Wasn’t answering that. “Why did you come all this way, Mr. Dunraven?” I needed to get to the point and off this subject.
“Call me Finn, eh?” he said.
What did he want? What? For expediency I smiled and said hopefully, “Sure, Finn …?”
“Tenacious, are we?” He inclined his head. “Right then, to the point. Ye want to know what I want.”
My breath hitched. There was something in the way he said that—something ambiguous that made me want to run. Everything about him seemed … intense.
“That’s right. Just what do you want?” I managed to squeak.
He laughed, and his sultry eyes took on a warm, suggestive glint. “A dangerous question, lass, to be asking of me. Well, then, just what do I want? I don’t think ye are ready for that, Riley, not sure ye ever will be.”
He said my name with that lilt of his, and it sounded like a song. Stop, stop, I told myself. Okay, I’d walked into that one, but I was so not going there. Wasn’t flirting with him like that. Oh no. Not.
I gave him rueful smile and said, “I came here to find out what business you wanted to discuss.” I put up my hand, took on what I call my ‘teacher tone’, and added, “If you mean to take this where I don’t wish to go, I am so out of here. Got it, Mr. Dunraven?”
“Touché!” he said with a wide grin. “Are we back to Miss Doogan and Mr. Dunraven then? Have I slipped that far back?”
“You weren’t that far forward, so not that far back,” I said breathlessly. Okay, getting back in form.
He chuckled and said, “Right then, lass. Since I don’t want ye to get into the habit of saying no to me right from the start, I’ll get to the point. As I mentioned, I returned to Dunraven about a year ago, though I have still had to do quite a bit of traveling as I consolidate some of m’holdings. It came to my notice that there is a stretch of land between yer estate and mine that I could use beneficially for both of us. I made an offer to Maddy … yer grandmother, and she said she would talk to ye and get back to me. Unfortunately I was away when we lost her.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry for it.”
He seemed sincere. He liked my grandmother, and that gave him some points. I tried to imagine the piece of land that bordered Dunraven and allowed him a warm smile. “I would hardly call our land an estate when compared to yours.”
“No? Yer land encompasses over three hundred acres. I call that an estate. However, there is a narrow stretch of rowan oaks—about twenty acres of the lovely trees. I wish to buy that narrow stretch from ye.”
I had to wonder at this. After all these years, what could anyone want with this acreage? I eyed him and came right to the point. “Why?” I shook my head. “Dunraven is over seven hundred acres strong. Why would you want a measly twenty acres?”
“Ah, I have a personal reason for that, but allow me, lass, to say this, those twenty acres ye have more rowan oak trees than I have on all my seven hundred acres.” He shook his head, and then he looked away from me before he brought his gaze back to my face. “Ye grandmother said that she was more than happy to sell this piece to me but meant first to discuss it with ye. I was hoping she did that … before we lost her.”
I frowned and remembered my last conversation with my grandmother before her stroke. She had said, “Riley, come home for a few days. I want to show you a piece of land I’m thinking of selling to Dunraven. You can use the money to open that new store you have been talking about. Maybe you could open it here … in Sutterville, near me?”
I had been surprised and reminded her, “But, Granny … you told me that the white and rowan oaks were planted on our land during the Salem witch trials. You said they gave us power and were a place of sanctuary. You said they were sacred.”
She had answered that Dunraven was a friend and could I not please come up so she would explain the whole of it.
I had forgotten that until now, and then I remembered one more thing. Just before my grandmother died, she and her coven had held a “witches’ ball” at Dunraven. I never went to coven events. It was a social thing, yes, but the witches always performed magic at the witches ball. He must have known. He must have.
He must realize that, like my grandmother, I am a witch, from a long line of witches, as are the members of her coven, I thought.
So the question that I put to myself again was, what was he? We witches can recognize one another, almost instantly. We give off a magical vibe that identifies us to each other. I did not get any such vibe off him.
