His staff could handle most of the routine
matters on the estate, but there was one piece of business that required his personal attention before he
left.
He tugged hard at the velvet bellpull.
By the time Finch arrived, Leo had finished the glass of brandy he'd poured himself.
"M'Iord?" "In the morning you will inform Mrs. Poole that she cannot leave Monkcrest until the day after
tomorrow at the earliest."
"You wish me to stop Mrs. Poole from leaving?" Finch's jaw unhinged. He swallowed twice, very
quickly, and recovered his composure. "M'Iord, such an action may not lie within my power. Mrs. Poole
is a very forceful lady. I'm not sure the devil himself could stop her if she took a mind to vacate the
premises."
"Fortunately, we need not look to the devil for assistance. I think I can handle this on my own."
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
Leo went to the window. "At dawn you will send word to Mrs. Poole that the river is in full flood. The
bridge is underwater and will not be passable for at least another day."
"But the rain stopped an hour ago. The bridge will be quite passable in the morning."
"You do not comprehend me, Finch," Leo said very softly. "The bridge will be underwater for at least a
full day."
"Underwater. I see. Yes, m'lord."
"Thank you, Finch. I knew I could rely upon you." Leo turned around. "You may inform Mrs. Poole that
I shall join her for breakfast. Afterward I shall conduct her on a tour of the greenhouse."
"The greenhouse. Yes, m’lord." Dazed, Finch bowed and left the library.
Beatrice inhaled the rich, earthy scents of the greenhouse and wondered if she had been tricked. She
could hardly blame the earl for the flooded river, she thought. Not unless she was willing to subscribe to
the Monkcrest legend and attribute, supernatural powers over the elements to him.
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She refused to succumb to such foolishness. As intriguing as Monkcrest was, he could not command the
forces of nature. On the other hand, the longer she spent in the earl's company, the easier it was to
believe that he was no ordinary man. Intelligent, enigmatic, and imbued with an unsettling degree of
self-mastery, yes. But definitely not ordinary.
His looks fascinated her far more than the legend that surrounded him. He had the stern, unyielding
countenance of a man who did not compromise easily or well. Of course, he'd probably never had much
experience in the fine art. This was not a man who had ever been obliged to defer to others.
There was just enough silver in his hair to interest her. He was no raw, untried youth. Leo was a man
who had seen something of life and had come to his own conclusions about it. His eyes were an unusual
shade of amber brown. The expression in them was made enigmatic by the combined forces of his will
and intelligence.
She knew enough about him now to realize that certain aspects of the legend were true. He was arrogant
and opinionated. But there was no denying that he stirred her imagination in a way that not even Justin
Poole had done in the days of their courtship.
She was a bit too old to be reacting this way, she thought, annoyed. The quickening of the pulse, the
compelling curiosity, and the sense of acute awareness were for young ladies such as Arabella. A mature
widow of twenty-nine ought to be well beyond this sort of thing.
Monkcrest would be shocked if he knew what she was thinking. The tale of his short-lived marriage was
part of the Monkcrest legend. Aunt Winifred, always a fountain of information on such personal details,
had given her the essentials of the story.
"Everyone knows that the Mad Monks are an odd lot," Winifred said. "Unlike most people, they follow
their hearts in matters of love. I believe that the current earl was married when he was nineteen."
"So young?" Beatrice asked, surprised.
"They say she was the woman of his dreams. A paragon of a wife and a loving