“Come.” He held out his hand. “The flowers can wait, but I cannot.”
“All right.” She hesitated for only a second before slipping her hand inside his and allowing him to lead her to the entrance.
At the corridor, he released her hand, but took her elbow instead. He glanced at her feet. Good. She wore her sturdy black shoes, perfectly suitable for a short trek to the stables.
“Where are we going?” She smiled up at him. “I confess, you’ve roused my curiosity.”
He’d like to rouse much more than that, but he’d sworn to himself to amend his roguish ways as far as Bianca was concerned.
Pierce tweaked her nose, then quickly scanned the passageway to make sure no one had witnessed him. He’d taken two liberties in as many minutes after he’d vowed to himself to be the model of decorum around her.
“I’m not telling you, Bianca. It wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it?”
Pierce steered her in the stable’s direction. When they entered, the pleasant aromas of fresh hay, horseflesh, and feed surrounded them. He took a moment to inhale, savoring the familiar, soothing smells.
Bianca didn’t press him about her surprise. Instead she smiled at Broomsfield as he approached carrying a sliced apple.
Broomsfield ducked his head differentially. “Sir. Miss.”
“I’ll take those.” Pierce took the pieces of fruit. “This way, Bianca.” He directed her to a far stall. As they neared, a creamy, blue-eyed horse’s head appeared over the top of the gate.
“She’s yours, Bianca.”
Bianca gasped and turned to gape at him in wide-eyed wonderment. “Oh, she’s quite the loveliest horse I’ve ever seen. And she has blue eyes.”
“Luna is a four year old Cremello. Very gentle, but according to Dandridge, whose arm I had to twist mightily before he sold her to me, she’s very intelligent, too. She’s been trained to a sidesaddle and English saddle. ”
Bianca tentatively approached the animal, then glanced over her shoulder. “I haven’t ridden in years. I may be a bit out of practice.”
“Well, then, I guess I’ll have to include daily rides in my guardianship duties.” The chore didn’t seem half as troublesome as it would’ve a couple of weeks ago.
The horse extended her neck and sniffed.
Careful to keep from staring the mare in the eye and alarming her, Bianca lifted her hand and let Luna sniff the back. “I do appreciate your thoughtfulness, and I will ride her while I’m here. However, I cannot take her with me when I leave.”
“Why must you leave?” Pierce offered Luna an apple slice, which she greedily accepted and chomped contentedly. “Aren’t you happy here?”
“Yes.” Bianca didn’t look at him but continued to pet Luna while making crooning noises.
“Bianca? You don’t have to leave.”
Sighing, she dropped her hand to her side and faced him, her expression guarded now. “We have an arrangement. An agreement. I’m leaving in a few days.”
“Agreements can be amended.” Pierce patted Luna’s wither before wiping his sticky fingers on a cloth hanging from a nearby peg.
“Not this one. I have too much at stake. I’ve set a course and nothing will deter me from it.” With that pronouncement, she lifted her skirt and took her leave.
“That’s what I thought until I met you, my sweet,” Pierce muttered after her retreating form.
A bump against her hip roused Bianca from a delicious dream in which Pierce kissed her as she slept. The grazing of his lips against hers seemed so real, she touched her fingertips to her mouth. Another nudge followed by the sounds of a cat grooming itself revealed Miss Millie had made herself comfortable on Bianca’s bed.
Again.
“You’re becoming far too accustomed to my coverlet, Miss Millie,” Bianca mumbled against the pillow cradling her cheek.
The calico had found her way into the bedchamber once more. Several times since Bianca arrived almost three weeks ago, the determined feline managed to sneak onto her mattress sometime before dawn.
For the past week, since rebuffing Pierce in the stables, Bianca had made a concerted effort to remain distant from him. Emotionally and physically. The first fortnight at Halverstone she’d nearly succumbed to his charm, but renewed determination fueled by fear of what would happen to her if she failed had firmed her resolve.
Casting a glance at the tall window, Bianca yawned and stretched. A sliver of sunlight filtered through the small gap between the rose damask draperies.
