She pointed at them. “Those are the estate books.” Hot humiliation rose in her cheeks at what he must have seen there. She jabbed her finger accusingly. “You were looking through Brambly’s accounts?”
“Yes.”
“How dare you!” She snatched up the books and cradled them against her chest. “You have no right—”
“I have every right,” he countered evenly. “The farm is now under my oversight, and I cannot make arrangements until I know exactly where it stands financially.”
Where it stood financially was deeply in trouble. She raised her gaze until it locked with his. “How much did you see?”
“Enough,” he answered solemnly.
Sliding the books back into their proper place on the shelf, she raised her chin. “So now you know.”
“Yes,” he answered simply, as if not wanting to worsen her humiliation. Or her ire.
But it was too late for that. She pulled her shoulders back in preparation for battle, then faced him, not bothering to hide her irritation. “And what arrangements have you decided to make?”
For a moment, Edward said nothing as he stared at her, as if carefully considering what he should tell her. Then he offered, “Building repairs and supplies, livestock, new servants to hire and others pensioned, replacement of all the missing household items and furniture.” Each item he ticked off sent a fleeting panic skittering through her. Then he paused, “And you.”
“Me?” she squeaked, wondering how on earth she had been added to a list of farm repairs.
“You need a lady’s maid, a new wardrobe, horses and carriage—”
“No.”
He was visibly surprised at that. “No?”
“No,” she repeated firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Undoubtedly, Your Grace, you are not used to being told no.”
He arched a brow.
“And certainly not by a woman.”
His brow rose impossibly higher.
“That is not what I meant!” Her face flushed hot with quick embarrassment. Oh, she wanted to crawl under the desk and hide! Nothing was innocent around this man, not even casual comments. He twisted everything around. Including her insides. “I meant that anyone who looked at you would see that you’re obviously not the kind of man whom women tell no—”
When he grinned rakishly at her, she snapped her mouth closed, mortified. In trying to explain, she was only digging the hole deeper.
“I think I might find your observations fascinating,” he drawled, his voice nearly a low purr as it fell softly over her like velvet. Good Lord, his voice was velvet…How could something so soft be so torturous? “Go on, then.” He gestured with a wave of his hand as he leaned back against the desk in utter amusement. “Explain to me why women never tell me no.”
She raised her chin, but beneath her indignant scowl, she was deeply unsettled by the intimate turn of the conversation. “I have no idea what other women have told you, Your Grace, but from me, you will only hear no, on every occasion.”
“Miss Benton,” he sighed resignedly, “I truly believe that.”
Kate stared at him, speechless, not knowing whether to be insulted or pleased. Or disappointed.
“So you will be relieved to learn that I’ve also sent for Michael Brannigan, the son of my agent at Hartsfield Park. He’s a good man, and he’ll do a capable job here.” His eyes shined devilishly. “And you can tell him no all you’d like.”
She ignored that barb, if not the quick ire it shot through her. “The farm doesn’t need an agent,” she protested. “I’m responsible for Brambly.”
He sized her up with a glance. “Know how to judge and purchase quality cows and sheep, do you?”
“No,” she replied with a raise of her brow, mockingly sizing him up the way he had just done her. “Do you?”
“No.” When she began to smile in smug victory at his answer, he added, “That’s why I employ Brannigan. He’ll be here within the fortnight.”
Her mouth slapped shut with an audible Humph!
With a grin of amusement at her expense, he circled behind her and pulled the last account book down from the shelf where she had just placed it, then returned to the desk and reached for the quill.
Oh, he was the most infuriating man!
“I want your word to recompense for any salary Brannigan accrues or anything he purchases,” she pressed, “even if the guardianship is proven invalid.”
“You have it,” he agreed, although she saw his jaw tighten at her hope that the agreement was still a mistake.
“I also want final approval of all major decisions regarding the farm.”
He nodded. “As long as they don’t contradict mine.”
Kate clenched her hands into fists. Oh, his arrogance! To persist in looking through the books, to hire an estate agent without her consent—
But as a sickening, inky black sensation of frustrated defeat sank through her, she knew he was right, drat him. If he wanted to take over Brambly and make changes, it was his legal right. There was nothing she could do to stop him.
Feeling the sharp throb of a headache behind her eyes, she spun on her heels to leave. She needed air to clear her head, space to think of what to do next in this battle, and time to slow her pounding heart, which she was beginning to think had nothing to do with her situation and everything to do with the man now responsible for it.
“Katherine.”
She stopped. Steeling herself for whatever new torment he planned on aiming at her, she took a deep breath and faced him. “Yes?”
He rose slowly. “I want to apologize for last night.” He stepped to the front of the desk to lean back against it and bring his dark eyes level with hers. “Those things I told you about the war…Gentlemen should never speak about that, not to a lady.”
Her chest tightened as she caught a glimpse of something softer beneath his hard surface, a refinement beneath the sharp steel. The gentleman beneath the soldier.
