splendid. A brisk walk across the parkland will be most invigorating. Perhaps we could take the time to get to know each other a little better? I feel as though we have got off on the wrong foot. In fact, perhaps we should start now?’
In answer, Evie shoved an enormous piece of sausage into her mouth that prevented any further conversation and took for ever chewing it. She had no desire to know Finnegan Matlock any better than she did his dissolute brother. She followed the sausage with a healthy chunk of bacon. After the second forkful, he got the message and concentrated on his own breakfast, but he did it so smugly that she found herself frowning. He probably thought that she would faint dead away at the sight of Fergus’s dilapidated house. Frankly, she did not care if it was overrun with vermin and as damp as Scotland in winter. At least she would be on her own, aside from Aunt Winnie, of course, and then she could set about starting again. Tomorrow she would visit the attorney that her own solicitor had recommended and instruct him to begin searching for suitable properties immediately. The sooner she found her own house, the sooner she could end the charade with Fergus and live the sort of life she had always dreamed of. Free. Happy. Not a doormat. What was the point of having a fortune if you never got to enjoy it?
* * *
Miss Bradshaw remained stubbornly mute for the duration of the meal, which Finn found surprisingly amusing. Even more amusing was the way she closed her eyes in sheer bliss every time she put a new morsel of food into her mouth when she assumed that he was concentrating on his breakfast. This was a woman who enjoyed her sensual pleasures. Splashing water, joyous singing, hot, crisp bacon...everything she did when she thought nobody was looking, she did with such passion. It made him wonder what she would be like in the full throes of it, until he ruthlessly dismissed the errant thought when the usual guilt began to niggle. He had no right to be thinking such things. Not after Olivia.
Except he had been thinking them. Suddenly he could not stop thinking about them. For two nights now, he had lain awake not thinking about his darling wife, but about the woman who had suddenly invaded his quiet life. It was difficult to get the image of her silhouetted body in that oh-so-proper nightgown out of his head. Or the way the firelight and sunlight had made the copper strands in her thick chestnut hair glow. Or the earthy beauty of her voice as she had sung in the stream. Even in her current shapeless dress, there was something about his brother’s fiancée that intrigued him and called beneath the dead exterior he shuffled around in, to the remnants of the man that still, miraculously, lurked beneath the surface.
* * *
Once the meal was finished, she did her best to dissuade him from accompanying her. ‘There is no need for you to come. I would prefer to go alone.’ The pink blotches creeping up her neck bore witness to the effort it took her to be impolite. Instead of making Finn feeling awful, her discomfort spurred him on.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Bradshaw. For the moment, at least, you are still my guest and I do feel responsible for you.’
‘Then perhaps you should ride to Stanford House later. I am certain that you will find the walk with me dull.’
No, he wouldn’t. There was nothing dull about her, aside from the dreadful dress. Finn had never seen quite so much fabric in one garment in his life. It must weigh a ton. ‘Nonsense. We are to be brother and sister, Miss Bradshaw. I am keen to further our acquaintance, aren’t you?’ Because he knew that it would vex her, Finn held out his arm. For a few seconds, she simply stared at it as if it were something distasteful, until her innate good manners forced her to take it. But she stared resolutely ahead as they set off towards his childhood home and she made no attempt at making conversation.
It was probably just as well. The moment they set off, Finn became painfully aware of her hips. They seemed to undulate as she walked, in a graceful figure of eight, and with each alternate step they lightly brushed his thigh. After a few yards, it was torture, so he stopped to pretend to check the time just so that he could sever the contact.
Taking Finnegan Matlock’s arm was not to be recommended. The moment she had threaded her own through his, Evie quickly learned two things. Firstly, he had the body of a man who spent a great deal of time outdoors. Not that she had a great wealth of experience of the male form to draw upon, but he certainly did not feel anything like her occasional dance partners or her fiancé, whose arms were quite soft in comparison to his irritating brother’s. And secondly, and perhaps more importantly, just the feel of that solid, muscled, male appendage did funny things to her.
Instantly, Evie felt warm, her heart began to flutter in her chest and her fingers desperately wanted to run themselves all over the muscles to trace every intriguing plane and bulge. She was excessively grateful when he checked his pocket watch and then failed to offer out the offending arm again.
‘Stanford House is about a mile away,’ he said without any trace of his usual sarcasm or surliness. ‘Just over that hill.’
The gently rolling landscape of the Dales was spread out before her and Evie could not help smiling at the sight. ‘It is beautiful here.’
‘I have always thought so. Quite a change from London, I suppose?’
Good grief—were they actually exchanging pleasantries? ‘Indeed, Lord Finnegan, the only opportunity to see nature at all is in the parks and they are always so crowded.’
‘I cannot imagine that. I find York stifling enough.’
‘Have you never been to London?’
‘I have never had cause to go there, thank goodness. I am certain that I would dislike it immensely.’
‘I loathe London.’ Had she just said that out loud? By the way he turned to look at her, his dark head slightly tilted to one side and his expression curious, Evie realised that she had. And to him, of all people.
‘Why?’
How to explain something that she had never verbalised before? ‘It is crowded and unforgiving.’ Perhaps not the best choice of words, but fitting.
‘Unforgiving?’
Oh, dear, definitely not the best choice of words. Now she had to explain herself and he would no doubt think her pathetic. ‘Even though it is filled with people, the society there is very close-knit. Everybody knows everybody else’s business.’
‘It is like that in the countryside also.’
‘Yes—but...’ Evie sighed, becoming increasingly aware of his intense gaze. ‘In London, everybody is judged. And once judged, it is impossible to be anything other than what you are perceived to be.’ She really should not have said that. Except, that was how she felt. Bottled, labelled and displayed on the shelf. In London, she was Evie the spinster. The plain wallflower with the dull personality. A woman whose ship had not so much sailed, but failed to leave the harbour. A nobody. A nothing. She doubted this splendid-looking man would understand how draining it was to be of no consequence.
‘And how are you perceived to be, Miss Bradshaw?’
The question startled her and she blushed ferociously. She could hardly admit to the truth—but then again, she already had, she supposed. ‘I am perceived exactly as I am, Lord Finnegan. A plain, plump wallflower who has been so long on the shelf that she is almost a part of it.’
‘How old are you, Miss
