LITMIR.BIZ

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into the wing chair that had been his father’s favorite. He was much the height and build of his father, and the chair seemed tailored to his shape. Picking up the brandy he had left, he thought about what he had accomplished today.

      Based on her efficiency at making the house habitable, he had offered the position of full-time housekeeper to Mrs. Herald. Since he had not insisted that she live in, she had accepted with alacrity. Mrs. Herald had also recommended several local girls as house and kitchen maids. Reggie assumed they were all related to her, but he didn’t mind nepotism as long as they were competent.

      Molly Barlow, a plump, comely widow in her forties as well as Mrs. Herald’s sister-in-law, had proved to be a good plain cook, so he had given her the position permanently. Within the next two days, she and her youngest child would move into the servants’ quarters. Reggie had eyed her with interest, but it would be poor policy to bed his own servants. He’d have to make different arrangements, perhaps in Dorchester

      Or he could invite Chessie down for a visit. He chuckled at the thought of what the county would think. Likely some of the men would recognize her, since Chessie ran one of London’s best brothels. Having her at Strickland would certainly eliminate any risk that he would be acceptable to the womenfolk of the local gentry.

      Amusement faded, and he ran his hand tiredly through his dark hair as his thoughts circled around to his improbable steward. He wasn’t really worried about burning Lady Alys’s tender ears with his language. The real danger was that he would be unable to keep his hands off the blasted woman. While Reggie found a broad range of females attractive, tall women with long legs and richly feminine figures could turn him into a softheaded imbecile. Garbed as she was this afternoon, the legs had been immediately obvious. The figure had been equally alluring.

      Under other circumstances she might have been a real find, but during their conversation, he had revised his initial impression. She might not be shy, but she was certainly a virgin. Beneath her unconventional dress and occupation, there lurked the rigid soul of a governess. She had been quite unable to repress her furious disapproval of him. Not that Reggie blamed her. If he had ruled here for years, he would be equally furious at being displaced. In her case anger was supplemented by contempt for the kind of man the new owner was.

      It would be much simpler to get rid of the woman, but he was reluctant to turn her out. She had reached her present position only through a lucky chance, and she was unlikely to find another such post. Which would be both unfair and unfortunate, because his review of the accounts had showed that the woman had a talent for her work that bordered on genius.

      Reggie had always had a knack for figures, and had deciphered an intriguing story from the account books. The previous steward had been fired by the Wargrave business manager for embezzlement. When Miss Weston took over, there had been an immediate jump in income simply through honest record keeping.

      Then the story became really interesting. The income had increased for the first two years under Lady Alys, but the profits had been canceled by heavy capital investment. In the last two years, the improvements had paid off with a sharp rise in income. Many of the expenditures were clear from the books. However, there were some cryptic entries that he intended to ask about.

      He refilled his brandy glass. Then he settled back in his chair again, thinking of that magnificent female body, and how it was wasted on a dedicated spinster. If she had been as young as her appearance suggested, there might have been some hope of teaching her what she was missing, but since she had reached the advanced age of thirty in a state of militant virginity, her attitude was unlikely to change.

      Reggie sighed and rested his head against the chair back. He didn’t doubt his ability to control his base instincts when he was sober, but if she paraded that beautiful body in front of him when he was half foxed, he might behave very badly indeed. And really, he didn’t need any more reasons to despise himself.

      Well, he was generally sober during the day, and he was unlikely to be socializing with his steward, so her virtue should be safe. However, he had had just enough brandy so that if Lady Alys were present, he might have forgotten that he was a nominal gentleman and made a most improper suggestion. Then she would box his ears, and he would need a new steward.

      He chuckled and picked up the brandy decanter to carry to his bedchamber. In his present mood, it was much more amusing to imagine what might happen if she didn’t box his ears.

      Chapter 5

      Reggie awoke to the familiar, temple-pounding aftermath of too much brandy. He had been able to put himself to bed, which meant that he wasn’t as badly off as his last morning in London, but his present state was quite bad enough. Groping for his watch on the bedside table, he discovered that it was seven-thirty. He had just enough time to make himself presentable and meet Lady Alys for his tour of the estate.

      Groaning, he rolled to the edge of the bed and sat there, his head in his hands as he prayed that Mac Cooper would arrive from London today. It was much harder to face the morning without Mac’s skilled ministrations.

      Cautiously he stood. The brandy decanter was empty, which explained his head. He must arrange for new supplies of drink before the day was over, because at this rate the cellar would soon be empty.

      The morning was damp and overcast. By the time Reggie had saddled his horse Bucephalus, he was swearing silently at himself for having requested this tour. It had been a deliberate choice to ride over the estate for the first time with someone else. Alone, he might run the risk of becoming maudlin. However, it was altogether too early in the day to face Lady Alys’s censorious eye.

      His mood was not improved when his steward entered the stables, bandbox neat in a dark brown riding habit. The severe cut couldn’t quite disguise her luscious figure, though it did conceal the distracting legs. He studied the crown of thick, glossy braids. Her hair must be nearly waist length. Like her body, it was another splendid asset wasted; the expression on her handsome face rivaled Medusa for paralyzing effect.

      “Good morning, Mr. Davenport. Is there any particular part of the estate you would like to see first?” Alys’s nervousness came out as waspishness, but it was hard to sweeten her tone when such a difficult day lay ahead of her. Davenport would surely disapprove of some of her innovations, possibly to the point where his tentative willingness to retain her might evaporate.

      Davenport grunted a greeting as she went for her sidesaddle. He looked like a bear with a sore ear, which made it surprising when he took the saddle away from her. “I thought you were going to treat me like a man,” she remarked as he saddled her mount.

      He gave her a slanting glance as he tightened the girth. “That’s hard to do when you’re dressed like a woman.”

      Uncomfortable under his piercing gaze, she changed the subject. “Mr. Davenport, you will see some . . . unusual things at Strickland. There are reasons for everything I have done. I ask that you allow me to explain rather than condemning out of hand.”

      He turned from the horse to face her. Alys was once more uncomfortably aware of how tall he was.

      “I’ll add any new oddities to the list of questions I have already,” he said dryly.

      The comment did not bode well.

      They led their horses out into the open air. Obscurely unwilling to be touched by Davenport, Alys went to the mounting block before he could assist her. As she settled into the sidesaddle and arranged the fall of her long skirts, she felt the ironic amusement in his gaze. However, he said only, “A beautiful mare,” as he swung onto his own horse.

      “She belongs to me, not the estate,” Alys said defensively. “I have the bill of sale if you don’t believe me.”

      Davenport set his horse out of the stable yard at a trot. “Did I show any sign of doubting you?”

      “No.” She felt like biting her tongue. To hide her embarrassment, she said hurriedly, “Most of the horses in the stables are just for wagon and plow use. The estate owns two riding hacks, but nothing of great quality. I keep my mare here because the steward’s

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