While Robin gulped greedy draughts of the cold water, Neville doffed his hat to the two women. Perhaps he should increase Olivia’s doubts, not assuage them.
“I heard splashing.” He grinned. “Never tell me you two were swimming. Anyone coming along the road might have interrupted you, as I very nearly did.”
Olivia went pale, her eyes glued to his. Young Sarah blushed. “I told Olivia that might happen. Didn’t I?” She swiveled an accusing stare on her older, more decorous sibling. “I told you we might get caught.”
Neville nudged Robin to cross the river, circling around the deeper area where they’d frolicked. “It’s fortunate I didn’t arrive any sooner.”
Olivia grimaced but raised her chin a notch. “I’m certain your whistling would have alerted us in sufficient time to preserve our dignity. Come, Sarah. No doubt supper is awaiting.”
The girl hung back. “Perhaps Lord Hawke would like to have supper with us.”
“As a matter of fact I was heading over to Byrde Manor to see how you were settling in.” He dismounted, then handed the reins to Sarah. “Would you like to ride Robin? I’ll keep your sister company on the walk back.”
“Oh yes. Thank you.”
“Now, Sarah,” Olivia protested.
But Neville cut her off. “It’s all right.” He tucked Olivia’s hand firmly beneath his arm. “She’s an excellent rider and Robin’s a sensible mount. Besides, this will give us a chance to talk.”
“To talk?” Olivia echoed as Sarah leapt into the saddle with the grace of a natural-born equestrian. That her toes barely reached the stirrups was no impediment at all to the girl.
“Yes, talk,” Neville replied as Sarah took off with a jaunty wave. “Unless there is something else you would rather we do.”
Olivia sucked in a quick breath. From the moment Neville’s whistling had drifted to them her pulse had set up a blistering pace. She was as aware of his presence as if he carried an aura about him, of his scent and the heat of him beneath the cloth of his coat sleeve. Even worse, she was excruciatingly conscious of her half-dressed state, her skin still damp—the trickle of a drop of water down the back of her left leg. It coursed down her thigh and over the sensitive skin behind her knee, as arousing as the stroke of a fingertip.
Of his fingertip.
This time her breath came out in a little groan.
“Well, Olivia?” he prompted, his voice low and warm and far too near her ear. “Did you have something in mind other than talking?”
Somehow she gathered her flustered wits and managed a disapproving expression. “Are you never to cease this useless baiting, Lord Hawke? We are neighbors. We shall never be anything more.”
“And why not? I don’t see why we couldn’t come to an arrangement that would please us both.”
Olivia tugged her hand from his hold and stared at him incredulously. “An arrangement? What do you mean? Surely you can’t be—I hope this is not your idea of a marriage proposal.”
One of his dark brows arched up in surprise. One side of his mouth crooked down in a sardonic half-smile. “A marriage proposal?” He shook his head. “You’ve made your position on my suitability for marriage very clear. No, my dear Olivia. It is not marriage I have in mind—unless, of course, you are so inclined. I was thinking, rather, of a very different sort of proposition for you.”
Chapter 18
“A proposition?” Olivia could feel her cheeks heat despite her best effort to remain cool and in control. The man was incorrigible, even sober! “I hope this is not some attempt to insult me,” she continued, tight-lipped, “for that would bode very ill for our future as neighbors.”
“Insult you?” He pressed one hand to his chest in feigned shock. One very tan, very long-fingered hand, she noticed to her own chagrin. It was not a soft hand. Indeed, it showed the calluses and strength of a man who worked hard. But it was a gentleman’s hand nonetheless, elegant and neatly manicured. With an effort she forced her gaze back up to his face, only to find devilment lurking there, devilment and temptation—and a more virile sort of danger than she was wholly prepared to face.
She clenched her teeth and focused on the springy woodland ground before her, making determined strides for Byrde Manor and safety. One step, two steps. Keep going forward no matter what outrageous remark he comes up with.
