The man was beginning to become annoying. She wanted to take her time viewing the house. She’d already made up her mind to buy the estate, but she knew it was important to scrutinize it just in case her instincts were wrong. The only time she’d visited Crawley Hall had been shortly after she’d become involved with Marston. Their carriage had broken a wheel near the entrance to the Hall, and the owner had invited them to tea while repairs were made.

Although they’d never met before, Ruth had immediately recognized the woman as a former mistress of the Prince of Wales. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but the older woman had been a prophetic sign of Ruth’s future. Perhaps that was why she’d never forgotten Crawley Hall. Subconsciously, she’d known then that her own retirement was close at hand. When she’d heard the woman had died and the estate was for sale, she’d mentioned to Marston that she was considering buying the house.

He’d immediately offered to purchase the estate for her, but requested she wait a couple of months for some of his investments to mature. She released a soft noise of disgust. She should have pressed him about the estate weeks ago, although something told her the man would have put her off just as he had the first time.

The sound of a carriage rolling across the gravelly drive caught her attention, and she crossed the drawing room floor to peer out the window. Having removed her gloves earlier, the sheer curtains that lined the interior portion of the window brushed over her skin like a fine sandpaper as she pushed the material aside. The position of the carriage made it impossible to see who’d arrived. With a frown, she turned back toward the salon doorway to see that Smythe had disappeared.

Her chest tightened with fear. Damn, the little toad. This couldn’t be a coincidence. The man knew she had limited funds. The sales agent was using her simply to extract a higher price from another potential buyer.

Perhaps the other bidder wouldn’t like the house. It had been on the market for more than a year, and that meant Smythe might find it difficult to sell to this new prospective buyer. Male voices echoed in the hall, and she sighed with resignation as she moved toward the doorway. She’d taken only two steps into the foyer when she came to a dead stop.

Almost as if he were expecting to see her, the man bowed in her direction, and as he straightened, a small smile curved his sensuous mouth. She clenched her teeth as she directed a sharp nod toward him.

“Lord Stratfield.”

“Lady Ruth.”

He moved toward her and she was forced to offer him her hand. The moment his mouth brushed across her skin, it was as if she’d been burned. She jerked her hand free of his to turn her attention toward the sales agent.

“I would like to see the upstairs now, Mr. Smythe.”

“Of course, my lady.” The sales agent bowed slightly, his manner hesitant. “Would you mind, if Lord Stratfield joins us?”

“Not at all,” she bit out. Did she mind? Of course she did. She didn’t want the bastard anywhere near her. That wasn’t exactly true. Determined to ignore the small taunting voice in her head, she turned away from Lord Stratfield in a dismissive manner and pinned her gaze on the sales agent. “Might we continue, Mr. Smythe?”

“Certainly, my lady. If you’ll both follow me.” The sales agent, suddenly realizing she wasn’t happy, bowed obsequiously to her as he headed toward the main staircase. At least the man finally understood that his efforts to provoke a bidding war might be in danger. But she already knew Crawley Hall was lost. She was certain Stratfield was far better off financially than she was, which meant the man could outbid her.

Muscles stiff with anger, she followed the balding sales agent toward the steps. It seemed pointless to see the remainder of the house, but perhaps Stratfield would decide the estate wasn’t to his liking. Fingers sliding over a burnished oak railing, she climbed the stairs that rose up from the center of the foyer to branch off to the left and right at the first landing.

As they reached the second floor’s main hall, she counted the number of doorways. Eight rooms. She entered the first bedroom and carefully assessed its dimensions. If the rest of the bedrooms were this size, she could easily accommodate more than twenty children on this floor alone, while still leaving two rooms for her and Dolores to use. The servants’ quarters would no doubt allow for two or three more children. She moved toward the window to look out at the landscape.

The sunshine made the late winter snow on the ground glisten. It was lovely now, but in the spring it would be even more so. She whispered a silent prayer that her rival wouldn’t want the house. The children she brought from the orphanage would flourish here. Smythe’s voice echoed in the corridor in an obvious attempt to capture Stratfield’s attention. She turned back toward the door only to see her competition leaning against the doorjamb. There was something beautiful about him in the nonchalant position he’d assumed that stole her breath away.

