he gave in first—and reached down and ran her fingers over the offending spot. It felt like heaven. “What is said between Sir Robert and myself is none of your concern.”

“On the contrary, the actions of my future wife are very much—”

“I have not agreed to marry you.”

“You can’t still be considering Sir Robert.”

“I am considering all of my options,” she hedged, not quite ready to hand Connor his victory.

“He must have been very convincing in his excuses.”

“Sir Robert is a most eloquent man.”

Connor’s response to this was to glare a moment longer, which she found quite gratifying, then turn to the road and start the horses moving again with a flick of the reins.

Little was said for the next five minutes, but Adelaide snuck the odd glance at Connor. She wanted to ask him what else he knew of Sir Robert. Were there other secrets? Had the baron entangled himself in other aspects of her life? But it seemed inappropriate to question one suitor about another. More important, it was impractical, as neither was apt to be a reliable source of information.

C
onnor steered the phaeton onto a narrow road Adelaide knew well. It led north to the prison and the town of Enscrum beyond. But well before the prison, and the town, was Ashbury Hall, a vast estate that had been built by an eccentric and reclusive merchant more than three decades ago and abandoned a mere five years after completion when the merchant decided he’d rather be a recluse in a more hospitable climate.

The house and grounds, now fallen into disrepair, were little more than a mile from her home. As a child, she’d often snuck away to play in the overgrown garden and brave peeks through the windows with Wolfgang.

A year ago, she’d heard Ashbury Hall had been sold at last, and work had begun on restoring it to its former glory. The renovations had ceased abruptly for months and had resumed again a few weeks past. As they drew near, Adelaide saw that the stone manor had been washed and its wood trim scraped of old paint. But some of the windows remained boarded, the bare wood looked sad and weathered, and the grounds . . . Dear heavens, the grounds. They were a veritable jungle. Weeds of every variety stood knee to neck high, and a number of plants had escaped the gardens and looked to be making a dash for England.

She shook her head and was about to comment on the state of Ashbury’s front lawn when Connor turned into the drive.

“What are we doing here?” The point of taking the drive had been to be seen together, a task that could have been better attended to by making a quick trip into the local village of Banfries.

Connor slowed the horses. “We are choosing a house.”

“A house for what? For us?” She looked at the enormous manor, then back at him. “Oh, for pity’s sake, you are not in earnest.”

“I am, I assure you.”

“Ashbury Hall is not a house. It is a gentleman’s country estate.” And it was not a viable choice of home. Aside from the fact someone else was already in possession of the place, he couldn’t possibly afford such a property. She lifted her gaze to the heavens and prayed for patience. “Why must I be plagued by men who cannot manage their funds with a modicum of foresight and wisdom?”

He brought the horses to a stop a small distance from the house and turned to smile at her. “I was wise enough to pay a good deal less for it than it’s worth.”

“You . . . It’s
yours
?” Good heavens, that couldn’t be possible. “How is that possible?”

“You aren’t aware of how property is bought and sold?”

“Yes, of course I am. I just . . .” She shook her head, bewildered. “Sir Robert stole your fortune. You were impressed. You were imprisoned—”

“Same thing, really. But Sir Robert stole only part, you’ll recall. And I bought Ashbury when I bought the phaeton, before my arrest. Also before I bought my freedom.”

Her eyebrows winged up. “You bribed your way free?”

“I’d say the funds were extorted, but I do so hate to fill the role of victim.”

She gave him a mocking smile. “Yes, distasteful, isn’t it?”

Grinning in response, he hopped down and came around to assist her from the vehicle. She put her hand out, expecting him to take it, but he grasped her round the waist instead and gently lifted her off her feet as easily as if he were lifting a sack of grain.

Good gracious.
Her hands flew to his shoulders for balance, and she felt the coil and release of muscle under her fingertips as he set her gently down on the drive. Unbidden, the memory of the last time he’d held her close filled her mind . . . the rough drag of lips, the drugging heat of his mouth, the way he’d banded his arms around her as if she was something precious, something he needed.

She’d never been held that way, never before known what it was like to have a man look at her . . . the way Connor was looking at her now. His eyes darkened and settled on her mouth, and the hands at her hips brought her closer with subtle pressure.

Adelaide leapt back and swallowed a yelp when the backs of her legs met with the hard wheel of the phaeton.

Good heavens, what was she thinking?

It didn’t require much guesswork for her to ascertain what Connor was thinking. He’d dropped his hands, but his eyes were still fixed on her mouth. He looked tense, tightly coiled, as if he might pounce on her with the slightest provocation.

“I . . .” She searched for something, anything, to distract him. “Er . . .”

Eventually, she landed on, “Ashbury Hall!” For no other reason than that it was there.

Connor lifted his gaze to hers, finally. But his only response was to raise his eyebrows.

She resumed her search. “Um . . . Is it truly yours?”

His lips twitched, and he waited a beat before speaking. Just to let her know she wasn’t fooling either of them.

“Truly,” he said at last. “And I promise you, I can well afford its upkeep.”

She considered that statement, and the man, and the fine opportunity to turn the focus further away from the tension between them.

“Why did it take you so long to gain your freedom?” With access to a corrupt official and the sort of funds needed to buy country estates, he ought to have been out in a day.

