The Perfect Kiss (13 page)

He raised a brow. “You hired staff for my household?”

She flushed. “I’m sorry, I know it was presumptuous of me, but I didn’t think you’d have time to go out and find staff. And you said last night . . .”

He said nothing. She grew more nervous. “I’m sorry. I thought I was helping. And these people really need the work.”

His frown grew. “Do you mean they importuned you—?”

“No, no! They never asked for anything.” She bit her lip, wondering whether to be tactful or truthful. Truth blurted out. “But y—anyone can see they are in dire straits if only y—someone—cared enough to look! There is evidence of poverty everywhere.”

“Evidence?”

“The children, to start with. All the children are thin and their clothes are worn, made over, and much patched.”

He frowned.

“And their houses—the roofs leak, some show evidence of damp and decay, and yet these are tenants, and so not allowed to make repairs themselves.”

His frown grew darker. Did he think she was making it up? She redoubled her efforts. “There are people who have worked for your family—the Wolfe family—for hundreds of years! The land is good, so the estate should be prosperous, and yet the people are poor and despairing. Let me tell you about the people waiting outside for a chance to work.”

She began to count people off on her fingers. “Jake Tasker is one of your tenants who was evicted from the farm his family has worked for seven generations after a fire destroyed his barn and the livestock in it. His father was killed fighting the fire. They were unable to pay the rent for the first time in his life, but your estate manager—”

“Not
my
manager!”

“Very well then, the Wolfe family’s estate manager refused to allow him time to make up the shortfall. Jake Tasker, his mother, and his elderly grandfather now live in a shack on the edge of the forest and Jake and his grandfather take work wherever they can.”

She held up a second finger. “The three Tickel girls support—”

“All right, all right,” He held up his hands. “I’m not blind. And I imagine you can dredge up some sorry tale for every person on the estate.”

She smiled. “Not every person. Just the ones waiting outside.” She was relieved he’d taken her criticism of his family so well. Not all lords acknowledged the responsibilities that went with the position. But even Grandpapa, with all his faults, had never neglected his tenants. A thought occurred to her. “Can you not afford it?” she said, horrified. “Because if you cannot—”

“My financial situation is none of your business.”

“No, and I know it is very vulgar of me to ask. If you don’t want to tell me, just tell me to mind my own business.”

“I just did,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but I was giving you time to think it over again,” she said in a coaxing voice.

He repressed a smile. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I can afford hundreds of damned servants!”

“Oh. Good,” she said, relieved.

He said, as if she hadn’t spoken, “I don’t know how you’ve discovered so much about the people here in such a short time—”

“To be honest, I don’t understand it myself,” she admitted. “They all just seemed to think I knew all about them already. They just seem to want to talk to me.”

He looked at her with an enigmatic expression. “I can understand that,” he said softly.

For a long time he said nothing more. She had no idea what he was thinking. Finally he said, “So you want me to hire all those people outside?”

“Yes, please.”

“As a favor to you.”

“Y-yes, and because they are your tenants and badly in need. And because the castle needs a good clean.”

“But also as a favor to you.”

Why did he keep stressing it as a favor? She didn’t trust it. Him. She said suspiciously, “If that’s how you like to view it.”

“Oh, I like. I’ll offer you a bargain, then. I’ll hire every one of those people waiting outside . . . for a kiss.”

Hah! She’d been right not to trust him! Grace slowly licked her lips, pretending to consider his suggestion. His eyes followed the movement of her tongue and she felt a frisson of excitement. Playing with fire.

“A kiss, you say?” She looked at his mouth. He stared at hers. She told herself it was foolish to tease a Wolfe, but she couldn’t resist. He was poised, intent. She tilted her head and gave him a speculative, flirtatious look. “For each person you hire?”

“Yes.” His voice was a little thick.

“Just one kiss?”

He nodded. The gleam in his eye intensified. He was certain of her agreement.

She purred, “I have an even better idea.” She smiled at him.

He smiled back. “I’m always open to new ideas.”

“Good.” She stood up briskly and gave him a quite different smile. “In that case, I’ll pay them myself.”

His hand shot out and stopped her. “Pay my workers? Don’t be ridiculous! You can’t pay them!”