Irritated that she could even think to find him attractive after last night, she gripped the stem of her umbrella so tightly she thought it might snap. Not bothering to speak, she crossed the floor and waited in silence for him to move. With a frown, he straightened and she quickly tried to pass him. As she drew abreast of him, his hand caught her upper arm to hold her in place.

“Let me go,” she snapped.

“I’d like to explain about last night.”

“There is no explanation necessary, my lord.”

“I think there is,” he said as he leaned into her. She immediately shrank back, aware of the heat spreading its way through her that was becoming all too familiar. Equally familiar was that steady gaze of his. “I danced with you because I wanted to, Ruth. Not because I pitied you.”

Surprised by his fierce declaration, she stared at him in silence. In the deepest reaches of her mind, she acknowledged that she liked the way he’d said her name. There was a warm intimacy to the sound that threaded its way through her senses. She swallowed hard as she remembered the humiliation she’d felt last night as she walked away from him. Was it possible he was telling the truth?

The earnest expression on his face made her think he was. There was such an intensity about him that she could almost swear he was mentally willing her to believe him. The knowledge that he’d danced with her because he wanted to sent a warm rush of pleasure pulsing through her veins. Alarmed by her reaction, she gave him a quick nod and drew in a deep breath.

“I believe you.”

“Thank you.” The simplicity of his response made his confession all the more sincere. Rattled by the intensity of his gaze, she looked down at the hand wrapped around her arm.

“I’d like to see the remainder of the house, my lord.”

“Garrick.”

“I beg your pardon?” She knew exactly what he was doing, but the intimacy of using his first name frightened her. Everything about this man frightened her.

“My name is Garrick.” A stubborn look crossed his handsome features, and she studied him for a minute before nodding.

“Very well. Garrick.” She kept her tone crisp, expecting him to say something else, but he didn’t. He just stared at her. She grew selfconscious under his gaze and nodded toward his hand one more time. “May we continue, my . . . Garrick.”

“What? Yes. Of course.”

He seemed almost dazed for a moment as she darted a glance in his direction. He quickly released her, and stepped back to give her access to the hallway. As she moved past him, a whiff of cologne teased her nostrils. It was a heady aroma of spice and cedar. The scent lingered on her senses as she put distance between them. Smythe appeared out of one of the other rooms down the hall.

“There you are. If you’ll come this way, my lord, my lady, I’ll show you the master suite.”

Eager to finish viewing the property so she could escape, she hurried toward the sales agent, all too aware of Stratfield following close behind. As she entered the master bedroom, her first impression was that she’d entered a male domain. The furniture was heavy and masculine, while the drapes were a deep maroon brocade. She darted a look in Stratfield’s direction as he strode to the window and flung the curtains back. The room was a perfect complement to his sinfully dark looks. He turned around and as he met her gaze, his mouth curled upward in a small smile as if he had a secret. She immediately looked away.

“Is the furniture included in the sale price, Mr. Smythe?” she asked quietly as she looked around the room. There was little here she could use.

The stocky sales agent nodded his head. “Everything is included, but if the buyer prefers, the furniture can be sold at auction prior to moving into the house. Of course, this room in particular was clearly made for the master of the house.”

The reminder that she wasn’t the only one considering the purchase of Crawley Hall renewed her sense of frustration. The Hall should have been hers. Now she was forced to bid on the house and hope that Garrick didn’t offer more money.

“I’d like to see the dining room and kitchen if you please,” she said with a brisk note in her voice. She quickly turned toward Garrick. She winced. How quickly she’d fallen into thinking of him by his first name. “That is, if you’ve seen enough on this floor, my lord.”

He arched his eyebrow at her abrupt tone, but his only response was a brief nod and a slight bow. It was as if he was humoring her, and she didn’t like it. Struggling to keep her irritation hidden, she turned around and headed toward the door.

“Smythe, do you know anything about the current owners of the estate?”

Garrick’s question brought her to a halt as she turned and waited for the short, stocky sales agent to answer. To her surprise, Smythe suddenly appeared distinctly uncomfortable. He threw her a quick glance then averted his gaze.

“The owner died recently and her heirs wish to sell the Hall.”

“And the lady who owned the house. Do you know anything about her?”

