orange and pink. Henry was certain there was no place on earth as beautiful as Stannage Park that very minute. Unable to contain herself, she sighed.
Dunford heard the noise and regarded her curiously. She was gazing, enraptured, out the window. The look of awe on her face was humbling. He had always enjoyed outdoor pursuits, but never before had he seen a human being so obviously filled with respect and wonder for the forces of nature. She was a complex woman, his Henry.
His Henry? When had he started thinking of her in possessive terms?
Since she tumbled into your bed this morning, his mind replied wryly. And stop pretending you don't remember you kissed her.
It had all come back to him while he'd been getting dressed. He hadn't meant to kiss her, hadn't even realized at the time that it was Henry in his arms. But that didn't mean he didn't remember every little detail now: the curve of her lips, the silky feel of her hair against his bare chest, the now familiar scent of her. Lemons. For some reason she smelled like lemons. He couldn't quite stop his lips from twitching as he hoped the lemony fragrance was more de rigueur than her piggy scent of the day they met.
"What's so funny?"
He looked up. Henry was regarding him curiously. He quickly schooled his features back into a scowl. "Do I look as if something is funny?"
"You did," she muttered, turning back to her breakfast.
He watched her eat. She took a bite and then returned her gaze to the window, where the sun was still painting the sky. She sighed again. She obviously loved Stannage Park very much, he reflected. More than he'd ever seen one person love a piece of land.
That was it! He couldn't believe what a fool he'd been not to have realized it before. Of course she wanted to get rid of him. She'd been running Stannage Park for six years. She'd poured her entire adult life and a good portion of her childhood into this estate. She couldn't possibly welcome interference from a total stranger. Hell, he could probably boot her off the premises if he wanted. She was no relation to him.
He'd have to obtain a copy of Carlyle's will to see the exact terms as pertained to Miss Henrietta Barrett, if there were any. The solicitor who'd come by to tell him about his inheritance...what was his name...? Leverett...yes, Leverett had said he'd forward a copy of the will, but it hadn't reached him by the time he left for Cornwall.
The poor girl was probably terrified. And furious. He glanced up at her impossibly cheerful facade. He'd wager she was more furious than terrified. "You like it here a great deal, don't you?" he asked abruptly.
Startled by his sudden willingness to actually converse with her, Henry coughed a bit before finally answering, "Yes. Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"
"No reason. Just wondering. One can see it in your face, you know."
"See what?" she asked hesitantly.
"Your love for Stannage Park. I was watching you while you were watching the sunrise."
"Y-you were?"
"Mmm-hmm." And that, apparently, was all he was going to say on the matter. He turned back to his breakfast and ignored her completely.
Henry worriedly chewed on her lower lip. This was a bad sign. Why would he care about how she felt unless he were somehow planning to use it against her? If he wanted revenge, nothing could be so excruciatingly painful as being banished from her beloved home.
But then again, why would he want revenge against her? He might not like her, he might even find her rather annoying, but she'd given him no reason to hate her, had she? Of course not. She was letting her imagination get the better of her.
Dunford watched her surreptitiously over his eggs. She was worried. Good. She deserved it after hauling him out of bed this morning at a most uncivilized hour. Not to mention her clever little scheme to starve him out of Cornwall. And the bathing situation— he'd have admired her for her ingenuity if her manipulations had been directed at anyone but
Dunford heard the noise and regarded her curiously. She was gazing, enraptured, out the window. The look of awe on her face was humbling. He had always enjoyed outdoor pursuits, but never before had he seen a human being so obviously filled with respect and wonder for the forces of nature. She was a complex woman, his Henry.
His Henry? When had he started thinking of her in possessive terms?
Since she tumbled into your bed this morning, his mind replied wryly. And stop pretending you don't remember you kissed her.
It had all come back to him while he'd been getting dressed. He hadn't meant to kiss her, hadn't even realized at the time that it was Henry in his arms. But that didn't mean he didn't remember every little detail now: the curve of her lips, the silky feel of her hair against his bare chest, the now familiar scent of her. Lemons. For some reason she smelled like lemons. He couldn't quite stop his lips from twitching as he hoped the lemony fragrance was more de rigueur than her piggy scent of the day they met.
"What's so funny?"
He looked up. Henry was regarding him curiously. He quickly schooled his features back into a scowl. "Do I look as if something is funny?"
"You did," she muttered, turning back to her breakfast.
He watched her eat. She took a bite and then returned her gaze to the window, where the sun was still painting the sky. She sighed again. She obviously loved Stannage Park very much, he reflected. More than he'd ever seen one person love a piece of land.
That was it! He couldn't believe what a fool he'd been not to have realized it before. Of course she wanted to get rid of him. She'd been running Stannage Park for six years. She'd poured her entire adult life and a good portion of her childhood into this estate. She couldn't possibly welcome interference from a total stranger. Hell, he could probably boot her off the premises if he wanted. She was no relation to him.
He'd have to obtain a copy of Carlyle's will to see the exact terms as pertained to Miss Henrietta Barrett, if there were any. The solicitor who'd come by to tell him about his inheritance...what was his name...? Leverett...yes, Leverett had said he'd forward a copy of the will, but it hadn't reached him by the time he left for Cornwall.
The poor girl was probably terrified. And furious. He glanced up at her impossibly cheerful facade. He'd wager she was more furious than terrified. "You like it here a great deal, don't you?" he asked abruptly.
Startled by his sudden willingness to actually converse with her, Henry coughed a bit before finally answering, "Yes. Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"
"No reason. Just wondering. One can see it in your face, you know."
"See what?" she asked hesitantly.
"Your love for Stannage Park. I was watching you while you were watching the sunrise."
"Y-you were?"
"Mmm-hmm." And that, apparently, was all he was going to say on the matter. He turned back to his breakfast and ignored her completely.
Henry worriedly chewed on her lower lip. This was a bad sign. Why would he care about how she felt unless he were somehow planning to use it against her? If he wanted revenge, nothing could be so excruciatingly painful as being banished from her beloved home.
But then again, why would he want revenge against her? He might not like her, he might even find her rather annoying, but she'd given him no reason to hate her, had she? Of course not. She was letting her imagination get the better of her.
Dunford watched her surreptitiously over his eggs. She was worried. Good. She deserved it after hauling him out of bed this morning at a most uncivilized hour. Not to mention her clever little scheme to starve him out of Cornwall. And the bathing situation— he'd have admired her for her ingenuity if her manipulations had been directed at anyone but
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