Of course, with his long legs he kept easy pace with her. “It is a business proposition I have for you, Olivia, nothing more sinister than that. Certainly not what your wicked mind is conjuring.”
She ignored the last part of his statement. “A business proposition?” She kept her eyes on the clearing ahead that signaled the road and her escape from these green, enclosing woodlands. But he caught her arm before they reached the road and her nervous momentum swung her around to face him. That his eyes glittered with amusement at her expense did nothing to improve her mood.
“What is it, then?” she demanded, trying fruitlessly to tug her arm from his hold. “And why can’t it wait?”
“Wait for what? Until your mother or brother is here to handle it? I was given to understand that Byrde Manor is to be yours.”
“It is.” Olivia jutted out her jaw and tried to tamp down her unruly emotions. She must not let him intimidate her, nor work his rakish charms on her. “All right then. I am not going to bolt, so you may let go of my wrist and tell me whatever it is you have on your mind.”
For a long moment their eyes held and she had the distinct feeling of being probed by his intent gaze, of being examined far deeper than merely the surface of eyes and cheeks, nose and lips. Disconcerting as that would be, this was even worse. At least those strong fingers of his had unwrapped from her wrist, letting her reclaim her hand. She stepped back and averted her gaze, but still she felt the imprint of his grip—and of him.
He folded his hands behind his back. “I have been aware for some time that your estate here has not been well managed. No doubt you have already discovered the status of the house. The grounds, however, fare no better. Roads rutted, stone walls in disrepair. The hedgerows require upkeep and the wood lot desperately needs a woodsman’s eye for selective cutting and clearing to maximize its output.”
He was right, of course, but still Olivia bristled. “I hope you do not blame Mr. Hamilton for everything. I am well aware that I have been remiss in my guidance to him in the past, but I intend to correct that situation.”
He nodded solemnly. “Do you intend to put your fallow fields to use?”
Her fallow fields? Olivia chewed the inside corner of her mouth. He really had come to discuss business, and for a moment she was sorely miffed. But it was a brief moment, and she swiftly regained her composure—and her good sense.
“Are you saying you are interested in making use of those fields?”
He stared at her a long unsettling moment. “I am. If we can come to terms.”
Olivia nodded, momentarily at a loss for words. “What … ah … Which particular fields are you interested in?”
“All of them. All that I can get,” he answered, his moody blue eyes growing darker by the moment.
Were they still speaking of fallow fields?
Then Sarah called out to them to hurry, he looked up, and that moment of crackling intensity ended. Olivia sucked in a shaky breath, feeling as if she’d forgotten all about breathing these past few minutes with him.
With a proprietary move he took her elbow and guided her toward the road again. Once they caught up with Sarah, prancing Robin up and down the lane as if he were a show horse, he released Olivia’s arm. “If you are available tomorrow morning,” he said to her, “perhaps you will join me for a ride and we can survey the fields in question.”
Again Olivia nodded, then caught herself. She seemed to be doing that a lot, nodding agreement with him and becoming tongue-tied and breathless, like a green girl who had never held a conversation with a single gentleman before. She would do better to emulate his businesslike demeanor. “Very well,” she
said with a lift of her chin. “Tomorrow, say, nine o’clock?”
“As you wish. I’ll bring you a riding mare.”
Sarah pulled Robin to a halt before them. “You’re going riding tomorrow? May I go along too?”
“What a good idea—”
“No,” Neville cut in before Olivia could complete her thought. “Not this time, Sarah. But I’ll make it up to you next week and take you fishing. All right?” He reached up a hand to help the girl dismount.
Though Sarah gave a great, disappointed sigh, it swiftly turned into a sunny smile. “Oh, very well. But mark my words, I shall hold you to your promise.”
Olivia was hard-pressed not to gape at Sarah, for she could barely credit her sister’s response. Had she been the one to deny the girl’s request, Sarah would have pleaded and cajoled all evening, for the child did not like taking no for an answer. But not a word of argument did the scamp give Neville Hawke. It occurred to Olivia that the girl showed a real knack for dealing with men. In a few more years their mother was going to have a serious problem on her hands.
