with her needlework as Meredith removed the cards from a small lacquered box and set them on the center of a small marble-topped table.
The fire crackled in the hearth and its flames cast fascinating shadows across the clean-cut lines of Nick's face as he seated himself across from her.
"You deal," Meredith directed.
He waved an elegant hand at the cards. "I defer to you. It is your home."
Meredith's nails dug into the tender flesh of her palms at the unwelcome reminder. He was no mere guest. No matter how loath she was to admit it, he was lord and master at least for several more months.
Setting her chin at a stubborn angle, she pushed the cards toward him. She preferred no pretense. For the time being, she lived as a guest in her own home, a leech surviving off the whims of his will. For him to pretend ignorance of that fact only offended her intelligence.
"You deal, my lord." She pasted a smile on her face. Let him enjoy the upper hand while he had it.
***
There were gentlewomen who frequented Nick's establishments—widows and ladies with husbands less than rigid in overseeing their wives' habits. Independent women of good family and fortune. Yet even these women seemed somehow soft and weak compared to the one sitting across from him. He could never picture them tending to the tenants of their country manors with the same zeal and dedication. Never could he see them assist in the messy delivery of a tenant's baby, then suffer right alongside the family in the loss of the mother. Interestingly enough, he thought Meredith more aristocratic than those other ladies because of her unorthodox behavior. Not despite it.
How the vain brother of his childhood memories ended up with a wife of her mettle mystified him. He supposed marriage to an earl's son was a fabulous match for a vicar's daughter. Perhaps his brother had possessed the foresight to see that Meredith would make an excellent countess. Over the past week, he had learned that she was an outstanding landlord. Oak Run truly required nothing from him while in her care. The tenants praised her. The household staff respected her. She even saw to the crops. Her establishment of a school for the tenants' children to attend when they were not needed at harvest spoke to the level of concern she held for the inhabitants of Oak Run.
He studied her closely, eyeing the hair neatly coiled atop her head. The firelight brightened her hair to a burnished brown, contrasting sharply with her pale skin. Bess could never duplicate such color from one of her jars of dye. The thought of her smooth, water-speckled legs had tormented him all day. He especially wondered how they would feel sliding around his hips. Too bad his brother got to her first. Nick had dropped his guard yesterday, allowed her to see his desire for her. Such a breach would not happen again. This was one woman he could never have.
He shuffled the cards with ease. They flew through the air like so many moths. A soft gasp escaped her, her lips parting in awe over his expertise. He chuckled, strangely pleased to have impressed her. She possessed a pleasant mouth. Wide, lush, and inviting. Frowning at his thoughts, he reminded himself that she was carrying another man's child. Edmund's child. That alone should cool his ardor and put her in the untouchable category right above nuns.
He dealt and studied his hand before returning his attention to her. She was an easy read—biting her lip when she disliked her hand. Grinning when she did.
He beat her the first game and quickly discovered that Lady Brookshire was a poor loser.
"How delightful!" her aunt crowed, looking up from her needlework. "No one has beaten Meredith before."
Nick's lips quirked in amusement as a becoming flush stole over Meredith's cheeks. It appeared the noble lady suffered from excess pride.
Her aunt stood and rested her needlework on the settee. "As pleasant as the evening has been, I'm wearied. I believe I shall retire." She looked to her
The fire crackled in the hearth and its flames cast fascinating shadows across the clean-cut lines of Nick's face as he seated himself across from her.
"You deal," Meredith directed.
He waved an elegant hand at the cards. "I defer to you. It is your home."
Meredith's nails dug into the tender flesh of her palms at the unwelcome reminder. He was no mere guest. No matter how loath she was to admit it, he was lord and master at least for several more months.
Setting her chin at a stubborn angle, she pushed the cards toward him. She preferred no pretense. For the time being, she lived as a guest in her own home, a leech surviving off the whims of his will. For him to pretend ignorance of that fact only offended her intelligence.
"You deal, my lord." She pasted a smile on her face. Let him enjoy the upper hand while he had it.
***
There were gentlewomen who frequented Nick's establishments—widows and ladies with husbands less than rigid in overseeing their wives' habits. Independent women of good family and fortune. Yet even these women seemed somehow soft and weak compared to the one sitting across from him. He could never picture them tending to the tenants of their country manors with the same zeal and dedication. Never could he see them assist in the messy delivery of a tenant's baby, then suffer right alongside the family in the loss of the mother. Interestingly enough, he thought Meredith more aristocratic than those other ladies because of her unorthodox behavior. Not despite it.
How the vain brother of his childhood memories ended up with a wife of her mettle mystified him. He supposed marriage to an earl's son was a fabulous match for a vicar's daughter. Perhaps his brother had possessed the foresight to see that Meredith would make an excellent countess. Over the past week, he had learned that she was an outstanding landlord. Oak Run truly required nothing from him while in her care. The tenants praised her. The household staff respected her. She even saw to the crops. Her establishment of a school for the tenants' children to attend when they were not needed at harvest spoke to the level of concern she held for the inhabitants of Oak Run.
He studied her closely, eyeing the hair neatly coiled atop her head. The firelight brightened her hair to a burnished brown, contrasting sharply with her pale skin. Bess could never duplicate such color from one of her jars of dye. The thought of her smooth, water-speckled legs had tormented him all day. He especially wondered how they would feel sliding around his hips. Too bad his brother got to her first. Nick had dropped his guard yesterday, allowed her to see his desire for her. Such a breach would not happen again. This was one woman he could never have.
He shuffled the cards with ease. They flew through the air like so many moths. A soft gasp escaped her, her lips parting in awe over his expertise. He chuckled, strangely pleased to have impressed her. She possessed a pleasant mouth. Wide, lush, and inviting. Frowning at his thoughts, he reminded himself that she was carrying another man's child. Edmund's child. That alone should cool his ardor and put her in the untouchable category right above nuns.
He dealt and studied his hand before returning his attention to her. She was an easy read—biting her lip when she disliked her hand. Grinning when she did.
He beat her the first game and quickly discovered that Lady Brookshire was a poor loser.
"How delightful!" her aunt crowed, looking up from her needlework. "No one has beaten Meredith before."
Nick's lips quirked in amusement as a becoming flush stole over Meredith's cheeks. It appeared the noble lady suffered from excess pride.
Her aunt stood and rested her needlework on the settee. "As pleasant as the evening has been, I'm wearied. I believe I shall retire." She looked to her
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