Busy in my mind, I nearly jumped when he touched my folded hands on the table and brought me back to earth. He asked, “Did Maddy not mention any of this to ye? I was sure she would.”
Chewing my bottom lip, I looked up and saw his gaze settle on my lips. Self-conscious about this nervous habit, I stopped immediately and answered him. “Yes, I do remember her telling me she wanted me to come up and have a look at a piece of land she was thinking of selling. I didn’t think there was any rush … you see, Betty and I have been talking about expanding the business, and I thought she was trying to help …” He smiled and I pictured my grandmother. “She was like that.” I shook my head and realized I hadn’t visited my granny enough before I lost her. What had been wrong with me? I should have made more time for her. She sure had given me all her time after my parents’ deaths. I felt something in my throat catch, and I had a difficult time swallowing as the words slipped out. “I should have …” I couldn’t finish, and guilt swept through me.
He reached out and held my hand. “Now, now, lass, don’t be going there. Ye know yer grandmother was proud of yer success, and ye had no way of knowing time was against ye.”
I looked at him sharply. Something in his tone made me feel like he knew more than he was saying. I took a long pull of air and said, “Thank you. I know she was considering selling that piece, and it surprised me at the time, as she had never agreed to sell any land before. Makes sense, because she talked about you like you were a legend amongst men.”
“Did she now?” he said with that dreamy lilt.
Coffee. I had it to my lips as soon as the waitress set it down, and, oh, it was great diversion and also quite good. I waited for him to sip his and said, “Well, I suppose you need an answer.” I shrugged I wondered what I should do, what my grandmother would want me to do.
“Far sooner than I thought I would,” he said in a voice that had suddenly dropped low and husky. His eyes flirted, his body language flirted, and he had to know the effect he had on women and undoubtedly used it to his advantage. Was he doing that now? Was he flirting with me to get his way about the land?
I wasn’t going to have my head turned by his extraordinary style, by his tone of voice, by his hotness, oh, no, not I. My brow arched quizzically as I sat back. In control, I questioned myself. This is not about him, his flirting, his needs. This is about my granny. What would she want? Would she want me to sell him this piece of land? I knew what she’d want. I knew it in my heart. She would want me to come home. She would want me to go through her things, her journal. She had always told me that if anything happened to her, I would need to read her journal. She had been adamant about that. She would want me to look out for her coven … until they were able to reorganize. I needed to attend to my grandmother’s wishes.
What was he doing? He diverted my attention to his hand … large, strong, yet groomed hands he had. He had reached for something in the inner pocket of his sports jacket and laid it out flat on the table. Ah, it was a survey.
I frowned but did not touch it as I studied it for a long moment. He pointed to the stretch of land between our properties, and I tried to picture it in my mind.
I had lived most of my youth in New York with my parents. When they died, Granny came and scooped me up, and off we went to her home in Maine. There I flourished until I went to college at Columbia.
I knew the three hundred acres well. I had walked over most of its beautiful terrain, but I’d done most of that walking when I was a tee
nager, and then off I went to college. I had never given much thought to the rowan and white oak trees at the far end. I couldn’t quite picture this particular twenty acres.
I would never sell Granny’s home. In addition to the trust fund my parents had set up for me, Granny had managed her money very well, and the interest from both funds were more than enough to handle the costs of keeping the family home in Sutterville.
I knew she’d wanted me to come back and settle in Sutterville, but how could I live there when my life was so centered in NYC?
Did any of those questions have anything to do with this piece of property? No, so why was I stuck in that never-never land?
Oh, damn, I just didn’t know what to do.
I’d adored Granny. She had always seemed larger than life, her smile warm enough to blot out the sun. Her wisdom came from the ages and was unbreakable and untarnished. She got me through the loss of my parents and the grief that had wanted to tear me apart then.
Her death was a double-whammy, as she was my last living relative. She left me everything that she had, but after her death all I’d wanted to do was curl up into a ball. The business and the people who depended on us in that business—all the ladies that made a living at creating the beautiful hand-knit baby clothes—well, that had made me pick myself up and get back to work.