“Till tomorrow,” Lord Hawke said, mounting the horse and tipping his beaver hat.
“Yes. Till tomorrow,” Olivia replied in a subdued tone. She didn’t realize she was staring after him until Sarah giggled.
“What?” She glanced peevishly at the damp-haired child.
“You needn’t scowl that way, Livvie, for I’ve done nothing to earn such black looks from you. Didn’t I just try to save you from being alone with him tomorrow?”
“Oh, really? Well, if that was your intent, why did you ride off just now and leave us alone in the wood lot?”
Bones had rejoined them now that they were away from the water, and Sarah bent to give him a hug. “Your bodice is all wet,” she pointed out, staring at Olivia’s chest and laughing. Then she ran off toward the house with the dog baying at her heels, leaving Olivia to contemplate with horror the wet streak her hair had left across her bosom. The wet streak that had the summer-weight muslin clinging in the most revealing manner to her left breast, outlining every curve, including the peaked silhouette of her taut nipple.
“Oh, my goodness,” she muttered, jerking her gaze to Neville Hawke’s distant figure. Her shoulders sagged with dismay and her mouth turned down in despair. Somehow she always came off the worse in her dealings with Neville Hawke. Somehow she always felt gauche or naive or simply stupid.
With her fists knotted she started across the road and stalked down the uneven driveway. Well, he would not catch her unawares tomorrow, she vowed. She would be perfectly groomed, perfectly attired, and perfectly prepared for his perverse combination of charm and danger. She would listen to his proposal for the fields he had his eye on, but she would not be pushed into any hasty decisions.
Then it occurred to her that nine o’clock was awfully early in the day for Neville Hawke, considering his strange nocturnal habits. She stomped into the kitchen with her wet chemise balled in her hand. It would serve him right to rise so early, she decided. She didn’t care if he was exhausted during their ride, with eyes burning from lack of sleep. She would be all business. And the first thing she must do to prepare was consult with Mr. Hamilton.
Neville made sure to arrive early, for he wanted to be invited in for breakfast. It was not that he wished a second morning meal. Rather he wanted to see Olivia in her role as lady of the house. But as if she had anticipated his actions, she was already outside in the forecourt, instructing old Taran McCade and his middle grandson about the layout for a wheelbarrow full of ivy cuttings they were to add to the barren flower beds flanking the manor’s front entrance.
She was dressed in a proper riding habit, a teal-colored muslin simply adorned with brass buttons and decorative stitching along the collar and cuffs and down the front of the bodice. Around her throat she’d knotted a filmy scarf in a creamy color that somehow emphasized both the graceful length and slender delicacy of that portion of her anatomy. Her bountiful hair she’d caught up in an artful knot at the back of her head, though how that silken mass defied gravity was quite beyond his ken. As he sat his hunter, taking advantage of her ignorance of his presence, he was struck by the image of him freeing that delicious length of hair. Of him tumbling the warm, springy mass down her back and filling his hands with the gleaming strands. Of weaving his fingers through it and flinging aside pins and combs and that ridiculously cocky little hat perched over her brow.
So real was the image that his brow beaded with sweat. He shifted restlessly in his saddle, and it was at that moment she looked up and spotted him.
The impact on Neville was powerful enough that even his animal felt it, for the horse skittered backward and half reared before he could settle him down and proceed forward. Olivia made some last remark to old McCade, then turned to face Neville. She looked so cool and collected it only increased his agitation. He would never make it through the morning if he began it in such an inappropriate state of physical arousal.
“Good morning, Lord Hawke.” Her smile was bland with no hint of her thoughts showing. “Aren’t you the prompt one.” She freed her riding gloves from her waistband and began casually to don them. “I’m afraid when I suggested nine o’clock that I’d forgotten your penchant for sleeping in. I do hope my own early habits have not inconvenienced you too badly.”