Another splendid day.
She might as well rise and go for her morning walk. She’d missed Pierce’s company this past week, but it was for the best. To be honest, she’d rather stay here with him. But such a thing was improbable and impossible.
They’d have us wed in a thrice repeated in her head so often, it had become an annoying chant. Bianca suspected his sisters would approve of a union between her and their wayward brother. Probably because she was so staunch on propriety and he just the opposite. Little did they know the wicked thoughts she entertained about him.
He’d stayed at Halverstone far longer than she’d anticipated, and she fully expected he’d be off to London any day to resume his pleasure-seeking lifestyle. A rueful smile curved her mouth. Despite that truth, she’d longed for his company. Longed for more as he’d promised she would.
She glanced at his door.
Was he awake yet?
She squinted at the clock in the dim light.
Not quite six yet.
Probably not then.
At eleven last night when she’d crept downstairs to borrow a book from the library, candlelight had still glowed beneath the study door. Before she heard him moving about in his room, the rather dull story had lulled her to sleep.
Bianca swung her legs over the edge of the bed, then paused to pet the cat. “You’ll not be sleeping here when your babies arrive. Everything I own will be covered in cat hair.”
Miss Millie purred on, her different colored eyes half closed in contentment as she kneaded the down coverlet. Her distended belly proclaimed that kittens would soon join the household.
A few minutes later, after cleansing her teeth, washing her face, and twisting her unruly hair into a simple knot, Bianca donned her humblest gown. A cow had given birth yesterday, and she wanted to visit the newborn. Since Pierce still slept, she needn’t worry about appearing a frump.
No coins clinked within the frock’s hidden pocket. As clever as she thought she’d been, someone had discovered her paltry stash. Without those funds, Bianca had no choice but to remain at Halverstone until she won her wager with Pierce.
Would he truly let her go? He’d never actually said so.
Bianca pushed those misgivings to the back of her mind. Everything hinged on his permitting her to return to Elmswood.
Her worn but practical walking boots, an equally shabby cloak, and plain straw bonnet, somewhat frayed about the edges, came next. Lastly, she collected her leather gloves. Actually, they had been Uncle Sylvester’s, but they possessed a bit of life in them yet. And as the cost of kid gloves was dearer than she could afford, she wore the too big gloves for more earthy tasks.
Such as petting adorable calves and saying hello to Luna, too. She’d ridden the mare three times, but since Pierce always insisted on accompanying her, Bianca had forsworn the pleasure.
Glimpsing herself in the floor length oval mirror, she pulled a face.
A crofter’s wife.
That was what she looked like. Not that there was anything wrong with that humble but decent position. She’d just much rather look a mite more elegant.
Bianca gave the cat another pat, then slipped from her chamber, her gaze migrating of its own accord to Pierce’s bedchamber door.
Despite her determination not to, she’d fallen far under his spell already. Just three weeks, and she’d sunk faster than a cannonball-blasted schooner.
“Only a few more days. I can do it. I must. I shall not
end up like Mum,” Bianca muttered to herself as she descended the stairs.
“Miss, how am I supposed to be your lady’s maid when you’re dressed and your room tidied before I come up in the mornings?” Hands on her hips and sporting a wide grin, Elsie stood at the bottom of the staircase and shook her head in its bob cap.
Bianca would never grow accustomed to others doing for her what she was capable of doing herself. “I didn’t make my bed yet this morning, because Miss Millie’s asleep atop it. Does that make you happy?”
“I’m supposed to help you too, Miss.” Elsie still wore a contagious smile as she passed Bianca on the risers. “Though I have to admit, Mrs. Digby keeps me running. Don’t know how they managed before I came.”
They didn’t have their master and his ward’s needs to fuss about.
“All the more reason I should continue tending to myself.” Bianca checked the frayed frogs at her throat, then drew on a glove. “Have you any idea how Miss Millie keeps getting into my chamber?”
