morning, once the papers are signed.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘It can’t be done. The money only comes to you if you marry. I will put the best legal minds to work on finding a solution, and in the meantime you will remain here.’
‘I can’t stay. I am expected back at the school.’
‘Then tell me what connection you are to the earl.’ His fingers drummed an impatient tattoo. ‘His by-blow, perhaps?’ he said flatly.
‘I beg your pardon?’ She stared into the shadows, trying to see his expression, trying to see if he was jesting, while her mind skittered this way and that. ‘You think me the late earl’s daughter?’
‘You look like a Beresford.’
He thought they were family? Her chest squeezed. Her heart struggled to beat. The air in the room seemed suddenly thick, too dense to breathe. That had been her first thought, also. Her wild hope, but not in the way he was suggesting. Good Lord, did he think the earl was requiring his grandson to marry his aunt? Technically incest, even if he carried not a drop of Beresford blood. ‘That is disgusting.’
‘Exactly.’
She leaped to her feet and made for the door. ‘I will leave first thing in the morning.’
Before she could reach the door, he was there, one hand holding it shut while he gazed down into her face. For a big man, he moved very quickly. And surprisingly quietly.
Judging by the tightness of his mouth and the flash of steel in his eyes, he was not pleased. ‘You, Miss Wilding, are not going anywhere until I say you may.’
She shrank back against the door. ‘You have no authority over me.’
‘Apparently, I do.’
She gasped. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘According to the solicitor, you are my ward.’
‘Utter nonsense.’
‘Savary informed me that he told you that you need my permission to wed.’
‘That does not make you my guardian.’
‘No, but since I have taken over the responsibilities of the earldom, that makes me your guardian.’
‘The late earl was not my guardian. I have no need of a guardian, I have lived by my own efforts for years.’
‘You have lived off this estate.’ He pointed to a ledger on the desk. ‘Each quarter a sum of money was paid to a Mrs Sally Ladbrook for your keep and education. A very princely sum, I might add.’ His gaze dropped to her chest, which she realised was expanding and contracting at a very rapid rate to accommodate her breathing.
His eyes came back to her face and his jaw hardened. ‘And then you show up here in rags hoping for more.’
Damn him and his horrid accusations. Her hand flashed out. He caught her wrist. His fingers were like an iron band around her flesh. ‘You’ll need to be quicker to catch me off guard.’
‘What kind of person do you think I am?’
His expression darkened. ‘A Beresford.’ He cast her hand aside.
Never had she heard such hatred directed at a single word. It must have tasted like acid on his tongue.
‘You are a Beresford.’
His eyes widened. ‘I doubt there are many who would agree. Certainly not me.’
‘Then you should not be inheriting the title.’
‘You are changing the subject again, Miss Wilding.’
The subject was as slippery as a bucket of eels. ‘I have had quite enough of your accusations.’
‘Are you saying you didn’t come here seeking money?’
She coloured. ‘No. Well, yes, for the school. It needs a new roof.’ Among many other things it needed. ‘But I have never met the earl before last night. And there certainly have been no vast sums of money coming to Ladbrook’s or to me.’
He glanced across the room at his desk, at the account book, clearly not believing a word.
A rush of tears burned behind her eyes, because she knew it could not be true, unless … No, she would not believe it. ‘I need to go back to the school. I need to speak to Mrs Ladbrook.’
He stared into her face, his gaze so intense, she wanted to look away. But she couldn’t. Didn’t dare, in case he thought she was lying.
Why did it matter what he thought?
Yet she would not stand down. Once more there was heat in that grey gaze, like molten silver, and the warmth seemed to set off a spark in her belly that flashed up to her face. Her cheeks were scalding, her heart pounding against the wall of her chest as if she had run a great race.
Slowly his hand moved from the door to her shoulder, stroked down her arm, his fingers inexorably sliding over muscle and bone as if he would learn the contours of her arm.
His expression was grim, as if this was not something he wanted to do at all, yet he did not stop.
She tipped her face upwards, her lips parted to protest … Only to accept the soft brush of his warm dry velvety lips. Little thrills raced through her stomach. Chased across her skin.
And then his mouth melded to hers, his tongue stroking the seam of her mouth, the sweet sensation melting her bones until she parted her lips on a gasp of sheer bliss and tasted his tongue with her own. Feverishly, their mouths tasted each other while she clung to those wide shoulders for support and his hands at her waist held her tight against his hard body.
She could feel the thunder of his heart where his chest pressed against her breasts, hear the rush of her blood in her veins. It was shocking. And utterly mesmerising.
On an oath, he stepped back, breaking all contact, shock blazing in his eyes.
The thrills faded to little more than echoes of the sensations they had been a moment ago. What on earth was she doing? More to the point, what was he doing? ‘How dare you, sir?’ she said, pulling her shawl tightly around her.
At that he gave a short laugh. ‘How dare I what?’
‘Kiss me.’
‘You kissed me.’
Had she? She didn’t think she had, but she wasn’t exactly sure what had happened. Unless … ‘Don’t think to force me into marrying you by ruining my reputation. You see, that kind of thing doesn’t matter to me.’
His