“In the English judicial system, even bribery is subject to the delay of bureaucracy.” He lifted a negligent shoulder at her bland look. “It took time to access the funds without attracting attention. And the only obliging official of my solicitor’s acquaintance was visiting his sister in St. Petersburg. Negotiations were slow.”

“Bribes and negotiations have no place in a court of law.”

“Such a moral creature,” he teased. “How would we ever know who’s guilty and who isn’t?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth. “Lord Gideon interfered on your behalf at his wife’s request, you know.”

“Did he?”

“Your money may well have been wasted on your solicitor’s obliging friend. It is something to consider.” She wagered his pride would consider it for a long time to come.

She wagered badly.

Connor blew out a long, dramatic breath that was just a hair shy of being a whistle. “Lovely, generous Freddie. If I’d not been behind bars when we met . . .”

“Yes, some ladies have all the good fortune,” she said dryly.

She wasn’t honestly offended by the means of his release. She’d paid for Wolfgang’s private room, hadn’t she? And one couldn’t fault the man for gaining his release through the same corruption that had unjustly imprisoned him in the first place. Provided, of course, it had been unjust. Lilly and Winnefred proclaimed his innocence, but what did they know of the man, really?

What did any of them know?

“Were you a highwayman?”

His smile didn’t waver. “No.”

She waited in vain for him to elaborate. He didn’t, and she realized that was all the reassurance she was going to receive. It was galling to know she had no choice but to accept it.

“Lilly and Winnefred say Sir Robert fabricated the story. I am inclined to believe them.”

“But only them,” he guessed and offered his elbow.

She took it without thought. “Until given reason otherwise. Aren’t we going to look at the house?”

He led her off the drive and onto a narrow path through waist-high weeds, and around a box hedge that hadn’t been pruned in decades.

“I thought you might like to see a bit of the grounds first,” Connor explained. “What do you make of them?”

She could make out a small pond in the distance—provided she walked on her toes—and, beyond that, the walled garden Wolfgang once utilized as a medieval fortress. If memory served, it had been England’s last defense against the marauding Viking hordes.

She sighed and resumed a normal, ladylike walk.

“They’re overgrown,” she said. And then, at length, “. . . And beautiful.” She’d always thought them beautiful, even in their wildness.

Connor frowned thoughtfully. “They need a gardener’s touch.”

“They need a plow,” she replied. And peonies by the gate of the walled garden. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

“The interior of the house is in better repair.” He turned her down another path, one that looked to have been cleared all the way to the front door. “There are four wings and three floors plus the attic. It looks a bit coarse as yet, but the needed repairs are mostly superficial, and quite a few are already completed. The new windows will go in the day after tomorrow. Many of the rooms have furnishings, but I’ve an interior decorator coming from London to take care of the details.”

She gave him a speculative glance. “You didn’t bring me here to choose a home; you brought me here to boast.”

“I was hoping to impress you,” he admitted, unrepentant. “The choice of home is yours, Adelaide. This is merely one of your options.”

“What are my others?”

“I’ve several similar properties. None quite so impressive in scale, but most are in better condition.”

“Several?”

“I did tell you I was wealthier than Sir Robert.”

“You also told me you were a guest at Mrs. Cress’s house party.”

“I never did,” he protested, affecting the air of a man grievously insulted. “You erroneously inferred from my presence that I had been invited. I, you will recall, strove to correct the misunderstanding at the earliest opportunity.”

She snorted at that. “You are many things, Mr. Brice. Honest is not one of them.”

“Such venom,” he taunted as they climbed the front steps. “And here I am, inviting you into my home.”

She rolled her eyes when he turned his back to open the massive front door. Which, she could not help but note, failed to issue even the minutest of squeaks.

Connor waved her inside with a flourish. “Welcome to Ashbury Hall, Miss Ward.”

She stepped over the threshold and caught her breath. “Oh, heavens.”

Her voice was a mere whisper, and yet it all but echoed in the cavernous room. She walked across the great hall, awed by the dual staircases, with their wide, graceful steps and marble balustrades. She marveled at the towering domed roof. The sheer vastness of the space was overwhelming. Her entire home could fit into Ashbury Hall’s entry.

That was, perhaps, a slight exaggeration, but the room was remarkable in size. And in its quietness. Where were the footsteps and voices, the everyday sounds one associated with a home?

Connor wasn’t the sort of man who insisted his staff never be seen or heard, was he?

She turned around and found him leaning against the door frame with his arms folded at his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles. He was watching her, not as he had on the drive, but with an intensity she nonetheless found unnerving.

“Is there no one here?” she asked, her eyes darting away. “No staff?”

“A few of the village women come to clean during the day. I believe they’re in the attic at present. And I have men about after dark, but I’ve not obtained much in the way of permanent staff as yet. I thought to wait until you’d made a choice of homes. You may select something I own at present, or we can search for something new. A great deal will depend on where you’d like to settle. Or if you’d like to settle. We could spend the seasons in London and the rest of the year touring.”

He was leaving it up to her. She didn’t want to be pleased by the gesture or moved by his thoughtfulness. But she was. She couldn’t help it. Even knowing that he likely made the offer for selfish reasons, she couldn’t help but hope that some part of the man she had met in the garden remained in the man she would marry.