Apologizing must have cost him a great deal, even though she suspected it wasn’t the warning he regretted but the way he’d delivered it. He’d wanted her to keep her distance, and judging from the way his arms now crossed his chest, he still did.
Yet he was apologizing, and for the first time since he appeared on her doorstep, she felt hope. For him.
She took a hesitant step toward him. “Actually, I’m glad you told me.”
He snorted a disbelieving laugh.
Approaching him slowly, she maintained a façade far braver than she actually felt. She was certain he wanted to intimidate her, but if he thought she’d back down, well, he was dearly mistaken. She’d seen enough hurt villagers to recognize suffering, including emotional suffering that never healed. Her medical work had made her an expert in reading pain in the depths of their eyes, and this man was wounded. Deeply.
Compelled by the urge to help him, the healer inside her unable to deny comfort even to him, she lifted her palm against his cheek.
He flinched but didn’t pull away, instead remaining as still as a statue beneath her touch, his entire body tense like a taut rope ready to snap.
“Please believe me,” she admitted in carefully chosen words, “that I am relieved you felt the need to reassure me about yourself.”
“I didn’t tell you that to reassure you,” he corrected tightly.
“No, you did it to warn me away.” His eyes flickered, and she knew she was right. “Nevertheless, I found it reassuring.” Her fingertips warmed against his cheek. “It was war, but commanding your men wisely, training them well…How many men did you save, Edward?”
“Not nearly enough.”
“Every man you could,” she countered gently. The horrors he must have seen, the guilt he must be carrying inside him even now…
Imperceptibly, she felt him turn his face into her hand, just a small increase of pressure and warmth against her palm, as if seeking consolation in her touch. Her heart skipped. Perhaps he wasn’t the belligerent tyrant h
e’d tried so hard to portray, after all.
Emboldened, she traced her fingertips across his smooth, freshly shaven face, along the high cheekbone that looked chiseled from marble but felt soft and warm. Did he feel like this everywhere on his body, so smooth and soft on the surface, so hard beneath—
His hand clamped over hers, and she startled with a soft gasp, her heart leaping into her throat.
“And if I had a choice?” he demanded.
“What?” She tugged her hand to free herself, but his fingers held hers so tightly it was impossible to pull away.
“If I killed without remorse?” His eyes locked onto hers. “I’d be a common murderer, deserving of the worst punishment in the world.”
Suspecting they were no longer speaking of the war, but for the life of her unable to fathom his true meaning, she breathed, “Yes.”
“Would I deserve your compassion then?”
“Even more so.” She refused to look away.
He clenched his jaw. “You’re wrong. Some acts can never be forgiven.”
“I never said forgiveness.”
His eyes flickered in incredulousness. “You can be compassionate but not forgive?”
“Yes.” She suspected that the question was some kind of test, and his unyielding expression told her that he didn’t trust her answer.
“Be careful to whom you show compassion, Kate.” His voice lowered to a warning. “You don’t know the extent of the evil that men are capable of committing.”
Her heart thudded, so hard she was certain he must be able to feel it through her fingertips held in his. But shamefully, it wasn’t fear that sent the blood rushing through her ears but dark attraction, and she trembled. “Are you speaking in generalities, Edward? Or do you mean yourself?” She hesitated. “Is that why you shared what you did, to warn me? Well, I simply don’t believe that of you.”
“You should.” He released her hand.
Although she pulled away from him, she remained close enough to catch his scent of leather and soap.
“You’re not capable of it,” she said quietly but confidently, instinctively knowing he was not the kind of man to hurt anyone unprovoked. Not the man who brought a doll to a little girl he’d never met just to reassure her. “To be evil, you’d have to be set on deliberately destroying a man’s life out of pure maliciousness, on taking pleasure in it. You would never do that.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think you know what I’m capable of doing?”
* * *
Edward watched her as she stared back, her lips parted delicately in surprise. He’d flustered her again. Good. He liked putting her off-balance, because the more he could unsettle her, the farther away from him she’d stay.
Oh, she was an intriguing enigma. Young, kindhearted to a fault, and financially on the brink of bankruptcy, she desperately needed funds and an estate agent to manage them, but she was too stubborn to admit it. He’d spent the past two hours combing over Brambly’s books, and the ledgers revealed her situation to be even more dire than he’d assumed. In six months, he calculated, she’d be up against a wall, unable to recover. True, her father was stripping away the household goods one at a time, but only before the creditors could storm the place and do it themselves.
Whether she liked it or not, the guardianship was the only hope she had of saving Brambly. Yet at every step she fought his attempts to help her when as her guardian he could have easily thrown her to the wolves. Instead of being furious, the damned woman should have been grateful.
He would die a very old man before he understood women.
“Building repairs, livestock, and servants,” she answered confidently, as if it were obvious.
He blinked, doubting he would ever understand this one.
“You just took it upon yourself to make Brambly a proper farm again,” she insisted. “I don’t like that you did it without consulting me, but a truly evil man would never even consider doing that.”
“Unless that’s what I want you to believe.”
She scoffed, “Spending thousands of pounds for farm improvements?”