One hand on the bannister, Elsie knitted her forehead. “No, Miss. The door is closed at night. After I bank the fire I make sure of it. I’ll check your room again and see if there’s another way she’s getting inside.” Her expression cleared, and she clasped her hands to her chest. “I cannot wait for her to have her babies. Mrs. Digby says I might claim a kitten for my own. I’m hoping for an orange and white male. I’m going to name him Marmalade.”
Pulling on her other glove, Bianca eyed her. She didn’t want to crush Elsie’s enthusiasm, but had Pierce agreed? “Won’t his lordship have a say in that? I didn’t see any cats in his London townhouse.”
“Oh, I’m going to remain here. Mrs. Digby asked me to, and m’lord agreed. I like the country much better than London. It’s cleaner and smells nicer.” Elsie’s smile slipped a notch, concern crimping the perimeter of her round face. “I thought you knew.”
“I think that’s a splendid notion. And I, too, prefer the country, truth to tell. Though London does have a few attractions I should still like to see once. I’ve heard Vauxhall and Covent Gardens are spectacular at night—like fairylands ablaze with light. The Theatre Royal, Bullock’s Museum, and Gunter’s Ices are others that spring to mind straight off.”
Bertram had denied her any excursions while they were in London. No coin to spare on frivolities. However, he considered cigars, spirits, and gambling—probably strumpets too—absolute necessities.
With a small wave, Bianca finished descending the stairs.
So far the additional help that Pierce mentioned hiring hadn’t appeared, except for the two brawny chaps who’d arrived last week. Honestly, she didn’t think Halverstone required more servants. She preferred the intimacy of a smaller household. It gave the manor a cozier atmosphere.
After spending ten minutes with the darling, chocolaty-eyed heifer, Bianca made her way to Luna’s stall. “Hello, lovely.”
Luna nickered and blew her breath into Bianca’s face.
“Yes, I’ve brought you a treat, but I’m afraid there’ll be no outing for either of us. I am truly sorry.” She fed the mare the carrots, then with a final pat on her withers, collected the basket of stale bread she’d picked up in the kitchen.
A while later, Bianca stood on the pond’s small dock, tossing pieces onto the water. For weeks, she’d attempted to coax the ducks to come near her and eat. Cautious creatures, they always waited until she left to paddle over and gobble the treat.
Wistfulness grasped her.
In a few days, she’d leave this place and never return. Doubtless never see Pierce again either. At least not in this informal capacity. Sorrow wrenched a small sigh from her as an intense pain she couldn’t put a name to cramped her lungs.
“I thought I might find you here. I know few women who part with their beds as early as you do.”
She started and swung around to find, a mere three feet away, the man who intruded upon her musings far too often.
“Goodness. I didn’t hear you approach, Pierce.”
“The grass muffled my footsteps.” He hitched his mouth up on one side and extended his hand, palm upward as he stepped onto the wooden planks. His extra weight caused the rowboat moored there to rock. “May I?”
“Of course.” She handed him a few morsels. “They are quite timid yet.”
He pointed to the boat. “Would you like to go for a row one day? We could take bread with us too. Perhaps they’d feel safer in the middle.” He glanced at the startling blue sky. “Digby says Bewick’s swans often winter here.”
“Oh, I should love to see them. I’ve always adored swans, though I’ve only seen one pair once and never wild ones.” She glanced at the stately house. “I think Halverstone must be lovely in the winter. Especially covered with snow, though I don’t imagine that happens often.”
“I honestly don’t know. I’ve always spent my winters in London. We could winter here if you’d like to. Have a proper Christmastide.” Pierce aimed, then threw a crust to an emerald- headed drake.
Was that a wistful note in his voice?
Surely not.
Besides, Christmas was months away. She would leave within days. Only she didn’t want to any longer.
Bianca gave him a sideways look. Nothing about his profile suggested he was waxing melancholy. And why should he, for pity’s sake?
When she didn’t answer, he tossed another scrap into the smooth water. It floated there, slowly swirling ’round and ’round.
