Worth Lord of Reckoning by Grace Burrowes Read Free Book Online Page B

to stand beside her chair, clearly prepared to hold it for her, as if she were…a lady.
    He’d love nothing more than if she fussed at him for that while he stood over her, so she held her tongue.
    “Over by the window.” He drew her to her feet and tugged her by the wrist to the light pouring in the east-facing window. “Turn yourself, just”—he took her by the shoulders and positioned her to his liking—“like that.”
    When he stepped close, she got a fat whiff of delicious, clean man. He used some sort of shaving soap that made her want to lean closer and intoxicate her nose on his woodsy aroma. The fragrance had spicy little grace notes, as well—even his scent held unplumbed depths.
    “You must have a busy day of your own,” he suggested, carefully tilting her head in his big hands.
    “Industry is its own reward.” He had offered the gambit to distract Jacaranda from his fingers tunneling through her hair, and that was decent of him, so she rallied her manners. “In truth, I have done as much preparation for your visit as I possibly can, but the house is always kept in readiness, so the burden of additional work is not great.”
    “Then you might enjoy coming along with me on these tenant calls?” Gently, gently, Mr. Kettering moved his touch over the knot at her temple. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”
    “A little.” While his touch was lovely.
    “The bleeding did not resume,” he said, slipping his fingers from her hair, but not stepping back. “I’m glad you won’t mind showing me about the farms.”
    He was smiling down at her again, pleased with himself, the lout, and before Jacaranda could beg to differ with him, he patted her arm.
    “We’ll wait until after lunch, so I can fire off a few letters first, otherwise I’ll never be up to dandling babies and pinching grannies.”
    “Please say you would never pinch a grandmother!”
    Now he did step back, his eyes dancing.
    “My dear Mrs. Wyeth, I would pinch a granny, but only because she pinched me first. I know a number of grannies who aren’t to be trusted in this regard. A shameless lot, for the most part. Complete tarts. Makes one look forward to his own dotage. Shall we say, one of the clock?”
    “I’ll have luncheon moved up to noon,” she said, not taking the bait no matter how succulent, no matter how close to her nose he dangled it while looking the picture of masculine innocence. “In deference to the fact that the girls traveled for much of the day yesterday, I’ve planned luncheon as a picnic meal on the back lawn.”
    “I’m dining on the ground with children, being pinched by grannies, and acquiring a lot of smelly, drooling hounds, and you expect the country air to agree with me? You are an admirably cruel woman, Jacaranda Wyeth. I’ll meet you at the coach house at one.”

    * * *
     

    “How are you ladies settling in?” Worth put the question to his sister and his niece, who both looked quite pleased to be eating outside amid bugs and breezes, not a tablecloth in sight.
    Avery, as was her habit, went chattering off in French, lightened by a dash of Italian, with the occasional foray into her expanding English vocabulary. The coach ride had been interminable; the horses had been very grand, but not as grand as Goliath; the coach fare had been very good, if difficult to tidily consume in a moving vehicle; and Miss Snyder had been as quiet as a moose.
    “Mouse,” Yolanda corrected, smiling—the first time Worth had seen that expression on his sister’s face since her arrival at Trysting.
    “What is the difference? Mouse, moose, you know I refer to a little creature for the cat to eat.”
    “There is a difference,” Yolanda said. “Worth, have you pencil and paper?”
    He passed over the contents of his breast pocket, and Yolanda started scribbling.
    “Where have you seen a moose, Yolanda?” he asked, selecting a cold chicken leg to gnaw on.
    “In books, unless you count Harolda Bigglesworth. Poor thing had