Her thoughts weren’t showing, but her claws plainly were. Neville smiled, more sure of himself now, and he leaned forward. “Is it a truthful answer you want, Olivia, or would a banal pleasantry suit you better?”
Her eyes narrowed, just a fraction. Then she seemed to grab hold of her temper and tamp it down. Again she gave him that utterly false smile. “Why, the banal pleasantry, of course.” She shifted her gaze to the mare he’d brought for her to ride. “What a pretty animal. Tell me about her.”
And so they began their morning tour of her fields, with her obviously determined to keep their conversation remote and focused entirely on the business at hand. Meanwhile, although Neville remained equally intent on the business of obtaining the leases he sought, he intended also to batter down the walls of her reserve, for he knew they were not so strong as she would like to pretend.
He didn’t quite understand what drove him, or why she had become such a challenge to him, one he apparently was unable to resist. But as they followed a rutted cart path that ran beside the vine-covered spring house, then past a half-dozen sadly neglected beehives, he accepted the challenge as fact. If there’d been any last lingering doubt in his mind, yesterday’s inspiring view of her as water nymph had banished it completely.
He meant to have Olivia Byrde to wife, and pursuing the land leases gave him the best opportunity to court her. If she could see him in a better light, as a careful and responsible land owner, it might soften her view of him as a cad of her father’s ilk.
“You have a very nice estate here, Olivia. Enough fertile fields to provide a good crop for the house and for your people. Pasture enough to run your own livestock or lease it out. Fishing rights to a substantial portion of the prettiest river in the Borders.”
“Yes, it is very fine—or it could be. And don’t forget the hunting park,” she added.
“The hunting park,” he echoed, grinning. “Perhaps down in the south of England they’re called parks. But I’d better term it a forest, rugged and wild, as is everything in Scotland.” That drew a sidelong glance from her and for a moment their eyes locked together. But she swiftly looked away and returned to her interested perusal of everything they passed. “Where is the northernmost boundary of Byrde Manor? Do you know?”
Neville gestured with his left hand. “Up that long hill, then down to a narrow creek. Would you like to see it?”
She shook her head. “Perhaps another time. Do you know where the best grousing fields are?”
“Just beyond that last overgrown pasture.”
“The field you want to run your flock on.”
“The very one.”
She was
silent a moment. “I should think your sheep would not like shooters so nearby.”
“Sheep are rotated, Olivia, from field to field. If you overpopulate a field, the pasture gets cropped too low, down to the roots, and eventually the crop is depleted. With more fields to rotate my flock through, I can increase the number of sheep. During the hunting season I will keep them in fields sufficiently distant from the shooting. I wouldn’t want some drunken fool mistaking my animals for a deer or boar,” he added.
This time her gaze met with his and held, and he realized he’d given her just the opening she wanted. “And you, of course, are well acquainted with the proclivities of drunken fools.”
He grinned. “Touché. But Olivia, I have overimbibed but once in your presence. Do you plan never to forgive me for that single transgression?”
She did not smile back. “One transgression?” Her russet brows arched.
Neville shrugged but maintained his good humor. “Are you speaking of our several kisses now? For if you are, I must confess that I will never be able to consider those three kisses as transgressions, not when—”
“Four,” Olivia interrupted, her lips pursed in disapproval. “Not three, but four. And I do think of them as transgressions.”
“But you participated so eagerly,” he countered. “And there were only three. Near the stream in Doncaster; at the town dance; and in the Cummingses’ garden.”
Her frown deepened and anger flashed in her eyes. “What of that last night of our journey, at the Bull’s Manger in Prudhoe? You forget to mention that kiss.”
“What?” He stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Oho. So you have forgotten. No doubt you were too drunk to remember. But I remember it. Very well.”
Neville’s chest was suddenly tight, and the pounding of his heart seemed to reverberate through his entire body. Once before they’d discussed his behavior of that night. But she’d said nothing about him kissing her. Had he kissed her? He couldn’t remember. Had he done anything more than merely kiss her? He was afraid to find out.
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