“I hope you won’t object, Bianca, but I’ve arranged for an excursion for us today.”
“Oh? Where to?”
The neighbors, the Duke and Duchess of Dandridge?
Drat.
What would she wear to cause him the least embarrassment?
The moss—drab—green or the slate—cigar ash gray—day dress?
Both turned her skin sallow and hung loose at her waist. She’d lost weight in recent days, her appetite as fickle as her bothersome emotions.
“Northhollow is but six miles from here, and the Digbys have made a list of supplies that need purchasing or ordering. I also want to post an advert for additional staff. And I thought while we were there, we could see about a wardrobe for you. Northhollow cannot boast London’s fashionable modistes and milliners, but if my memory serves, there are at least two dressmakers. I also need to post a few letters.” He threw the rest of his bread into the water, then rubbed his palms together, ridding them of any lingering crumbs. “I’d hoped to hear something from the Chancery Court by now, truth to tell.”
She had too, and the not knowing proved burdensome.
A dove dipped and wove its way across the sky to alight on a birch branch farther along the shore of the pond. It cocked its grayish-brown head and cooed. Somewhere nearby, another dove answered.
Bianca brushed her hands off, too. “If I understood Mrs. Garside, the Chancery Court is notoriously plodding when it comes to rulings. Which is why I am here, is it not, my lord? To give the court time to make a ruling while I’m hiding from Bertram?”
“You’ve used my given name for weeks, and now it’s back to ‘my lord’?” Pierce tucked her hand into his elbow as if it were old habit, totally ignoring her question about the Chancery Court and her cousin.
“Yes, well,” she said, trying—unsuccessfully—not to notice his muscular bicep straining against his tailored coat. “We should strive to keep our relationship within the bounds of propriety. You are an earl, and I am—”
“A descendant of James II. I’m sure that makes us most compatible.”
What an odd choice of words.
“Actually, I’ve never found any evidence to support that claim, Pierce. I suspect if it is true, and I have begun to sincerely doubt it, then I’m from the wrong side of the blanket. Which makes me even less acceptable.”
He gave her a saucy wink, and Bianca clamped her teeth against her instinct to smile.
“Well, I’m only half English. My mother was a Munda princess fro
m East India.” A sliver of defiance colored his last words.
Bianca didn’t give a fig if he was part merman or centaur or werewolf.
She angled her head. “How fascinating. I’d love to hear more about her and the Munda. I’ve always wanted to travel, to learn about other cultures and peoples.”
Astonishment peaked Pierce’s brows, but his wide smile conveyed that she’d pleased him.
She ought to withdraw her hand. Touching him was most imprudent.
As if he sensed her intent, Pierce pressed his palm to the back of her hand, preventing her escape, and angled them toward the garden. On the far side, Broomfield toddled about singing off-key beneath his breath and nipping the spent blossoms.
One new fellow was attending to the shrubberies.
‘I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to buy me clothing, Pierce.”
“I beg to differ, Bianca. It is fitting for me to procure clothing for you.”
Back to that, is he?
“You are my ward, and I take my duty to oversee your welfare seriously.”
“It’s not official, may never be, as you well know. And I prefer not being obligated to you,” she argued. It made her feel like a kept woman. A mistress. “My attire is not your responsibility.”
The gesture might be misconstrued. Might? No, people would misinterpret it, no matter how innocent. The problem lay in the manner in which Pierce came into the potential guardianship, and that blot could not easily be erased from Society’s memory. Or hers.
“I have the paper to prove it. You saw your cousin sign it, too.” Eyes alight with confidence, he patted her arm.
Why did he have to be so blasted irresistible?
Why did she have to be so dashed responsive to him?
A small branch blocked the pathway, and she stepped over it, catching her toe on the unraveled hem of her gown. She almost stumbled, but Pierce’s strong hand at her waist steadied her.
The heat from his palm burned through her cloak, gown, and chemise, clear to her skin. Rather than jerk away from the tantalizing sensation, she battled an acute desire to press into his embrace
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