been cold, because the fire he’d tried to light had refused to draw, but in which the bedlinen had also been as damp as Amelia had predicted it might be.
His arm also hurt like hell this morning. A dull and painful throb not unlike the discomfort he had suffered because of his inappropriate arousal the night before!
Damn it, Gray had promised himself he would not think again of the way he had held Amelia the previous evening—or of the time he had spent in her bedchamber, of how sensually alluring she had appeared to him as she’d tended to his arm. Of the light and enjoyable caress of her delicate fingers against his flesh. Of how his arousal had throbbed as he gazed upon her body through the thin material of her nightgown and robe.
He especially did not want to remember how his arousal had continued to throb and ache long after he had climbed between those damp and deuced uncomfortable sheets upon his bed …!
‘I asked you a question, Amelia,’ he reminded her brusquely.
‘I thought I would light the fire in here so that the room would be tolerably warm by the time you came down for your breakfast, My Lord.’ A questioning Amelia pushed up from her knees to stand before him, a slight and delicate figure in a woollen gown of the palest lemon.
She had confined that golden hair into a riot of gleaming curls this morning, but she looked no less beautiful because of it, as several of those wispy curls fell across her creamy brow, her lightly flushed cheeks, and her long and elegant nape.
It was a delicacy of appearance completely at odds with the feisty woman who had confronted Gray with a pistol yesterday evening before claiming to be his wife!
Gray’s mouth twisted mockingly. ‘How solicitous of you, my dear.’
‘I thought so, too, My Lord.’ Sparkling blue eyes returned his gaze impishly.
Gray’s gaze narrowed he strode into the parlour, his frown of irritation deepening as he took in the irrefutable evidence that Amelia had obviously become accustomed to lighting her own fires in Steadley Manor—these past few weeks, at least. ‘Why did you not write to me weeks—no, months—ago, Amelia, and tell me of the conditions under which you have been living at Steadley Manor?’
But Gray already knew the answer to that question. Knew exactly why this young woman—a woman so totally different from the young girl he had been expecting—had not written to him concerning happenings at his estate.
It had to be because she’d had no faith, no belief, that Gray would be in the least concerned. Either by her own plight or that of Steadley Manor. How could she have thought any other, when Gray had shown his uninterest so markedly?
Amelia took her time answering as she moved to the breakfast table to pick up a napkin and slowly wipe the coal dust from hands that had begun to tremble slightly after she had once again gazed upon Gideon Grayson’s arrogantly handsome countenance.
She had expected, after so many years of debauchery, that there would be signs of it upon his face and in his appearance that she had surely missed the evening before. A cynicism, perhaps, etched upon that wickedly handsome face? A sagging, a thickening of his body from imbibing too much alcohol and eating excessive amounts of rich food whilst taking no exercise but that which he found in the bedchamber.
There was none of those things. Instead of cynicism there was a confident arrogance and a shrewdness, an intelligence in those piercing grey eyes when he looked at her.
And she already knew that he possessed a strong and muscled body that had filled her with lustful thoughts the evening before as she’d bathed the wound upon his arm …!
Amelia replaced the napkin carefully on the table before turning back to face him. ‘You wish me to answer truthfully, My Lord?’
He grimaced. ‘I expect no less!’
She shrugged slender shoulders. ‘Then, My Lord, to put it simply, the freedom of no longer having to constantly answer to Miss Little for my every action was affording me too much pleasure for me to wish to bring it to an end.’
Exactly the answer Gray had not wished to hear! ‘In what ways, exactly, have you been enjoying this unexpected freedom …?’
Amelia wrinkled her nose. ‘I have walked. And ridden. Painted when the weather permitted. And eaten when I wished. Gone to bed when I wished.’
‘And have you—did you do all of these things completely alone?’ Gray found himself scowling as he waited for her answer. As he considered all the weeks this beautiful young woman had remained here unchaperoned. And vulnerable. So vulnerable that she had been taken advantage of by the first man—at least, Gray hoped he had been the first man!—to arrive at Steadley Manor.
‘I have already said that I—My Lord?’ Her gaze sharpened indignantly. ‘I trust you do not think—That you are not implying that because you—’
‘I was not implying anything,’ Gray assured her hastily, not wishing to dwell on the liberties he had taken with this woman the evening before. ‘But surely you must see how utterly foolish it was of you to have remained here so completely without protection?’ Once again he glared his disapproval of her behaviour.
Her little chin rose in challenge. ‘I did not see that I had any choice in the matter when my guardian had shown absolutely no interest in my wellbeing!’
It was, Gray knew, an accusation he well deserved. One he was also heartily ashamed of.
Just as he had been sickened earlier this morning, as he’d made an inventory of the house and the stables and seen the deplorable condition of both Steadley Manor itself and the surrounding estate. Perry, Gray knew, would be horrified if he could see how uncared for and derelict his former home had become.
How his beloved stepdaughter had been equally neglected …
Gray clasped his hands tightly behind his back as he straightened determinedly. ‘I assure you that all of that is now going to change, Amelia.’
She eyed him uncertainly. ‘It is …?’
‘It is.’ Gray nodded tersely. ‘I have already been outside and spoken to Ned this morning, and he has assured me that several of the servants and estate workers still living in the village have been unable to find other employment, and should be only too pleased to return to their previous positions here. Including the previous estate manager, Mr Davies, who is not in the least enjoying his retirement,’ he added with grim satisfaction.
‘I—But—Do you now have the money with which to pay the servants’ wages, My Lord …?’
Gray’s mouth firmed. ‘I have always had the money, Amelia.’
‘But—’
‘How well did you know Mr Sanders, Amelia?’
‘Mr Sanders …?’ She frowned her puzzlement. ‘Not terribly well. Though I did not like him very much—found him to be a dour and taciturn man whenever I chanced to speak with him. I am sure that my stepfather would never have employed him to replace Mr Davies—Oh!’ She looked up at Gray guiltily. ‘I apologise, My Lord. I did not mean to sound as if I were criticising—’
‘Criticise all you wish, Amelia; in this case it is as deserved as your earlier remonstrations
