longer she would flee, she tapped sharply on the door.
Both he and the dog looked up. Thankfully, the dog’s head dropped back to its paws and its eyes slid closed.
But his lordship was a whole different matter. His whole attention focused on her. She could feel it like a touch on her face. For a moment, a very brief moment, warmth flickered in his eyes as if he was pleased to see her.
His gaze shuttered. His jaw hardened.
Perhaps not, then. Perhaps he had been expecting someone else, for a moment later his lips formed a flat line and his eyes were icy cold. Almost as if he was angry. And yet she did not feel as if his anger was directed at her. It seemed to be turned inwards.
He left the hearth and strode to the middle of the room. ‘Miss Wilding,’ he said with a stiff bow.
She quelled the urge to run and dipped a curtsy. ‘Lord Beresford.’
‘Have you once more lost your way? Did you need an escort back to your chamber? Allow me to ring the bell for Manners.’
The irony in his tone was not lost on her even as his deep voice made her heart jolt, before continuing its rapid knocking against her ribs. Never in her life had she been so nervous around a man. Not that she met very many men in her line of work. Fathers, mostly. In a hurry to depart. Or men pursuing her girls and needing to be kept at bay.
She decided to ignore his jibe and boldly stepped into the room. ‘May I have a word with you, please, your lordship?’
He frowned darkly, but gestured for her to sit in the comfortably stuffed chair in front of the desk. He went around and sat on the other side, clearing a space before him, stacking papers and account books to one side. His face was almost entirely in shadow, while she sat in the full light of the lamp. ‘How may I be of service?’ he asked, politely enough to almost settle her nerves.
‘We must discuss this will.’
She sensed him stiffen, though his hands, linked together on the ink-stained wood, remained completely relaxed. He had strong hands with blunt-tipped fingers. Practical hands, bronzed by wind and weather and scarred across the knuckles. Labourer’s hands rather than those of a gentleman.
After a small pause, he sighed, a small exhale of air, as if he had been holding his breath. As if she had caught him by surprise. ‘I suppose now is as good a time as any.’ His voice was expressionless.
‘Was the lawyer able to provide any advice on how the terms might be broken?’
‘No. You are perfectly safe on that score.’
He thought her a fortune hunter. The desire to bash him over the head with something rose up in her breast.
But how could he not, given the terms of the will?
The chill in the air was palpable. The suspicion. ‘Perhaps you would like to explain why the earl … my grandfather,’ he choked out the last word, ‘would leave the bulk of his fortune to you?’
‘He is the benefactor of the school where I grew up and now work. He supported me there when I was orphaned. That is all I know.’
The earl made a soft sound of derision.
She bridled. ‘It is true. I swear it.’
His hands flattened on the table. ‘Then he was not your lover?’
She gasped. ‘You are jesting.’
The silence said he was not.
‘How dare you suggest such a thing?’ She shot to her feet.
He followed. ‘Sit,’ he said coldly. ‘You wanted to talk. Let us have this out.’
‘Not if you are going to insult me.’
‘Sit of your own volition or by my will.’ His voice was soft but the menace was unmistakable.
She did not doubt for a moment that the brute could overpower her. ‘Touch me and I will scream.’
His face darkened. ‘And who will come to your aid, do you think?’ he asked softly.
No one. She swallowed.
He let go a displeased sigh. ‘Please, Miss Wilding. Take your seat. You are right, we have things we need to discuss.’
For a moment she hesitated, but it was foolish to dash off having worked up the courage to face him. She sat and folded her hands in her lap. ‘Very well, but do not cast aspersions on my character.’
His gaze didn’t waver from her face. ‘Look at this from my perspective. I am trying to understand why my grandfather left you his fortune. Lover is an obvious answer.’
Her hackles rose again. She hung on to her anger. ‘Isn’t it more likely I did him some favour? Perhaps rescued him from danger.’
He snorted. ‘What sort of danger?’
‘He could have ridden past Ladbrook’s School where I teach one day and been set upon by footpads. Seeing him from the classroom window, I might have charged out to save him with my pupils at my heels. As you know, there is nothing more daunting to the male species than the high-pitched squeals of a gaggle of females, particularly when armed with parasols.’
Oh dear, now where had all that ridiculousness come from? Her stomach tightened. Rarely did she let her tongue run away with her these days. It seemed she needed to get a firmer grip on her anger.
He picked up a quill and twirled it in those strong fingers. Fascinated, she watched the only sign she’d ever seen that he was not completely in control. ‘But it didn’t happen that way,’ he said drily.
‘No. But you must admit it is just as plausible as your scenario. He was a very old man.’
‘You think to toy with me, Miss Wilding? I can assure you that is a very dangerous game and not one you are equipped to play.’
‘I have no idea why he left his money to me in this fashion.’
‘Let us hope you do not. If I discover that you are a willing instrument in this plot of his, things will not go well for you.’
The air left her lungs in a rush at the obvious threat. ‘I can assure you …’
‘You need assure me of nothing. There will be no marriage.’
‘You must have done something to deserve so terrible a fate?’
He didn’t seem to notice the irony in her tone. ‘I drew breath when I was born.’ The quill snapped.
She jumped at the sound.
He tossed the two pieces aside.
A shiver ran down her back. She fought her instinct for sympathy. ‘A little melodramatic, isn’t it?’
‘Much like your tale of rescue.’
She frowned. It was time