“Only that she was one of the Prince’s . . . lady friends from his youth.” Smythe’s pained expression almost made her laugh, and her gaze met Garrick’s, whose mouth was twitching with amusement.

“Ah, then that explains the mirror.”

Puzzled, she watched Smythe swallow uncomfortably as the sales agent’s gaze shifted toward her then back to Stratfield. “Mirror, my lord?”

“I’m disappointed, Smythe. Don’t tell me you’ve not noticed it.”

With a nod toward the bed, Garrick arched his eyebrows at the sales agent. Frowning, she crossed the floor and looked up at the underside of the canopy. Attached to the ceiling, the canopy hid a large mirror centered over the bed. Etched boldly into the glass was the inscription For Queen and Country.

“Good lord,” she gasped, trying not to laugh.

The woman Ruth remembered from their only meeting had exhibited a wicked sense of humor, and she wondered if the Prince of Wales had actually slept in the bed. Somehow she was more inclined to believe Bertie’s old mistress had commissioned the mirror long after her affair with the Prince had ended. It didn’t really matter. She was certain Bertie wouldn’t want anyone else to see the mirror, and she was certain Mr. Smythe knew it, too. No wonder the man looked so uncomfortable. “Forgive me, my lady. My lord.” Smythe cleared his throat and one glance showed sweat milling on his forehead. “I apologize. I left word the mirror was to be removed this morning. Obviously my instructions were not followed.”

“I trust you’ll see to its removal soon,” Garrick said with a hint of steel in his voice.

“Most assuredly, my lord. If word ever reached . . . well I’d be ruined.” The sales agent eyed both of them with terror in his eyes.

“I have no desire to see your livelihood jeopardized, Mr. Smythe,” she said with a sigh. Despite his annoying manner, the man wasn’t to blame for the previous owner’s decorating choices. “But I agree with Lord Stratfield that the mirror should be removed without delay.”

“Yes, my lady. Thank you.” The sales agent bowed his gratitude then hurried toward the bedroom doorway. “Now if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the remainder of the house.”

Ruth resisted the impulse to look in Garrick’s direction as she turned to follow the sales agent out of the room. In the space of less than an hour, the man had forced her to completely redefine her opinion of him. It had been easy to keep her distance from him when she found him despicable. But now . . . now she was struggling hard not to like him.

Just moments ago, she’d sent him reeling when he’d inhaled that sweetly tart scent of hers. It beckoned a man to see if she tasted as good as she smelled. It was a distinctly different fragrance from last night. Today she smelled crisp and fresh, while last night she’d been an exotic mystery for his senses. He suppressed a groan.

The minute he got Smythe alone, he was going to pummel the man for putting him in such a devilishly tight spot. He wanted Crawley Hall, but it was clear she did, too. And that was a problem he’d not had to consider on his way here. Although she didn’t show it openly, he could tell by the way she touched the doors, the banisters, everything, she wanted the property badly.

She didn’t just touch things. She caressed them. As gently as she might stroke a lover. He swallowed hard as his collar tightened around his neck again. He followed her out of the bedroom at a deliberate pace. He was walking a dangerous path with the woman. First last night, and now the proposition he’d seriously contemplated the entire ride to Crawley Hall.

It would have been best to just let sleeping dogs lie. Easier to let her think pity had been his motivation last night when he’d asked her to dance as opposed to his spontaneous desire to hold her. No, the only thing piteous about dancing with her last night had been his reaction to her. As he followed her down the corridor, his gaze dropped to the small of her back, where his hand had rested as he’d guided her around the dance floor. She’d been a soft heat in his arms, and he had no doubt she’d be a fiery creature in a man’s bed.

He shook his head slightly as he obliterated the images beginning to take hold in his head. That was never going to happen. It couldn’t. But if the woman could cloud his senses so easily in the company of others, what would it be like when he was finally alone with her? He clenched his jaw as they made their way downstairs.

Perhaps Smythe had done him a favor. In the light of day, he was seeing just how difficult things could be if he were to approach Ruth about being his lover in name only. It wouldn’t be as cut-and-dried as it had seemed in the carriage this morning. In fact, he had the distinct feeling it would be one of the most difficult challenges he’d ever undertaken.

