The Historical Collection. Stephanie Laurens

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      “You handed me a mile-long list of animals. Where am I supposed to find a pension home for aging livestock?”

      “This was a terrible idea. I should never have accepted your offer to help. If you’re going to mock me, there’s no point in this at all. You agree with my aunt. I’m silly and pathetic, and it’s time for me to give up.” She turned to retreat into the house. “Perhaps you’re right.”

      “Oh, no, you don’t.” He caught her by the wrist. “The two of us … We’re from different breeds. Different species, even. I can’t pretend to fathom what you’re doing with all these animals. However, I doubt you approve of the way I live my life, either.”

      That was fair to say, she supposed.

      “There is, however, one thing we have in common. I’m stubborn as hell, and I’d formed the impression that you don’t surrender easily, either. Or was I mistaken?”

      “You weren’t mistaken.”

      “It’s settled, then.” His gaze held her captive. “I’m not giving up, and neither are you.”

      Pink bloomed on her cheeks. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and lingered there. Good God. She was thinking about kissing him. Not merely remembering kissing him the other night, but thinking about kissing him again.

      She was a fool. A naïve, trusting, sheltered fool.

      And Gabe wanted to corrupt her so damned badly, his bones ached.

      He had to get this absurd task accomplished, and soon.

      “I’ll buy some property in the country. We have to find a place to put them all at once. How do you feel about Surrey?”

      “Surrey? I’m ambivalent about Surrey.”

      “Everyone’s ambivalent about Surrey. I’m not certain there’s any other way to feel about Surrey.”

      “It doesn’t matter. We aren’t ‘putting them’ on a random parcel of land. We’re meant to be finding them homes. Ones with real people.”

      “The problem is, real people need to eat. They don’t have time to take on animals with dietary restrictions and missing legs.”

      “Do you think I don’t know that? That’s precisely why they’re all here with me. No one else would take them. Angus, for example.” She moved toward the Highland steer. “Some foolish merchant traveled to Scotland on holiday and decided on impulse to bring his wife a pet calf from the Highlands. Never stopped to think about the fact that he would grow.”

      “Surely people aren’t that stupid.”

      “Oh, it happens all the time. But usually they make that mistake with pups or ponies. Not cattle.” She shook her head. “They dehorned him in the worst, most painful way. When he came to me, the poor dear’s wounds were infected. Infested, too. He could have perished from the fly-strike alone. That man was stupid, indeed. The only thing he got right was his choice of calf. Angus is exceedingly adorable.”

      Adorable?

      Gabe eyed the beast. The animal stood as tall as Gabe’s shoulder, and it smelled … the way cattle smell. Shaggy red fur covered its eyes like a blindfold, and its black, spongy nose glistened.

      “He’s the best Highland steer in the world,” she said. “Come meet him.”

      “That’s not necessary.”

      She didn’t give him a choice about it, leading him by the arm until they stood before the giant, shaggy beast.

      “He loves being scratched between the ears.” She stroked Angus’s forelock. “There aren’t many creatures who don’t enjoy a scratch about the ears. Go on. Have a turn.”

      “I don’t want to pet the cow.”

      “He’s a steer.”

      “I don’t want to pet the st—”

      She reached for his hand and placed it atop Angus’s flat head, guiding his hand back and forth. As if he were a child who needed to be taught.

      “See? He’s softer than he looks.”

      Gabe was less interested in the texture of Angus’s hide than he was in the texture of Lady Penelope’s skin. Her hand was small and graceful atop his, but it was not the soft, delicate hand he would expect of a fine lady. Her skin was crossed here and there with lines and scars—some faded, some still pink. They were healed bites and scratches, accumulated over years. She had a lifelong habit of extending care to animals too wild or frightened to accept it—which made her the bravest kind of fool.

      Gabe wanted to kiss each and every one of those healed wounds—which made him just an ordinary fool.

      Angus snuffled and bobbed his head.

      She smiled. “I think he likes you.”

      Gabe stepped away, brushing his hand on his trousers. “I didn’t invent a farm and hire those actors out of complete heartlessness. It’s a practical matter. Settling the animals one by one will mean we’d be spending a great deal of time together. That’s a bad idea.”

      “If you’re worried about my reputation, don’t. It won’t be noticed. No one pays much attention to me.”

      The injustice in that statement confounded him. How could no one be paying attention to her? Over the past few days, he’d been unable to concentrate on anyone or anything but her.

      “We’re adults,” she said. “Surely we can behave ourselves. I promise not to kiss you again.”

      “It’s not a mere kiss that should worry you.”

      “What else are you worried could happen?”

      Good Lord. What wasn’t he worried could happen. He’d been up half the night inventing possibilities.

      “Look at your goat,” he said. “You weren’t paying attention to her, and now she’s breeding.”

      “Marigold is not pregnant.”

      “See? You’re too trusting. That’s why this is dangerous. If we’re spending all that time together unchaperoned, there’s too much chance of—”

      “Too much chance of what?”

      He moved closer, letting the tension build between their bodies. “Of this.”

      Her golden eyelashes kissed her flushed cheeks. “You’re worried for nothing. My animals are incompatible with attraction, courtship, romance, or marriage. I’ve been reminded of that regularly for years. They’re exceptionally talented in discouraging gentlemen.”

      “I’m not a gentleman. And if I could be discouraged, I’d never have amassed the fortune I have now. When I set my mind on something, a herd of elephants won’t stand in my way.”

      A beam of sunlight

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