pay ten times the amount. He tossed the pen on the desk and held out the draft. When she suddenly seemed hesitant, he raised a brow.
“Second thoughts?”
She eased her hand over the draft. He tightened his grip. “Know this now,” he warned. “If I ever learn you have kept a single letter Elizabeth sent you, I swear you do not know the meaning of true poverty. I do not care if you are my flesh and blood, I will destroy you.”
He walked to the door and slowly turned. “And the next impoverished lord you decide to marry will be the one supporting you for the rest of your life.”
“You are an unforgiving and callous man, Erik. It is no wonder Elizabeth left you. What woman would have a man with no heart?”
Despite the traffic and length of time it had taken to cross London, it was still early in the afternoon when Christine finally arrived back at the abbey. She’d spent most of the morning at the museum working on an exhibit Lord Bingham had been panicked would not be ready for next week’s opening. It annoyed Christine that she continued to allow herself to be at the curator’s disposal. She shouldered through the garden gate, barely stepping aside as a doe bounded through the trees and nearly caused her to drop the armful of books she carried.
She edged her hat higher on her forehead and continued toward the house. Amid London’s crowded urban sprawl, the enclosed abbey grounds offered a garden sanctuary to those who lived here, including the wildlife on the property, and like clockwork, the breeze brought the sound of anxious quacking to her ears. She spotted the resident ducks waddling out of the long grass to intercept her. Struggling to shift the books against one arm, she tossed bread crumbs toward her growing feathered entourage to keep them from following her to the house. It didn’t matter which gate she entered, the ducks always seemed to know where she would be, and lay in ambush for her. She’d finally simply given up trying to avoid them and made an effort to buy bread on her way home.
Her arms laden with books, her chin balancing them, she hurried past a pond. Then she stopped and backtracked three steps. A tall black horse lingered beneath the branches of a sweeping oak. Someone had gone to the trouble to keep him off the main drive. Sunlight reflected off her spectacles. Then as she looked toward the rose garden at the back of the house, her momentary hesitation vanished and something else took its place.
Erik sat with his back against a white picket fence, a blade of grass between his lips, watching her. As she turned, he tossed aside the stem and came slowly to his feet. His jacket was unbuttoned. He looked handsome in his tall boots and dark riding attire. The collar of his shirt was open, the sight of his bare throat uncivilized. His sheer masculine presence was so incompatible with Aunt Sophie’s delicate rose garden, he looked almost vulnerable to her as she approached and stopped in front of him.
But it took only one look into his sherry-colored eyes to make her feel like a blushing virgin. Because of him, she had been unable to sleep last night. All day her stomach had fluttered and her mind kept drifting from her task as she went over time and again what she would say to him when she saw him. She didn’t wantto be eighteen again, when all he had to do was look at her and make her body want to violate every tenet of moral etiquette.
“Your grace.”
Without asking, he reached for the books in her arms. “Why don’t I carry these to wherever it is you are going?”
“Why?” She suspiciously watched her precious books leave her arms. “Do you intend to follow me?”
He was looking at her hard. “I think you know why I am here.”
Despite her willingness to forgive him for last night, she felt her heart skip. He didn’t ask if he was intruding on her time or offer apologies about his atrocious behavior in the carriage. Indeed, he looked as unrepentant as sin. But
“Second thoughts?”
She eased her hand over the draft. He tightened his grip. “Know this now,” he warned. “If I ever learn you have kept a single letter Elizabeth sent you, I swear you do not know the meaning of true poverty. I do not care if you are my flesh and blood, I will destroy you.”
He walked to the door and slowly turned. “And the next impoverished lord you decide to marry will be the one supporting you for the rest of your life.”
“You are an unforgiving and callous man, Erik. It is no wonder Elizabeth left you. What woman would have a man with no heart?”
Despite the traffic and length of time it had taken to cross London, it was still early in the afternoon when Christine finally arrived back at the abbey. She’d spent most of the morning at the museum working on an exhibit Lord Bingham had been panicked would not be ready for next week’s opening. It annoyed Christine that she continued to allow herself to be at the curator’s disposal. She shouldered through the garden gate, barely stepping aside as a doe bounded through the trees and nearly caused her to drop the armful of books she carried.
She edged her hat higher on her forehead and continued toward the house. Amid London’s crowded urban sprawl, the enclosed abbey grounds offered a garden sanctuary to those who lived here, including the wildlife on the property, and like clockwork, the breeze brought the sound of anxious quacking to her ears. She spotted the resident ducks waddling out of the long grass to intercept her. Struggling to shift the books against one arm, she tossed bread crumbs toward her growing feathered entourage to keep them from following her to the house. It didn’t matter which gate she entered, the ducks always seemed to know where she would be, and lay in ambush for her. She’d finally simply given up trying to avoid them and made an effort to buy bread on her way home.
Her arms laden with books, her chin balancing them, she hurried past a pond. Then she stopped and backtracked three steps. A tall black horse lingered beneath the branches of a sweeping oak. Someone had gone to the trouble to keep him off the main drive. Sunlight reflected off her spectacles. Then as she looked toward the rose garden at the back of the house, her momentary hesitation vanished and something else took its place.
Erik sat with his back against a white picket fence, a blade of grass between his lips, watching her. As she turned, he tossed aside the stem and came slowly to his feet. His jacket was unbuttoned. He looked handsome in his tall boots and dark riding attire. The collar of his shirt was open, the sight of his bare throat uncivilized. His sheer masculine presence was so incompatible with Aunt Sophie’s delicate rose garden, he looked almost vulnerable to her as she approached and stopped in front of him.
But it took only one look into his sherry-colored eyes to make her feel like a blushing virgin. Because of him, she had been unable to sleep last night. All day her stomach had fluttered and her mind kept drifting from her task as she went over time and again what she would say to him when she saw him. She didn’t wantto be eighteen again, when all he had to do was look at her and make her body want to violate every tenet of moral etiquette.
“Your grace.”
Without asking, he reached for the books in her arms. “Why don’t I carry these to wherever it is you are going?”
“Why?” She suspiciously watched her precious books leave her arms. “Do you intend to follow me?”
He was looking at her hard. “I think you know why I am here.”
Despite her willingness to forgive him for last night, she felt her heart skip. He didn’t ask if he was intruding on her time or offer apologies about his atrocious behavior in the carriage. Indeed, he looked as unrepentant as sin. But
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