“I don’t know,” I said and sighed, and I heard the heaviness in my sigh. I looked at him as straightforwardly as I could and sighed again before saying, “Here is the thing. I can’t answer you now. I think I have to go home first. I haven’t even gone through my grandmother’s things. I need to get a feel for what she would want me to do.”
“I understand that, lass,” he said gently.
“Yes, but you need an answer, and you deserve it. Granny would want me to give you an answer, so I guess it’s time for me to pick my butt up and take it home. This puts it squarely on my shoulders. I can’t put it off any longer. I see that it is something I have to do immediately,” I said with the resignation I felt. “I have been planning a trip home. I left things … unfinished. I have to go through my grandmother’s documents and set everything in order at the house just the way I know she would want me to. I need to look through her things and see if she left any instructions for me. She might have made a decision and wrote what it was in her journal.”
“Ay then, she had a journal?” he said curiously.
Why did I get the feeling this worried him? I smiled and said, “Yes, she kept a journal, though I doubt anyone other than I would be able to read it. We had a language of our own.”
He grinned. “Did ye, lass? How curious. Why is that?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure, but Granny thought it would be fun … right after I came to live with her. It was hard for me without my parents, and I think she set me to learn this special language as a distraction.” I closed my eyes for a moment, fought back tears, and finally said, “She always knew how to help me.”
He squeezed my hand, and I gave him a polite smile, but the truth was, I felt anything but polite. His touch, his sincere show of sympathy, everything about him, did things to my central nervous system—things that made me think of what it might be like to be in his arms. What the hell? Where did that come from?
The waitress brought our plates of food, and he said before he dug right in, “Ay then, if ye have a mind to come up to yer home, I can save ye the drive. Ye can fly back with me tomorrow.”
I arched a brow at him and shook my head, “Uh, no thanks. That is very kind, but I would like to have my own wheels when I get up there, and I honestly don’t mind the drive. It will let me unwind. I love Kennebunkport and think I’ll stop overnight.”
He frowned and looked like he was going to object but thought better of it. He bit into a slice of toast instead.
Okay. So just like that, I made up my mind. I would take the rest of August off and head on up to Maine.
Claudy’s newest spicy regency release: DISORDERLY LADY
She tried to best him at his own game!
Arabella Cullingham’s latest flirtation leaves her blue-deviled when the handsome colonel leaves without saying goodbye.
Her brother determines that a London Season is what his pretty sister needs to mend her broken heart.
Enter the dashing Earl of Magdalen, a confirmed bachelor whose female acquaintances run to women of dubious reputation.
They meet quite by accident and circumstances allow him to deduce she is a lightskirt!
Bella, for her own reasons, decides to play along, never thinking that the game might cost her the man she truly loves!
*
About Claudy Conn
Claudy Conn, a native New Yorker, now lives with her husband, Bob; their wolf, Cherokee; and Cherokee’s son, Rocky Man, who weighs in presently at 190 pounds.
She loves horses and riding and raised her ten-year-old gelding Southern Pride from the moment he was born. She also loves gardening, swimming, skiing, hiking, and travel—and of course, reading, writing, but no, she says, no arithmetic!
To get her monthly news, her reviews for all her new paranormal romances, and excerpts, come on and visit her at her website: http://www.claudyconn.com
To see pictures of Cherokee—and her shepherd-wolf son!—have a look at her Facebook page:
http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/ClaudyConn-Paranormal-Romance-Author/135826686471445
The Unwanted Heiress
Amy Corwin
Chapter One
1818 London
False pretences - Obtaining property by. - This offence is distinguishable from larceny, inasmuch as the owner consents to the property being taken out of his possession, though such consent has been induced by fraud. — Constable’s Pocket Guide
Despite his belief that White’s Club guaranteed Nathaniel Archer, current Duke of Peckham, freedom from the machinations of unmarried women, he could not concentrate on a simple game of cards. He stared at the peculiarly delicate hands of the waiter holding out his glass of port and frowned.
