down at the parchment, hoping for a few answers to the questions she could not ask without seeming even more impertinent. She’d seen enough legal papers as she’d helped her father act as steward for the colonel to be able to locate the important details in the close-written document. She glanced up at him, blinking.
“You were awarded the estate for services to the Crown? Were you a soldier like Colonel Umbrey?”
He smiled, but the light didn’t reach his cool green eyes. “Nothing so dashing. I settled a thorny administrative matter, and the chief beneficiary saw fit to recommend me to the Prince and purchase an estate in thanks. I take it you’re satisfied that I’m the new owner.”
She could not see him sitting behind a desk, shuffling papers, fingers smeared with ink. Those large hands looked like they should be wielding a sword as they had been earlier or clutching the reins of a team of horses. Despite his title of baronet, Sir Trevor seemed far too healthy, too vital, to have spent his life either clerking or in idle pursuit of pleasure.
But the papers looked as legal as any she’d seen. She slipped them back into the leather covering.
“This all appears to be in order,” she replied, handing the packet to him. She squared her shoulders and gave him her most charming smile. “Welcome to Blackcliff Hall, Sir Trevor. I hope you will consider it your home and wish to spend your life here. Now let’s get you down to the George and see you settled.”
In the act of accepting the packet from her, Trevor paused. A singular woman. Energy glowed from her fiery hair to her creamy skin to the fluttering of her gloved hands. Her topics moved as rapidly as she did. “The George?” he asked.
“The George Inn. Fine establishment. Excellent cook. You’ll love it.” She slapped her thigh, and Dolly scrambled to her feet, nails clattering against the stone of the hearth.
Now that the lamps had been properly lit he could see the mastiff more clearly. Her body, dappled in streaks of dun and black, was thick and powerful, with a barrel chest and a solid column of a neck. Her muzzle was coal-black, and her jowls quivered in her eagerness to move. Intelligence sat in those big brown eyes, and he was certain loyalty filled her massive heart. He could only be thankful she was so well trained, for even his dull club of a sword would have been of little use against her had she chosen to attack him.
“There’s no need to go to an inn,” he said to Gwen, but she was already bustling about the room, retrieving her lantern, extinguishing the other lamps. Everything about her said determination, from the set of her pointed chin to the quick movements of her lithe body. She looked to be a few years younger than his thirty years, and he wondered why such a beautiful woman wasn’t married and instead prowling around his estate in the dark with only a great beast of a dog for company.
“There’s every need,” she assured him, retrieving her cloak and throwing it around her shoulders. He hadn’t noticed the streaks mottling the soft brown wool of the garment. Had he caused that when he’d knocked her down?
“You may not have had time to visit every room in the house,” she said, returning to his side, “but few are livable. The beds need airing, the lamps trimming and the pantry stocking.” She smiled at him. “I’ll have everything ready by the time you return tomorrow.”
From anyone else, the statement would have been laughable. He had looked in every room in the house earlier, and he knew how much work had to be done to make it a home. But, with the light shining in her deep brown eyes, her face turned up to his, he thought this woman could very well work miracles.
“I’d prefer to stay here,” he said, and even he could hear how stubborn he sounded.
Her smile turned kind. “Now, now,” she said, laying her free hand on his arm with a grip that was firmer than he would have guessed from the size of her, “we must make sure you have a pleasant evening. I’m certain you’d prefer a good bed tonight and a nice warm dinner. You cannot possibly get that here. Why should you settle for less than the best? Where’s your horse?”
She was tugging him toward the entryway, and Trevor followed, feeling as if he’d been snatched up in the middle of a storm. “He’s in the stable.”
She tsked. “I’m surprised we had feed for him. I’ll see to that, as well. Or rather, my father will. He’s very good at making sure all the master’s needs are met.” She cast him a glance out of the corners of her eyes. “He was the steward before Colonel Umbrey died. Did they tell you that when they awarded you the place?”
“No,” Trevor said as she released him to hustle to the front door, the dog trotting obediently at her side. “I assumed the estate came adequately staffed. But I’m used to roughing it. I assure you I’ll be fine here tonight.”
“Nonsense. We can’t have the new master living in anything less than comfort.” She paused to smile back at him, and the look tugged at his heart as surely as her hand had tugged at his arm. Was this how Greek sailors felt in the myth of the siren? Her beauty and enthusiasm called to him, but he had a feeling they’d lead him far from his intended course.
“You’re not going to give me a moment’s peace until I’ve agreed to this, are you?” he asked, certain he knew the answer.
Her dark eyes crinkled up as if she was laughing inside. “Why, Sir Trevor, I simply want to make sure you are well taken care of. My father would insist on nothing less.”
He was beginning to think her father was at home, hiding from her determination. If anyone insisted on anything in that house, he was certain he was looking at her.
“And will your father be here to greet me in the morning?” he countered.
Her smile widened. “I guarantee it. I’m certain once you see the estate in the morning light, you’ll be pleased to call it yours. Would you prefer to ride to the village or shall we walk? It isn’t far.”
He didn’t like losing, even an argument, but he had to agree with her that the house needed work before it would be comfortable.
He wasn’t sure why that so disappointed him. He’d decided on the way north that he would only use the place for the income it could provide. He’d never intended to make it home. Home was London, the social whirl, the acquaintances he’d made in school and afterward. The sooner he could settle his affairs in Blackcliff Hall, the sooner he could return.
“I’ll ride,” he said, striding for the door. “That is, if the groom can be bothered to saddle my horse.”
“I’m afraid the groom gave notice ages ago,” she said in that calm, conciliatory voice. She followed him out the door, the mastiff bounding down the stone steps ahead of them while she turned to lock the door. “Colonel Umbrey decided he was too old to move from the Hall and sold his carriage and horses.”
Was that what would become of him if he stayed? Would he grow to be a fat, complacent old man with no interest in even making the short ride into town?
“Then the fellow who’s staying in the stables,” Trevor all but snapped.
She handed him the ornate brass key, which weighed more heavily than it should in his hand. “No one lives at the estate except me and my father, Sir Trevor.”
He stared at her, feeling as if her great bear of a dog had sat on his chest. “Then who on earth took charge of my horse?”
