The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) by Victoria Alexander Page B

they don’t enjoy. Especially a subject that complicated. Believe me, Lady Garret, when I say that while I consider myself an intelligent man and I am competent in any number of areas, when I look at those drawings I cannot make head nor tail out of them.”
    She relaxed beside him. “Admittedly, plans can be confusing. I can explain them more thoroughly if you like.”
    “No, no, you have done an excellent job. Besides, I think it’s part of your charge as the representative of Garret and Tempest to take me by the hand and lead me along the path to the new, modernized Fairborough Hall.”
    She chuckled. “You are adapting surprisingly well to that path.”
    “Who would have imagined?” He grinned at her.
    “Not I. Especially as you think I should not be here at all.”
    “I never said that.”
    “Not in those precise words. How did you say it?” She thought for a moment. “Ah, yes. You said my representation of Garret and Tempest was unbecoming. That my place was at home.”
    He winced. “I said that, did I?”
    “And with a great deal of conviction.”
    “I hope you won’t hold that against me.”
    “Oh, but I will.”
    “And if I apologize?”
    “If your apology is sincere.”
    “I’ll have you know I rarely make insincere apologies,” he said staunchly. “If I have reached the conclusion that I was wrong, then I am more than willing to admit it.”
    “I see. And were you wrong?”
    “I was certainly wrong to be so adamant, so pompous.”
    “But you do believe a woman has no place in business and should remain at home.”
    “I think . . .” He chose his words carefully. “All of us—male or female—have our own reasons for deciding to do what we feel we must. Or perhaps what we want. We must be content with our choices, with choosing the course of action we feel is right, whether or not other people agree.”
    Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What an excellent answer, my lord. It certainly wasn’t the answer to my question but a good answer nonetheless.”
    “Thank you.” He grinned. “Oh, my mother asked that I give you this.” He pulled a note from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her.
    “And you have quite deftly changed the subject.” She accepted the note and unfolded it.
    “Clever of me, wasn’t it?”
    “But then you are a very clever man,” she said under her breath. It did not sound like a compliment.
    “Well?”
    “Well, this is interesting.”
    “Has she invited you for tea again?” He pulled the carriage to a halt, hopped out and circled around to help her down.
    “In a manner of speaking.” She refolded the note, reached out to accept the offer of his hand and allowed him to help her out of the gig. Her attire today was far more casual than at their previous meetings. With the exception of her dreadful shoes—which seemed to be permanently attached to her feet—her apparel had always been moderately fashionable, if reserved, and perfectly proper, as it was today. It was simply more practical in style, almost as if she intended to pick up a hammer herself. He wouldn’t put it past her. Her gloved hand fit nicely in his and the vaguest hint of loss washed through him when she pulled her hand away. She looked around. “I’m afraid I don’t see much in terms of architectural interest. Although the trees and road appear structurally sound.”
    “We’re not there yet.” He pulled a basket from the back of the gig.
    She raised a brow. “A picnic, my lord?”
    “It did seem a shame to waste a fine spring day on nothing but work.”
    She stared at him for a moment, then nodded, and he had the distinct impression she had made some sort of decision. She smiled. “It does indeed.”
    He returned her smile. Thus far, this was going better than he had hoped, but then Lady Garret’s manner was somehow different today. And most delightful.
    “It’s just down this path.”
    She eyed the narrow path warily. “Why don’t you go first?”
    “Excellent idea.” He