in that world beyond the drawing rooms. When their eyes had met across the back of his stallion, she’d felt a connection; two wayward souls contemplating the merits of landowning against the odds of their natural tendencies. It would be somewhat comedic if the connection hadn’t been so strong.
Aurora laid out the dinner things, setting the earthenware plates down on the plank table with a harder thud than she’d intended. She tried to remember anything, everything, Petra or Tessa might have mentioned in passing about Crispin. There was very little she could recall. She could hear his boots coming down the short hall from the stables. In moments he’d be there in her meagre rooms, thanks to her impetuous offer, and she would have to live with it.
‘Smells good.’ Crispin ducked into the room under the low-beamed door. He was all male, all six foot two and change of him. He positively radiated potent masculinity and Aurora wondered what other impetuous decisions she might be tempted to make before the night was over.
Crispin had taken time to wash off at the pump outside in the yard. Leftover droplets of water glistened at his neck where his shirt opened in a V, offering a small glimpse of his chest. She smiled at the interesting dichotomy he posed; a man who cared enough to wash before dinner, but had no use for the finer rules of gentlemanly dining that demanded he eat with a waistcoat and jacket on. Aurora doubted one ever caught Dursley dining in his shirt sleeves.
‘Stew and fresh bread,’ Aurora announced, placing a pewter plate laden with slices of dark country bread on the table. ‘Sit down, I’ll have the stew on in a minute.’ She was suddenly conscious of his eyes on her, following her movements. She told herself it was to be expected. Her quarters were small—where else was he supposed to look? It was only natural to be interested in the one moving object in the room. That object just happened to be her.
Crispin straddled a bench on one side of the table and politely tugged off his boots to save the floor from dirt. ‘You live here instead of the house?’
Aurora put a pitcher of ale on the table. He was referring to the cottage at the end of the drive. She’d never lived there even though it was part of the lease. ‘I like being close to my horses.’
She turned to the fireplace and the hob where the stew pot hung, feeling his eyes peruse her backside. ‘The cottage is too much work for me to keep up and run the stables on my own.’ She set the stew down and began ladling it into bowls.
Crispin nodded. ‘I like these rooms. They’re cosy.’ His gaze stole past her to the small bedroom. Aurora wished she’d taken time to drop the curtain that separated the bedroom from her main room. She wished she could read his mind as well as she was following his gaze. What was he thinking about her invitation to dinner? Was he thinking it was an invitation to something more? Did he think because he was the earl’s brother and she a woman without rank that he was entitled to something more? Aurora rather hoped not, but her experience with Gregory Windham had proved that hope was often misplaced. She was now fully regretting her impromptu decision to invite Crispin Ramsden to dinner and the finer philosophies that might have motivated it. She had convinced herself last night this wasn’t the right time for a flirtation. She should have stuck with that. But those resolutions had been quickly trampled.
‘This is good,’ Crispin said between mouthfuls. ‘There’s nothing like hot stew on a cold night.’
Aurora watched him thoughtfully throughout the meal. He ate much like regular people ate, people who were conscious of the cost of food and the effort it took to prepare a meal. He used a piece of bread to sop up the remaining stew, making sure not a spoonful went to waste in his bowl. It was odd to think of him as a man who knew hunger, who knew of the simple things it took to survive the day when he could have chosen otherwise. His brother’s table was always set with plenty.
Aurora had not meant to pry, but the question was out of her mouth before she could stop it. ‘What do you do, Crispin? I mean, where have you been for three years?’
Crispin set down his bread crust and fixed her with his sharp gaze, a small smile playing at his lips. ‘How badly do you want to know?’
Aurora smiled back, recognising the game afoot. ‘Ah, so it’s to be twenty-questions?’
‘Precisely. I’ll answer your questions, but you need to answer mine.’ Crispin reached for another slice of bread and buttered it.
‘I work for the British government when they have need of me. Before that, I used to be in the cavalry. I found I didn’t enjoy the life of a half-pay soldier. It was too dull for me. I saw some action in the early twenties after Napoleon’s defeat. But then my regiment came home and I spent far too much time being Dursley’s brother.’ Crispin swallowed some ale. ‘There wasn’t much to do as Dursley’s brother, as you can imagine. Peyton doesn’t need any help and, frankly, I’d rather be my own man. I didn’t relish the idea of being defined as the “spare”. I was at a loose end. So, Peyton introduced me to some friends at the Foreign Office and off I went to look after British interests abroad.’
‘Where did you go?’ Aurora asked, feeling as if she’d been told everything and yet nothing.
Crispin winked across the table. ‘Princess, I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.’
‘You were a spy?’ she asked evenly, deciding to push the boundaries of his disclosure.
‘More like the government’s best-kept secret,’ Crispin corrected with equal seriousness. ‘Suffice it to say that I’ve been places that don’t exist on maps. I wasn’t responsible for the kind of diplomacy that goes on in the glittering mansions of Vienna.’ He drew a deep breath and steered the conversation away from himself. ‘Now, it’s your turn. Where did you learn to ride?’
‘Ireland,’ Aurora said shortly. She’d expected a question along that vein, but, like Crispin, she wasn’t ready to divulge all the details. ‘Now, as for my next question—’ she began, leaning forwards on her elbows. But Crispin had no qualms about interrupting a lady.
‘No, Aurora, finish your answer,’ Crispin said shortly, arms crossed over his chest. ‘You have to say more than that. Where in Ireland? I saw you jumping this morning when I came to get Sheikh. No one rides the way you do without extensive training.’
He had been watching. She’d thought she’d glimpsed someone at the entrance to the arena, thought she’d felt his presence. When no one had materialised, she’d chalked it up to silliness on her part. Of course no one could really feel another person’s presence.
‘I lived near Curragh in County Kildare. My father was head groom to a wealthy family.’
‘You don’t have an accent,’ Crispin said pointedly as if judging the truth of her answer.
‘Accents can be bred out of you.’ Among other things. Once upon a time there’d been such hopes for her, thanks to the status of her mother’s family. A moment of foolishness had dashed those hopes. Aurora rose from her bench and began collecting the dishes. The conversation was heading in a direction she was distinctly uncomfortable with. There were things Crispin didn’t need to know about her. Those things could make no difference now. She’d negotiated her own peace with the past and accepted the consequences of her decisions, as lonely and as costly as they were.
She reached to take Crispin’s bowl, but his hand shot out and his fingers closed around her wrist. ‘Why did you invite me here, Aurora? You won’t tell me anything about yourself, so, clearly, getting to know each other was not the purpose.’