Weren’t the servant’s hands a little too white, a bit too small for a man?
He took the proffered glass and glanced up to study the young man’s round, girlish face. Dimples indented the plump cheeks, and a fine haze of reddish stubble shadowed the somewhat weak jaw. Although the hairs glinted in the candlelight, Nathaniel remained unconvinced.
Many women had downy facial hair. In fact, some ladies actually had moustaches, God help them.
A sharp Adam’s apple bobbed in the waiter’s throat as he swallowed, his movements nervous and jerky. He edged away and tripped over the edge of the carpet as Nathaniel’s critical gaze followed him.
“Is that all, Your Grace?” the servant asked in a strangled voice.
“Yes,” Nathaniel replied, turning his shoulder to the man. He was not going to let his suspicions ruin his evening.
Damn all women, anyway!
He shifted in his chair and concentrated at his cards. There weren’t any females in White’s—at least none that anyone had discovered this evening. However, he couldn’t shrug off the feeling that something, or someone, waited in the shadows behind him, leaning over his shoulder….
It wasn’t the waiter, however. He faded through the darkened doorway when Nathaniel glanced up. Nathaniel took another quick look toward the door—just to be sure—before frowning at his cards.
“I bid one American,” Lord Westover drawled before pounding the table with the thick bottom of his heavy glass. “Waiter! Where is that rascal?”
When the waiter stuck his head through the door, Westover signaled for a scrap of paper and quill.
“An American?” Nathaniel asked, staring down at his own cards. His free hand tugged at the nugget of lapis lazuli dangling from his watch chain. He absently rubbed the cool, twisted surface although his lucky lapis had not held any magic this evening. The hand he held was rubbish. He glanced at Westover’s smug face and added, “An American coin might rate a shilling or two,
but it hardly matches the current pot which stands at fifty thousand pounds.”
Westover shrugged. That left it up to Nathaniel’s uncle, John Archer, to make the final decision. Archer’s estate formed the bulk of the pot. If he decided the novelty of an American dollar was an acceptable match to fifty thousand English pounds, so be it.
Nathaniel rotated his stiff shoulders and stretched out his legs toward the crackling fire before studying his cards again. They had not changed. He still held two kings, two eights, and the ace of diamonds.
A glance at Archer’s bland face did not allow Nathaniel to judge the strength of his uncle’s hand.
As for Archer, he seemed unconcerned about the value of Lord Westover’s bid. He stared off into space, his cards held loosely in his hand, as if in an advanced state of ennui. Maybe their late London nights had finally done the impossible and worn down the indefatigable John Archer.
The clock chimed two, and Nathaniel shifted again.
Refuse the insulting wager, he silently urged Archer. Take the pot. For once, take the safe course. Just let this blasted game end so they could all go home to bed.
Nathaniel rubbed the stubble shadowing his chin and prodded his uncle. “Archer?”
“I beg your pardon?” Archer asked. He looked startled and glanced around the room with raised brows. “One American,” Nathaniel replied, trying not to yawn. His jaw muscles cracked with the effort.
“One American? An American dollar? Against fifty thousand pounds? Surely you can do better, Lord Westover. I can match your dollar with a shilling, but only if you can meet the original fifty thousand.”
Lord Westover laughed and flicked a glance at Nathaniel. “An American heiress, Archer. With rich farmlands and holdings worth over a hundred thousand. Why, last year her income was nearly five thousand!”
“An heiress? What am I to do with an heiress? I am a married man.” Archer caught Nathaniel’s eye and winked. Both men caught Westover’s quick flickering glance at Nathaniel.
While Nathaniel might still be in the game, he wasn’t in need of funds or a wife. His recently inherited dukedom kept his hands full for the moment. The last thing he needed was another expensive responsibility like a wife hanging about with mantua-makers and linen drapers, even if she was as rich as Croesus.
Love Regency Style Page 142