Despite the dimly lit hallway leading to the back of the house, the kitchen was bright and open. It was an enormous room with a large brick oven and a cookstove that was so shiny clean it could have easily been brand-new. Delight lit up Ruth’s features as she carefully rolled her veil up onto the brim of her hat.

He couldn’t remember ever having seen a more beautiful woman. Her cheeks had a slight blush to them, and a pair of widely set eyes offset her slender nose. He could think of no one he’d ever met who had eyes the color of hers. They were dark violet and filled with secrets. But it was the dark pink of her full, plump lips that made his mouth go dry.

Clasping his hands tightly behind his back, he jerked his gaze away from her animated features. His reaction to her was aggravating. He knew better than to let physical desire take command of his senses. If he had any intention of presenting his proposition to Ruth, he needed to make damn sure he could maintain control of himself when near her. It was the only way the arrangement would work between them. He needed to keep the relationship strictly platonic.

“Do you know if the flue is capable of supporting a second cookstove, Smythe?”

Startled by her question, he looked in her direction. What the devil did she need a second cookstove for? The sales agent seemed equally puzzled as he shook his head.

“I’m not certain, my lady. I would have to have the local blacksmith inspect it.”

“Before I even consider making an offer, I would need that question and several others answered.”

“Of course, my lady,” Smythe said with a look of defeat.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to see some of the garden.”

“But there’s snow on the ground, my lady!”

“Thank you for that observation, Smythe, but all the same, I’d like to take a walk outside. I’m sure Lord Stratfield has questions, so there’s no need to accompany me.”

Before either of them could stop her, Ruth headed toward the door that led to a small mudroom and then outdoors. Smythe’s dumbfounded look almost made Garrick laugh out loud. The agent had no idea how to react to her, but then he wasn’t sure he would have had a response either. As she disappeared out the back door, Smythe turned to him with amazement.

“My lord, do you have—”

“I think I’ll join the Lady Ruth for a stroll outside as well, Smythe. I suggest you wait for us in the main hall.”

He grinned as he walked past the man on his way outside. For a second time the stocky sales agent was at a complete loss for words. The door to the kitchen closed behind him as he paused for a moment in the mudroom. Had Ruth actually gone out into the snow without overshoes? He rapidly donned a pair of the rubber coverings and followed her out into the snow.

From the size of her footprints, she’d foregone the galoshes, which meant she could easily fall if she wasn’t careful. Concerned for her welfare, he moved quickly along the path she’d made in the snow. The garden was lifeless at the moment, small bits of dead plants pushing through the few inches of snow on the ground. Fruit trees, their bare branches like spider legs crooked in every direction, lined the rear of the garden, while a barren white arbor crossed the path he followed.

Ruth’s footsteps led toward an orangery a short distance away, and he could see her shadowy figure through the steamed windows of the hothouse. He reached the building quickly and stepped into its humid warmth. The size of the indoor garden was larger than he expected. Someone had obviously been caring for it as he could see tomato plants bearing small fruit.

Ahead of him, he saw the top of Ruth’s hat. He really needed his head examined for seeking the woman out. But something beyond his comprehension drove him forward. Worse, he knew whatever was compelling him onward would most likely bring him nothing but trouble. He rounded a corner to find Ruth examining an ornamental pear tree. Whether she’d been so preoccupied inspecting the hothouse or his tread had been lighter than he expected, she cried out in surprise the moment she turned and saw him standing behind her.

“Good lord,” she gasped as her eyes flashed with anger. “You scared me half out of my wits.”

“Forgive me. I thought you heard me come into the building.”

“No. I didn’t.”

She turned away from him to continue along the pebble-lined path in silence. With a frown, he followed her. After several steps, she whirled around to face him.

“Is there something I can help you with, my lord?”

“I thought we’d settled on you calling me Garrick.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake. Is there something you want, Garrick?”

He ignored the lustful images that immediately flooded his head at her words. Folding his arms across his chest, he eyed her cautiously. “Why do you want Crawley Hall?”

“What?” Shocked, she took a step back from him and shook her head as she stared at him in mute surprise.

“I asked you why you want Crawley Hall.”

“I . . . it’s an investment,” she snapped.