She shook his hand off. “Why not?”

“Why not? Because you’re a hired companion yourself, that’s why not!”

She shrugged. “I have a nest egg.”

“I don’t care. I won’t allow it. They are my tenants, as you pointed out, and hired to put my castle to rights.”

She put up her chin and crossed her arms in a mulish gesture.

He changed tactics. “Come, Greystoke, why be such a little prude? What’s so hard about one little kiss per person?” He stroked her cheek with the back of his finger. “A great deal of pleasure and no danger to your precious nest egg.”>

She jerked her face away from the insidious caress. There was no nest egg—she was an heiress. The danger was to her precious heart. His kisses were just too lethal. “No, your price is too high.”

“What about one kiss for the whole lot? It would have to be a very good kiss, of course.”

She shook her head serenely. “No, your price is still too high.”

“You kissed me for free the moment I met you.”

He made it sound like she was a complete hussy, who threw herself at strange men on an instant’s acquaintance! “I did not,” she said indignantly. “You stole that kiss—those kisses—under false pretenses.”

“False pretenses? What pretenses?”

“I didn’t know you were Lord D’Acre when you first kissed me.”

“No, that’s right.” He grinned. “You called me an impossible gypsy, didn’t you? If that’s how you prefer me, I’ll be your gypsy lover, Bright Eyes.”

“Don’t call me that. And I don’t
prefer
you at all,” she lied. “It has nothing to do with station in life and everything to do with you being betrothed to Miss Pettifer.”

He nodded. “I see. But that doesn’t explain the other kisses. The ones among the wood chips, and in the kitchen. And in the wee small hours with the foal.”

“You stole them, too.”

“No, I didn’t. You knew very well who I was by then. And you can’t deny it, Greystoke, you did kiss me back. With flattering enthusiasm. Or will you deny they were your fingers in my hair, your tongue in my mouth?”

At his words, she felt a wave of heat wash over her. From the smug look on his face he could see it, too. “Nonsense. I was surprised,” she said feebly. “I didn’t realize what was happening.”

He smiled, a slow gleam of white teeth. “In that case I shall take care to surprise you more often, Greystoke. The results are always so delightful.”

And before she could blink, he bent and kissed her full on the mouth. He grinned and licked his lips. “Mmm, wild honey,” was all he said. His smile said it all. That and the blood thrumming through her arteries.

“I w-won’t—” she began, when she could gather her wits.

But he was already gone. Whistling.

 
 
DOMINIC EXITED THE SIDE DOOR WITH A GRIN. SHE WAS SO DELIGHTFULLY easy to tease. And such a joy to kiss. The faint taste of honey was still in his mouth. His heart felt lighter than it had in . . . years.

The silent group of waiting people caused the smile to fade from his lips. No matter what she thought, he hadn’t been blind to the dilapidated cottages, the skinny children in their ragged clothes, or the run-down farms in need of new equipment and modern methods. Ever since he came to Wolfestone he’d thought of little else.

Apart from a small, freckle-faced charmer.

His father’s legacy was not what he’d expected. He’d expected a proper Norman-style castle, not some fantastical hodgepodge, part manor house, part castle, part Gothic mansion with a fairy-tale turret thrown in. He’d expected it to be luxurious, filled with beautiful things, not empty, stripped bare, with leaves blowing through empty hallways. He’d expected a flourishing estate, peopled with prosperous tenants who revered the name of Wolfe.

Because everything he’d heard about Wolfestone had suggested just that, and the books and the inventories had confirmed it. Only the books had turned out to be crooked and the inventories no longer accurate.

He’d planned his revenge so carefully. He would sell off the beautiful things, break up the estate, and sell it off in pieces. He would let the Wolfe name die, forgotten, probably despised, and let the famous bloodline end with him.

But his father had already done most of it. The bastard had robbed him once again—this time of his revenge.

And now, looking at the faces of the people waiting in the courtyard, Dominic could not walk away. Not with his self-respect intact.

He moved forward and surveyed them, a dozen or so people with wary hope in their eyes, tamped low against the expectation of disappointment. He could see they’d all made an effort to look their best, the men’s hair slicked back with water, the women’s tidily knotted. Their clothes were threadbare but clean, and attempts had been made to furbish them up. Every face and hand was clean.

