kind. He loves the outdoors, and hunting and dogs and horses and his land. He likes a bawdy joke and laughing too loud at things that are only a little funny. He loves ale and making money, which is how he became friends with my father. He’s a good sort. A simple sort.”
“I’m puzzled, Mr. Redmond. Do you object to any of these things? Are you under the impression that I object to any of these things? I find nothing objectionable at all about them. Make your point.”
He uncrossed his arms, and she watched. His arms were brown and hard and sinewy from use. She saw crisp copper hair over them, the trace of pale blue veins.
She imagined brushing her finger across that coppery hair. She saw again, felt again, his hands on her waist.
Rattled, she looked up into his face. Which was hardly safer.
“I am simply wondering, Miss Brightly, who you are. I feel some responsibility for your presence here at Redmond House, as I am your host. I feel responsible for your conduct insofar as it affects my guests. I rather unleashed you upon him, and I shall take it hard if he comes to some hurt.”
She felt her face go cold. Anger whitened it. How dare —
“Oh, please do make certain you count the silver at night, Mr. Redmond. I may steal it and go tearing off with the Gypsies. Or rob your guests of their watches and necklaces in the night.”
He spent a moment in apologetic silence.
“Gyspies are camped outside Pennyroyal Green. They always are this time of year. Wouldn’t be difficult to join their ranks.” He was attempting lightness.
She rolled her eyes and fanned her cheeks with her bonnet ribbon, then stopped herself, as it bordered on fidgeting.
“And then there’s the matter of my sister.”
“What of your sister? She’s amusing. Intelligent. Much more interesting than most of the females of the ton . I like her , too. She invited me because I will prevent her from being bored.” She flashed a sudden smile at him, all mischief.
“Precisely my fear,” he said.
She turned abruptly, preparing to stalk away. Then changed her mind and whirled about to face him again. “Why do you feel you have the right to gravely insult one of your own guests by questioning her provenance and behavior? You, who are so allegedly so concerned about the welfare of your guests?”
He inhaled at this and straightened abruptly. She watched his chest rise and fall with that breath.
“You’re quite right, Miss Brightly. It is just that you are…an unknown quantity, shall we say. I know nothing of you or your family, and suddenly you are an intimate of my sister. And Violet can be…willful. If anything, she has become more so in recent years. I am responsible for her well-being.”
Interesting that he didn’t say we . That he and not his father was responsible for Violet.
“You distrust the judgment of your sister so completely, Mr. Redmond?”
There was a silence.
“No,” he admitted. “Not completely .”
It was an admission that she might be something other than a stranger, and they both began to smile.
“I’m so flattered.”
She could not, however, deny the logic in his concern. She in fact reluctantly respected it.
She tamped her pride. “What will reassure you, Mr. Redmond, that I am not a thief or murderess?”
“From where do you hail? Who are your people?” he said quickly.
Cynthia turned her head toward the stream, as if imagining a boat upon on it, taking her away from here. A tense twig race was taking place. Milthorpe seemed to be captaining the enterprise. He was shouting nautical-sounding orders and waving his arms, and Jonathan and Argosy were kneeling on the bank, as the ladies clustered and cheered them on.
“Do you have any dogs here at Redmond House?” she asked suddenly.
“Of course. Why? Did you wish to practice liking them?”
She smiled again. “I thought Lord Milthorpe might enjoy the company of one.”
“Really? What makes you think so?”
They both smiled at this. And
“I’m puzzled, Mr. Redmond. Do you object to any of these things? Are you under the impression that I object to any of these things? I find nothing objectionable at all about them. Make your point.”
He uncrossed his arms, and she watched. His arms were brown and hard and sinewy from use. She saw crisp copper hair over them, the trace of pale blue veins.
She imagined brushing her finger across that coppery hair. She saw again, felt again, his hands on her waist.
Rattled, she looked up into his face. Which was hardly safer.
“I am simply wondering, Miss Brightly, who you are. I feel some responsibility for your presence here at Redmond House, as I am your host. I feel responsible for your conduct insofar as it affects my guests. I rather unleashed you upon him, and I shall take it hard if he comes to some hurt.”
She felt her face go cold. Anger whitened it. How dare —
“Oh, please do make certain you count the silver at night, Mr. Redmond. I may steal it and go tearing off with the Gypsies. Or rob your guests of their watches and necklaces in the night.”
He spent a moment in apologetic silence.
“Gyspies are camped outside Pennyroyal Green. They always are this time of year. Wouldn’t be difficult to join their ranks.” He was attempting lightness.
She rolled her eyes and fanned her cheeks with her bonnet ribbon, then stopped herself, as it bordered on fidgeting.
“And then there’s the matter of my sister.”
“What of your sister? She’s amusing. Intelligent. Much more interesting than most of the females of the ton . I like her , too. She invited me because I will prevent her from being bored.” She flashed a sudden smile at him, all mischief.
“Precisely my fear,” he said.
She turned abruptly, preparing to stalk away. Then changed her mind and whirled about to face him again. “Why do you feel you have the right to gravely insult one of your own guests by questioning her provenance and behavior? You, who are so allegedly so concerned about the welfare of your guests?”
He inhaled at this and straightened abruptly. She watched his chest rise and fall with that breath.
“You’re quite right, Miss Brightly. It is just that you are…an unknown quantity, shall we say. I know nothing of you or your family, and suddenly you are an intimate of my sister. And Violet can be…willful. If anything, she has become more so in recent years. I am responsible for her well-being.”
Interesting that he didn’t say we . That he and not his father was responsible for Violet.
“You distrust the judgment of your sister so completely, Mr. Redmond?”
There was a silence.
“No,” he admitted. “Not completely .”
It was an admission that she might be something other than a stranger, and they both began to smile.
“I’m so flattered.”
She could not, however, deny the logic in his concern. She in fact reluctantly respected it.
She tamped her pride. “What will reassure you, Mr. Redmond, that I am not a thief or murderess?”
“From where do you hail? Who are your people?” he said quickly.
Cynthia turned her head toward the stream, as if imagining a boat upon on it, taking her away from here. A tense twig race was taking place. Milthorpe seemed to be captaining the enterprise. He was shouting nautical-sounding orders and waving his arms, and Jonathan and Argosy were kneeling on the bank, as the ladies clustered and cheered them on.
“Do you have any dogs here at Redmond House?” she asked suddenly.
“Of course. Why? Did you wish to practice liking them?”
She smiled again. “I thought Lord Milthorpe might enjoy the company of one.”
“Really? What makes you think so?”
They both smiled at this. And
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