“No. It’s more than that.” He frowned at the way she blanched. “You want this estate. Badly.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do. You show it with every thing you touch in the house, even with these plants. A man could easily die of pleasure in your arms if you were to stroke him the same way.” He stiffened as he saw her eyes widen, and he realized he’d said too much.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She sniffed, her cheeks flushed with color. “It’s a house, nothing more.”

“If that’s true, then why don’t you answer my question, Ruth?”

He saw her swallow hard the moment he said her name, and the flash of emotion in her eyes propelled him forward until there was little more than an inch between them. She was breathing rapidly, and her scent filled his nostrils as he concentrated on the lushness of her lower lip. He stood there breathing her in, feeling her heat press into him despite the fact that he wasn’t touching her.

What the devil was wrong with him? At the first sensation of desire, he’d always managed to put distance between himself and a woman. But not this time. Christ Jesus he knew it was a mistake, but he wanted to taste her. He lowered his head toward her, but she suddenly darted out of reach.

“You must excuse me, my lord. I must return to London now in order not to be late for a supper engagement.” Clearly agitated, she started to move past him, but he blocked her path.

“Not until you tell me why you want Crawley Hall.” His persistence puzzled him. Why was it so important to him to know her reasons for wanting the Hall? The answer to that question eluded him. He simply knew he had to know.

“Step aside please, my lord. Your tenacity is most annoying particularly when I’m not obliged to tell you anything.”

“True,” he said quietly. “But I would like to know why it’s so important to you.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her gaze filled with a wariness that made him frown. He wanted her to trust him as she might a friend. The thought made him question his sanity again. Resignation furrowed her brow as she released a sharp sigh.

“Very well. I wish to retire here.” Another emotion darkened her gaze as he stared at her. He was certain she was telling him the truth as to why she wanted the estate, just not the whole truth. She didn’t need a house as big as Crawley Hall. It was meant for a large family, or as in his case, as a home for orphans. He clasped his hands behind his back and arched his eyebrow.

“Retirement? You’re far too young for that.” It was a sincere observation, but it made her eyes open wide with amazement. Suddenly, she laughed out loud. It was a melodious sound that generated a bolt of pleasure inside him. He liked the sound of her laughter.

“I thank you for the compliment, but I’m forty-one. And for a woman in my position, that makes my prospects shall we say . . . limited.”

“I think you underestimate your charms, Ruth. There are plenty of men who would eagerly seek out your company. You’re a beautiful woman.” And younger looking than she gave herself credit for. The woman could have easily passed for little more than a few years older than him instead of the twelve that was between them.

“You flatter me, but you have the blindness that comes with youth, something I lost a long time ago.” She sent him a wry smile. It irritated him that she could dismiss his compliment so easily. She was more desirable than she realized. He ignored the alarm ringing in his head.

“You seem to think me a callow youth attempting to gain your favor with flattery,” he snapped. “I’m not in the habit of saying something I don’t mean.”

Her violet eyes turned a stormy hue as she stared at him in surprise before she tipped her head in his direction.

“Forgive me. I’ve clearly forgotten how to accept a compliment.”

Despite her quiet apology, he was still annoyed. There might be a substantial gap in age between them, but it wasn’t as if he was fresh out of the schoolroom. Nor had she captivated him so completely that he’d lost his senses. An unconvincing lie, but one he could live with at the moment. He might not have the experience of a woman’s bed, but he was far from innocent as to what happened between a man and woman. More importantly, he wasn’t the kind of man who would unceremoniously discard a mistress simply because of her age.

And Marston had made that point brutally clear by his comments and current relationship with a woman half Ruth’s age. What the bastard had done to Ruth was reminiscent of the humiliation he’d suffered more than ten years ago. He’d lost his youth and innocence in one fell swoop the night his uncle and Bertha had deliberately humiliated him. He understood more than she’d ever know how deeply insults could cut.

The thick silence between them obviously made her uncomfortable, and he saw her fingers fidget with the handle of her umbrella. A ridiculous thing to be carrying out here in the snow. Of all the things about women, their fashions and need for fripperies was the one thing he’d never understood.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lor . . . Garrick, I think I’ll return to the house.”

“You continue to have difficulty with my name. Do I make you nervous?” He narrowed his eyes as he saw color flush her cheeks.

