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Potts’s work. She contented herself with a smiling nod for both men and escaped to the chaise where Esme sat. Ignatius Potts, his eyes alight, fixed on Adrian, barely seemed to notice. Abby felt a twinge of guilt at leaving him to Adrian’s untender mercies, but…she wasn’t going to have him in her studio.
Ten minutes later, she realized Esme was seriously tired. The room was still crowded. At a loss, Abby caught Adrian’s eye, then swept her gaze about the room, bringing it finally to rest on Esme—then she looked back at him. His lips thinned just a fraction as he nodded. She could not understand how he managed it, especially given all those in the room viewed him with suspicion, but he had them all up and moving out within five minutes. And not one of them knew they’d been herded.
There were definite benefits in having a well-trained wolf to call upon; Abby inwardly admitted that as she sank onto the chaise and exchanged a speaking glance with Esme.
“Thank goodness—and Dere—they’re all gone,” Esme sighed. “I don’t think we’ve had such a crowd since your birthday.”
“If then.” The prospect of scandal stirred the locals to action much more effectively than a mere birthday.
Abby heard the front door shut; an instant later Adrian strolled in. He paused on the threshold, and smiled, first at Esme, then at her. More intently at her, his amber gaze steady and direct. Abby returned that intense regard evenly, drinking in the sight of him filling her doorway, elegant and dangerous and ineffably assured. A wolf indeed.
Unfortunately, not a tame one.
The next morning they woke to the sound of steady dripping. During breakfast they heard the soft, long-drawn swoooosh as snow slid from the roof. After consuming tea and toast, Abby made for the front door; having devoured a much larger repast, Adrian followed.
Abby stood at the open front door, peering out at the lane. “The ice has gone.”
Looking over her head, Adrian saw two brown furrows showing through the snow where some carriage had already gone past. “You have a gig, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Abby turned to look at him. “Are you really intent on pushing on to Bellevere?”
“I promised Kilby, after all.”
Abby humphed. She looked across the moor to where heavy clouds hung low on the horizon. “There’s more snow on the way.”
“It won’t reach us until late afternoon.”
Abby stared at the clouds. After a moment, she said, “There’s only the Crochets out there—I seriously doubt Mrs. Crochet will have put enough by to cater to your appetite.”
Adrian lowered his gaze to her profile. “Mmm.”
“It might, perhaps, be better to just visit today. That way she’ll have warning of your intention to reside there and will have time to get supplies in from the village.” Abby turned and met his gaze. “And we can leave Bolt here so he won’t risk a relapse.”
Adrian managed not to smile. “That’s certainly a consideration.”
Abby glanced at the clouds, and frowned. “Perhaps we’d better put off your visit until tomorrow.”
“No.” As much as he enjoyed the company at Mallard Cottage, Adrian was eager to see his home again. He glanced at Abby. “We’ll go today.”
They set out an hour later, Abby, wrapped in a traveling rug, perched beside Adrian as he guided her old dappled mare through the village, then out along the lane to Bellevere. She kept an eye on the storm clouds; the weather across the moor was unpredictable at best, but the clouds seemed to hover, edging closer perhaps but not racing across the desolate expanse. Tonight, she estimated, then they’d have more snow. Adrian had been right to grasp the opportunity to visit Bellevere; they might again be immured for days.
The fact that she now deemed that a thoroughly desirable happening was not one she allowed herself to dwell on.
Her first sight of Bellevere, as always, stole her breath—it was one of the few large houses built
Ten minutes later, she realized Esme was seriously tired. The room was still crowded. At a loss, Abby caught Adrian’s eye, then swept her gaze about the room, bringing it finally to rest on Esme—then she looked back at him. His lips thinned just a fraction as he nodded. She could not understand how he managed it, especially given all those in the room viewed him with suspicion, but he had them all up and moving out within five minutes. And not one of them knew they’d been herded.
There were definite benefits in having a well-trained wolf to call upon; Abby inwardly admitted that as she sank onto the chaise and exchanged a speaking glance with Esme.
“Thank goodness—and Dere—they’re all gone,” Esme sighed. “I don’t think we’ve had such a crowd since your birthday.”
“If then.” The prospect of scandal stirred the locals to action much more effectively than a mere birthday.
Abby heard the front door shut; an instant later Adrian strolled in. He paused on the threshold, and smiled, first at Esme, then at her. More intently at her, his amber gaze steady and direct. Abby returned that intense regard evenly, drinking in the sight of him filling her doorway, elegant and dangerous and ineffably assured. A wolf indeed.
Unfortunately, not a tame one.
The next morning they woke to the sound of steady dripping. During breakfast they heard the soft, long-drawn swoooosh as snow slid from the roof. After consuming tea and toast, Abby made for the front door; having devoured a much larger repast, Adrian followed.
Abby stood at the open front door, peering out at the lane. “The ice has gone.”
Looking over her head, Adrian saw two brown furrows showing through the snow where some carriage had already gone past. “You have a gig, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Abby turned to look at him. “Are you really intent on pushing on to Bellevere?”
“I promised Kilby, after all.”
Abby humphed. She looked across the moor to where heavy clouds hung low on the horizon. “There’s more snow on the way.”
“It won’t reach us until late afternoon.”
Abby stared at the clouds. After a moment, she said, “There’s only the Crochets out there—I seriously doubt Mrs. Crochet will have put enough by to cater to your appetite.”
Adrian lowered his gaze to her profile. “Mmm.”
“It might, perhaps, be better to just visit today. That way she’ll have warning of your intention to reside there and will have time to get supplies in from the village.” Abby turned and met his gaze. “And we can leave Bolt here so he won’t risk a relapse.”
Adrian managed not to smile. “That’s certainly a consideration.”
Abby glanced at the clouds, and frowned. “Perhaps we’d better put off your visit until tomorrow.”
“No.” As much as he enjoyed the company at Mallard Cottage, Adrian was eager to see his home again. He glanced at Abby. “We’ll go today.”
They set out an hour later, Abby, wrapped in a traveling rug, perched beside Adrian as he guided her old dappled mare through the village, then out along the lane to Bellevere. She kept an eye on the storm clouds; the weather across the moor was unpredictable at best, but the clouds seemed to hover, edging closer perhaps but not racing across the desolate expanse. Tonight, she estimated, then they’d have more snow. Adrian had been right to grasp the opportunity to visit Bellevere; they might again be immured for days.
The fact that she now deemed that a thoroughly desirable happening was not one she allowed herself to dwell on.
Her first sight of Bellevere, as always, stole her breath—it was one of the few large houses built
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