Burning Up

baffled and frustrated. “What if you are with child?”
    Her eyes were bright as the sun-struck sea. But underneath the golden surface, shadows flickered and swayed. “It is not possible.”
    “Of course it’s possible.” His voice was harsh. “We have lain together. Twice.”
    She raised her brows at his deliberate appropriation of her words. “And will do so again, I hope.”
    “Then marry me.”
    The offer slipped out, shocking them both. But he did not take the words back. He wanted this, wanted her.
    “Because we pleasure each other in bed?” She tilted her head as if considering. His heart pounded in anticipation. “No. My life suits me. There is nothing you can give me that I do not have. Nothing I need or want.”
    Her rejection knocked the air from his lungs. He inhaled past his constricted throat.
    He had narrowly escaped committing his life and honor to a woman he hardly knew. A woman without apparent wealth or connection. He should be relieved.
    He was not relieved. He was hurt, confused, angry.
    “Then I will bid you good day, madam.”
    Unfortunately, he could not even exit on that dignified note, bearing away with him his injured pride, his bruised heart, and his rejected proposal. First he must get through the awkward business of dressing. He could only be grateful that he was a soldier and not a dandy. At least he did not require her assistance to struggle into his boots and his coat.
    She pulled the blue dress over her head and stood in the doorway of her cottage to watch him mount.
    Her words echoed in his empty heart. There is nothing you can give me that I do not have. Nothing I need or want.
    A child. He could have gotten her with child.
    “You will inform me,” he commanded, “if there are any consequences.”
    A flush rose in her smooth, pale, perfect face. “I will inform you.”
    With that, he had to be satisfied.
    He pressed his heels to Neptune’s sides and rode away.

FOUR
    T he rising wind rattled the library windows, pushing smoke down the chimney and into the room. The fire fought the gloom outside. Unfortunately, the red flames failed to lighten Jack’s mood or to dispel the chill between him and Sloat.
    The estate manager settled deeper into his chair on the opposite side of Jack’s desk, stretching his thin shanks toward the fire. “Everything was done to preserve the wealth of the estate,” he protested. “To protect your interests.”
    Possibly, Jack acknowledged.
    And possibly Sloat, like a looter on a battlefield, would rob anyone too weak to beat him off.
    Jack had spent the last four days reviewing the household accounts, responding to a flood of bills and grievances presented by local fishers, farmers, and tradesmen.
    In the past six months, pleas for payment had been disputed or ignored. Improvements had been neglected or denied. Jack suspected some of the money that could have been plowed into the land had gone to line Sloat’s own pockets.
    He wouldn’t trust Sloat at his back in a fight. But he had no cause to fire the man. After four days of searching, he could find no proof that the steward had stolen from the estate, no evidence that Sloat had exceeded his authority.
    “I do not question your attention to the estate’s profits,” he said. “Only to its people.”
    Sloat smirked. “Your cousin never complained.”
    An old, sick man without any family about him, dependent on his steward and his housekeeper.
    “My cousin is dead,” Jack said. “You report to me now.”
    “His executors charged me to run his estate,” Sloat said.
    “While they searched for an heir.” News of his inheritance had come as a surprise to Jack. Presumably it was a shock to Sloat as well. “The estate is my responsibility.”
    “You cannot manage without me.”
    “Let us hope,” Jack said steadily, “that won’t be necessary. Or are you proffering your resignation?”
    Silence fell. A sudden squall lashed the windows.
    Sloat sniffed. “You are, of course, free to do as you please.”
    No, he wasn’t.
    He was bound by his responsibilities, trapped by his obligations and a gentleman’s code of behavior. If he pleased himself, he would overcome Morwenna’s objections and carry her off to his bed. Instead, he was stuck in this smoky room with his hostile steward going over figures until his eyes blurred.
    He plucked another bill from the pile on his desk, scanned another column of numbers. “Dougie Munro wants a hundred pounds for horse