“It . . . it denotes an intimacy that doesn’t exist between us.”

“There are various forms of intimacy, Ruth. Could we not at least be friends?”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Because there are a couple of years difference between us?” He saw her flinch at the question. The devil take it, he would have to remember how sensitive she was about her age.

“No, of course not.” The tone of her voice told him the age difference between them was precisely the reason why she’d refused his offer of friendship.

“And if I bought Crawley Hall for you? Would that change the way you feel?”

Bloody hell, had he lost his mind? This was the largest place he’d found in months that would house more children, while allowing for the expansion he knew would be needed in the future. And here he was offering it up to her on a silver platter. He frowned as she glared at him.

“A generous offer, my lord, but I must refuse. I’m not ashamed of how I make my living, but I am not so desperate as to sell myself off to the first man who comes calling after another breaks with me.”

With a scornful nod, she spun away from him and left him to stare after her with what he could only define as intense remorse. A feeling he didn’t like at all. Not only had he jeopardized his own plans where she was concerned, he’d proven her right. His inexperience in securing the services of a mistress was more than evident and only served to emphasize his youth all the more.

Irritated by his lack of finesse, he clenched his teeth in self-disgust. He’d insulted her. It wasn’t his habit to insult people he liked. And he definitely liked Ruth. He grunted with anger. There was definitely a protocol involved in these types of matters, but in his ignorance, he’d blundered badly.

Worse, his treatment of her, whether intentional or not, differed little from the contempt Marston had shown her. The sound of the hothouse door slamming shut jerked him out of his stupor, and he ran after her. As he stepped out into the snow, he saw her making her way quickly, yet cautiously, down the slight hill toward the garden. He easily caught up with her before she could reach the barren rose trellis.

“Ruth . . . I’m an ass.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” she bit out viciously.

He touched her elbow only to have her yank herself free of his grip to continue toward the garden. She’d only taken two steps when her feet went out from under her. Her soft cry made him leap forward, and he caught her in his arms as she fell. The scent of her swept over him as a soft shoulder pressed into his chest. He’d never realized a woman could smell so delicious all in one breath. The sound of her ragged breathing stirred something deep inside him.

It was a predatory response on his part. He knew it wasn’t the fall that had affected her breathing, and it excited him. A tremor shook her body, which only heightened the sensation. Desire barreled its way through him as he glanced down to see his fingers splayed against her stomach, mere inches from the lush fullness of her breasts.

An image of her naked, her nipples stiff and begging to be licked, flashed through his head. Almost immediately, his cock swelled in his pants. Christ Jesus, the woman was temptation personified. Her head was slightly turned away from him, exposing a delectable neck he wanted to nibble on. Without thinking, he bent his head toward her, his mouth barely brushing across her skin.

Her sharp gasp made him jerk his head up. Where the hell was the control he’d always managed to maintain with other women and the desire they’d aroused in him? He’d already erred with her twice and had no wish to repeat his mistake. He immediately pulled back and helped her straighten upright. The minute she pulled away from him, his body protested with a strength that tightened every muscle in his body. A stark hunger gripped his insides as he noted the slight flutter on the side of her neck. He crushed his urge to reach out and drag his finger across the spot. Instead, he took a step back from her.

“I made a mistake.”

“More than one,” she snapped.

“Perhaps we might start over.”

His gaze met her wary one as he watched her mulling his suggestion over. Her violet eyes darkened suddenly, and a composed mask settled over her features.

“I see no point in doing so, my lord. I have no wish to enter into a new liaison with any man. Particularly one who thinks gaining access to my bed is little more than a simple monetary transaction. I’m not ashamed of the way I make my living, but I offer a great deal more than the ordinary whore you mistake me for. Even Marston, for all his faults, knew that much.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, she turned away and proceeded to make her way to the house. He stood there watching her walk away, her back ramrod straight with what he was certain could only be indignation. The idea that she’d placed him on a rung lower than Marston made him stiffen with anger. He wasn’t sure if his irritation was rooted in self-disgust or if it was the fact that Ruth didn’t like him. Either way, it was best that he stayed away from her, and the idea he’d even thought of asking her to be his mistress in name only was laughable. Unfortunately, he was far from amused.