“So, you’ve come for work,” he said.

A broad-shouldered man of about his own age stepped forward. “Aye. The Lady told us to come.”

Dominic nodded. “And you would be?”

“Tasker, sir. Jake Tasker.” The man held up his head with an odd mix of defensiveness and pride. His eyes met Dominic’s steadily.

“Tasker,” Dominic repeated the name thoughtfully. She’d mentioned the Taskers and it had rung a bell. The name of Tasker featured on the agent’s books and correspondence. “Stand aside, please.” He gestured to a bench on which an old man was sitting. “I’ll talk to you later. Next?” Dominic looked at a pair of young men, in their early twenties.

A cracked old voice called out from the bench, “Served Wolfes for nigh on six ’undred years, Taskers ’ave.” The sound of spitting followed.

Jake Tasker turned with leashed impatience. “Grandad, shut your gob and come home with me. There be no work for Taskers here.”

The old man stayed put. “Six ’undred years,” he repeated stubbornly.

Dominic ignored him. It was nothing to him how long the old man’s family had worked here. Six hundred years, sixty, or six—it made no difference. It was just employment—work for money, nothing more.

“And the Lady told us to come.”

He was a very irritating old man. Dominic turned an icy glare on him.

The old man let out a gleeful cackle. “Look at that! Cold as an hoarfrost those eyes be. Ah, ye be a true Wolfe o’ Wolfestone, young maister. The blood o’ Hugh Lupus runs cold and fast in ye.”

Dominic blinked. He’d been perfecting that chilling stare since he was a boy. He must be losing his touch. Not only had it completely failed to abash Miss Greystoke, now it caused an old man to cackle with delight and congratulate him on it!

And he did not want it to be something passed down through generations; it was
his
freezing look, dammit!

Jake Tasker gave his grandfather a burning look and began to trudge toward the driveway. Dominic frowned. He needed to speak with Tasker. There were discrepancies in the estate accounts and Dominic had a feeling this man could help him understand exactly what had gone on. He liked the man’s steady blue gaze.

“Tasker, where the devil do you think you’re going?”

“Leaving.”

“Come back here!” Dominic ordered.

The man hesitated, then said, “No point. I’ll not stay to be insulted.”

“No one has offered you insult. But I wish to talk to you, in private,” Dominic said firmly.

Tasker considered his words, then, with a grudging air, returned and sat himself down beside the old man.

Dominic turned back to the other men. He sent two of them to clear up the kitchen garden, two to chop wood and do whatever Mrs. Stokes wanted them to do, and the rest he set to scything the long grass at the front and cleaning out the stables. He would organize a proper schedule of work to begin tomorrow.

Next were a trio of pretty young girls who bobbed flirtatious curtsies and giggled. “Please, sir,” said the tallest. “We be the Tickel girls—Tansy, Tessa, and Tilly—and we be here to clean.”

Tickel girls indeed! Dominic kept a straight face.

The smallest added, “And Mam sent some lemons up for the young miss, too.” She proffered a string bag of lemons.

Dominic nodded. “Take them in to Mrs. Stokes. She will set you girls to work. You other women.” His glance took in the rest. “Report to Mrs. Stokes also.”

They all trooped off to the kitchen and his gaze came to rest on the shriveled little frame of Grandad Tasker, sitting on the bench. The old fellow eyed him with beady expectation. Eighty, if he were a day, Dominic thought. What the devil was he to do with such an ancient? “Mr. Tasker,” he said.

Jake Tasker rose to his feet.

“I meant Mr. Tasker senior,” Dominic corrected. The withered ancient clambered to his feet and straightened with an echo of a military past.

“A man of your age—” Dominic began gently.

The wrinkled face fell. Dominic cursed himself for a fool and continued, “And experience will be invaluable. I need you to, er . . .” He cast around in his mind for something the old man could do. “Supervise the young men who are clearing the grounds. You know what young men are like.”

The old fellow swelled with pride. He gave his grandson a poke in the ribs and said, “See! Six hundred years ain’t fer nothin’. The Lady, she told us Taskers was needed agin! I’d better git off and see what them young layabouts is up to!” He creaked off with a sprightly air of importance.