and inhale the sultry scent of her perfume, his senses had been assaulted with that unfortunate fact. And despite the addition of an entirely respectable pretty dress, his imagination kept conjuring up the image of her lush curves encased in the tight breeches and softly worn shirt he had first encountered her in, when he was certain her femininity had not been tamed by the rigid restrictions of a corset. It was a memory he visited often.
Those errant but ultimately futile thoughts only served to depress him. Max did not want to contemplate Miss Nithercott’s corset, any more than he wanted to contemplate Miss Nithercott. But contemplate both he did with alarming regularity.
Aside from his morning reconnoitres, he had also taken to riding past the ruins every afternoon and evening around sunset, too, and finding no sign of the wench. Which meant she had to be doing her digging in secret in the dead of night like a grave robber, much too close for comfort.
Damn and blast it all to hell! Why couldn’t she just leave him alone as he had asked?
Or threatened, more like.
He huffed in disgust and thumped his head against the cool pane of glass. Actively trying to intimidate a woman was a new low, even for him. Max still winced each time he thought about the way he had loomed over her and wished he’d handled the entire situation differently. Been more reasonable, commanding and resolute as opposed to a snarling, panicked mess. But she had caught him off guard and unprepared and he’d lashed out. Lashing out had become a bit of a habit and another thing about himself he had come to loathe. Not that the intrepid Miss Nithercott had listened one jot.
All credit to her, she had neither run nor screamed, or even looked slightly intimidated by his irrational performance. If anything, she had seemed amused, almost as if she saw right through him before she had pierced him with the perfect set down to bring him up short and remind him his behaviour was wholly unacceptable no matter what the provocation.
Am I supposed to be terrified now, Lord Rivenhall?
Words which had haunted him since. Not his finest hour and not a memory he could easily forget thanks to his constantly niggling conscience which ensured he felt heartily ashamed of himself. It was one thing being bitter and twisted and unpleasant to be around, it was another entirely to be a bully to boot. There was never any excuse for that. To have sunk so low as to have attempted to bully a woman was beyond the pale.
Shameful.
He had scarcely slept a wink since.
He’d even given serious consideration to apologising for his ghastly treatment of her—but hadn’t. Out of cowardice—pure and simple. Because apologising meant seeking her out, which inevitably meant leaving the sanctuary of this sprawling estate in the middle of nowhere. Exposing himself and feeling vulnerable. Enduring the curious stares. The pointing. The unsubtle whispers about the horrendous state he was in as if the flames had rendered him deaf as well as hideous and devoid of all human emotion.
It also meant having that reasonable discussion she wanted, when he really wasn’t up for one of those either. A discussion required extended conversation which he had lost the knack for. It was hard being erudite when you knew all focus was on the ugly scars rather than his sentences and being reasonable might open the floodgates and before he knew it, every Tom, Dick and Harry would assume they could call on him unannounced and engage him in conversation. A prospect which was, frankly, terrifying. Besides, the people of Cambridgeshire were already proving themselves to be an over-familiar lot. At least one new neighbour took it upon themselves to traipse up his new mile-long drive every day seeking an audience. So much so, it was becoming a job of work simply avoiding them. All much too neighbourly for Max’s liking. All much too intrusive and overwhelming when what he wanted was to be left well alone to lick his wounds in private and find a way to reconcile himself to his future as he mourned the past.
Not that he was alone now because she was out there. He could sense her even though he couldn’t see her. Not that he could really see anything tonight. With the moon and the stars obliterated by cloud, it was as black as pitch out there and would be for the next hour at least.
He groaned aloud this time when his conscience pricked. While he shouldn’t care, the thought of a woman all alone in the dark bothered him. That she was all alone in the dark thanks to his boorish and disgustingly bullish behaviour bothered him immensely. If something happened to her as a result, he would never forgive himself...
Blasted woman!
Was it any wonder he couldn’t sleep?
As he was wide awake and unlikely to get any rest unless he had reassured himself she was quite safe, he might as well take a wander out towards the ruins to check on her. And while he was about it, he should probably grab the bull by the horns and apologise for looming over her, seeing as her blatant trespassing meant he did not have to leave the sanctuary of his new estate to do it.
Less than half an hour later and all his suspicions were confirmed. The new bane of his life was on her knees, using some sort of hand tool as she bent over the pot she was obsessed with. A plethora of lanterns ringed her, casting her face in ethereal light, glinting off her ridiculous glasses and ensuring that even from his hiding place in the trees, Max could see she was smiling.
She did that a lot, did Miss Nithercott, although he wished it wasn’t such a beguiling and pretty smile because it drew his eyes to her lips. It also made her dark eyes sparkle, which inevitably pulled his gaze to those ridiculously long lashes when he really needed no reminders of her attractiveness or the sorry fact that she was exactly the sort of woman he would have once been compelled to flirt with. Back in his flirting days when he had adored women with spirit and gumption.
Before...
And there was the rub. Any acknowledgement of his undeniable attraction to her inevitably reminded him of everything he had lost and was trying desperately hard to forget while he readjusted to his life in the skin he had been doomed to live within for ever.
Reluctantly, he tied Drake’s reins to a sturdy branch and started towards her. Now that he had reassured himself she was quite safe, he wanted to get his apology over with quickly and get as far away from her as it was humanly possible to be. She unnerved him. Perhaps a tad more than the rest of the world currently unnerved him. He would be quick. Concise. Apologise for the delivery, but explain the sentiment remained the same.
I appreciate you were given certain privileges by my uncle on this land, but times change and I have plans for it now...
Plans! As if counting the ruined stones she put so much stock in, in an pathetic attempt to distract him from his lonely pit of despair, could feasibly be categorised as plans. He would just tell her the truth. He wanted to be left alone and needed the reassuring ring of three hundred acres of empty parkland to be assured that he was. This was his land—not hers!
Max was a few yards away when, clearly oblivious to his presence, she suddenly sat back on her heels and he instinctively darted back into the shadows, not quite ready to face her just yet.
Coward! My land! Not hers! Just apologise!
She stretched, her back arching, and her bosom he had tried not to think about jutted seductively against the soft linen of her shirt as she raised her arms in the air and rotated her shoulders. The sight made him forget his lofty purpose and he simply stared and, to his complete horror, yearned until he ruthlessly suppressed that pointless emotion. He could yearn all he wanted. No woman