He’d done far more than arrange for farm improvements. He’d arranged to take care of her for the rest of her life, only she didn’t know that yet. So many lives had been ruined the night of the accident. The least he could do was save one innocent from the wreckage. Even this mule-headed one.
“If that’s your diabolical plan, then you’re doing a very poor job of being evil. Unless, of course, you’d like to prove exactly how terrible you are by canceling every arrangement you’ve made and letting me return to my normal life.” With a rebellious lift of her chin, she reached around him to snatch the ledger from the desk, then slipped the book back into its place on the shelf. “In which case, I will gladly agree that you are wholly wicked, worse than Lucifer himself.”
As she faced him, she arched a brow as if daring him to challenge her and make good on her offer to rescind all his arrangements and go on his way. After all, he knew she’d wanted exactly that since the moment he arrived.
But he didn’t rise to the bait, instead choosing to stare at her silently as he realized exactly what kind of trap he’d stumbled into. Agree or disagree, either way she’d won, and he was intelligent enough to know to keep quiet.
“Good day, then.” She left before he could stop her again.
Shoving himself away from the desk, Edward cursed and crossed to the window overlooking the lawn. She was wrong about him. So very wrong…and the sooner she realized that, the better off they’d both be.
Of course he was capable of committing evil. Hadn’t he spent the past ten years proving that? And he had been very, very good at it. Coldly cutting down men in battle, coveting his brother’s wife, ruining Phillip Benton’s life to secure his revenge—
And now Kate.
Blowing out a harsh breath, he ran his hand through his hair, noting with self-recrimination that his fingers shook. Unbidden dreams came last night of having her naked and eager beneath him, and with the guardianship giving him ultimate power over her, didn’t the damned woman realize just how capable he was of ruining her? And in that sin, he would take immense pleasure.
He saw her emerge from the house into the sunshine of the side garden. With a wide-brimmed hat flopping around her face, she held her skirts hitched so she could walk quickly away from the house and from him. With every other stride, he glimpsed a flash of shapely calf and the cold glint of the hand trowel she grasped like a sword.
“Like an avenging angel,” he muttered, smiling grimly at the perfect picture of female contradiction.
Katherine Benton surprised him. He wasn’t certain why he’d felt the need last night to warn her about himself or why he felt it necessary to apologize this morning, but he hadn’t scared her off. She was tougher than she appeared, and he supposed he had Phillip Benton to thank for that—years of neglecting his daughter had made her independent and strong, in both mind and spirit, and she certainly wasn’t going to be easily cowed.
Still, he’d tried to warn her, to keep her away and prepare her for the truth about him and her father when it did eventually emerge. Instead of taking the warning, though, she’d tried to console him, as if he weren’t already beyond redemption. As if he could still be saved.
For a brief moment when she was touching him, he almost felt as if he could be. His chest warmed from the soft caress of her hand on his cheek, and he craved her forgiveness and consolation even as he tried to convince her he didn’t deserve salvation. He could almost believe—
No.
Her touch had been arousing, he’d admit that, especially since he hadn’t been inside a woman in over a year. Especially since he found the verbal sparring and her quick mind as equally arousing as her body. And especially since he was finding it harder and harder to remember that she was his enemy’s daughter and his virginal ward. That was all.
“You don’t want to know what I’m capable of doing, angel,” he murmu
red as she vanished from sight behind a stone wall. “And God help you if you try.”
CHAPTER SIX
In her laboratory, Kate rolled the bandage around Mr. Putnam’s forearm where a large splinter from an accident at the mill had pierced his skin. He’d come to her to have the dressing changed, and she’d cleaned it carefully, applied a fresh salve, and was now carefully securing a new bandage. As she worked, he related the latest village gossip, although most of the tongues were wagging about her and the duke.
Wonderful. That was the last thing she needed, to be placed at the center of local gossip. Wasn’t it already bad enough that the villagers snickered about how she broke all propriety by trying to be a woman doctor? And yet, she mused as she tied off the bandage, whenever any of them were hurt, she was the first person they sought out.
“Come back in five days, and I’ll change it again,” she told Mr. Putnam as she washed her hands.
Five days. Exactly how long it had been since Edward arrived at Brambly and turned her life upside down.
For the first three days, she’d successfully avoided him by visiting the village, keeping to the woods, and even hiding in the dusty hayloft of the old barn, which seemed like a good idea until she’d let loose a sneezing fit that led him right to her. On the fourth day, he’d insisted she spend the morning showing him the property, so she’d insisted they bring Tom Dobson, the blacksmith’s son she’d hired to tend to the horses she didn’t own. They’d ended up at the river, where Edward showed the boy how to fish while she watched them from a blanket under the tree and grudgingly accepted that perhaps—just perhaps—spending the day with Edward hadn’t been so awful after all.
But today, she had to get back to her work.
“Thank you, miss.” Mr. Putnam slid off the stool and held his hat a bit sheepishly in his hands as he approached her. “Me an’ my wife agreed—yer to have this.”
He reached into the hat and withdrew a coin, then held it out toward her.
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