rest of the lint bunnies.’
She choked. The thought of this man as a lint bunny...
Mrs O’Reilly swept in then with coffee and placed it before her with exaggerated care. ‘Mr O’Farrell’s just phoned,’ she told Finn, stepping back from the table and wiping her hands on her skirt as if she’d just done something dirty. ‘He’s the lawyer for the estate. He’s been staying in Galway and he can be here in half an hour. I can ring him if that’s not satisfactory.’
Finn raised his brows at Jo. ‘Is that satisfactory with you?’
‘I...yes.’
‘We can see him then,’ Finn told her. ‘In Lord Conaill’s study, please. Could you light the fire?’
‘The drawing room would be...’
‘The study, please,’ Finn said inexorably and the woman stared at him.
Finn gazed calmly back. Waiting.
For a moment Jo thought she wouldn’t answer. Finally she gave an angry tut and nodded.
‘Yes, My Lord.’
‘Mrs O’Reilly?’
‘Yes.’
‘You haven’t asked Miss Conaill what she’d like for breakfast.’
‘Toast,’ Jo said hurriedly.
‘And marmalade and a fruit platter,’ Finn added. ‘And I trust it’ll be up to the excellent standard you served me. You do realise you burned Miss Conaill’s dinner last night?’
He was holding the woman’s gaze, staring her down, and with a gaze like that there was never any doubt as to the outcome.
‘I’m sorry, My Lord. It won’t happen again.’
‘It won’t,’ Finn told her and gave a curt nod and went back to his newspaper.
The woman disappeared. Jo gazed after her with awe and then turned back to Finn. He was watching her, she found. He’d lowered his paper and was smiling at her, as if giving the lie to the gruff persona she’d just witnessed.
And it was too much. She giggled. ‘Where did you learn to be a lord?’ she demanded. ‘Or is that something that’s born into you with the title?’
‘I practice on cows,’ he said with some pride. ‘I’ve had six months to get used to this Lordship caper. The cows have been bowing and scraping like anything.’ He put his paper down and grinned. ‘Not my brothers so much,’ he admitted. ‘They haven’t let me live it down since they heard. Insubordination upon insubordination. You’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘Do you guys share the farm?’ She held her coffee, cradling its warmth. The dining room had an open fire in the hearth, the room was warm enough, but the sheer size of it was enough to make her shiver.
‘I own my parents’ farm outright, but it wasn’t much of an inheritance when I started. My brothers all left for what they saw as easier careers and they’ve done well. Me? I’ve put my heart and soul into the farm and it’s paid off.’
‘You’re content?’
He grinned at that. ‘I’m a lord. How can I not be content?’
‘I meant with farming.’
‘Of course I am. I don’t need a castle to be content. Cows are much more respectful than housekeepers.’
‘I’m sure they are,’ she said, thinking the man was ridiculous. But she kind of liked it.
She kind of liked him.
‘No wife and family?’ she asked, not that it was any of her business but she might as well ask.
‘No.’ He shrugged and gave a rueful smile. ‘I’ve had a long-term girlfriend who’s recently decided long-term is more than long enough. See me suffering from a broken heart.’
‘Really?’
‘Not really.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll live.’
And then Mrs O’Reilly came sniffing back in with toast and he followed her every move with an aristocratically raised eyebrow until she disappeared again. It was a bit much for Jo.
‘You do the Lord thing beautifully.’
‘You should try.’
‘Not me. I’m inheriting what there is to inherit and then I’m out of here.’
‘Maybe that’s wise,’ Finn said thoughtfully. ‘From all accounts, your grandpa wasn’t the happiest of men. Maybe being aristocratic isn’t all it’s cut out to be.’
‘But being content is,’ she said softly. ‘I’m glad...I’m glad, Finn Conaill, that you’re content.’
* * *
The lawyer arrived just as Mrs O’Reilly finished clearing breakfast. Jo had had half a dozen emails from this man, plus a couple of phone calls from his assistant. She’d checked him out on the Internet. He was a partner in a prestigious Dublin law firm. She expected him to be crusty, dusty and old.
He turned up in bike leathers. He walked in, blond, blue-eyed, his helmet tucked under one arm, a briefcase by his side, and she found herself smiling as she stood beside Finn to greet him. There were things she’d been dreading over this meeting. Being intimidated by the legal fraternity was one of them, but this guy was smiling back at her, dumping his gear, holding out his hand in greeting. A fellow biker.
‘Whose is the bike?’ he asked.
‘Mine,’ she said. ‘Hired in Dublin.’
‘You should have let me know. My father would disapprove but I know a place that hires vintage babies. Or there are places that hire Harleys. We could have set one up for you.’
‘You’re kidding. A Harley?’ She couldn’t disguise the longing.
‘No matter. After this morning, I imagine you’ll be able to buy half a dozen Harleys.’ He glanced at Finn and smiled. ‘And yours will be the Jeep?’
And there it was, the faintest note of condescension. Jo got it because she was used to it, and she glanced up at Finn’s face and she saw he got it too. And his face said he was used to it as well.
The lawyer’s accent was strongly English. She’d read a bit of Ireland’s background before she came. The lawyer would be public school educated, she thought. Finn...not so much. But she watched his face and saw the faint twitch at the edges of his mouth, the deepening of the creases at his eyes and thought, He’s amused by it.
And she thought, You’d be a fool to be condescending to this man.
‘I’m the Jeep,’ he conceded.
‘And the new Lord Conaill of Glenconaill,’ the lawyer said
