“Who?”
Yes, most definitely reproachful now. “One of your tenants.”
“Ah, yes. The Smiths. No idea who they are.”
Her eyes flashed. “How can you be so flippant? These people rely on you. She came out and introduced herself. Her roof is in disrepair. Leaking. She has two young children.”
“Isn’t there a steward who takes care of these things?”
Her mouth moved, and then as though thinking better of saying whatever she had planned to say, she snapped it closed and glared at him.
“You’re furious,” he remarked. Perhaps he should be, as well. He had assumed these issues were being overseen by someone. He had put off meeting with his solicitors due to his illness. Unwise, he was beginning to realize. He moved closer to the desk, scanning the various papers. “Have they requested repairs? I would think Mr. Smith could handle a simple thatching.”
“They’re your tenants. Do you even have a steward?”
He waved a hand, studying the papers, seeing nothing about a roof.
“My lord, to be so unconcerned for your tenants is appalling. I realize it’s not my place to speak thus, but I have also noticed that the house is unkempt and the servants disorderly. Even lackadaisical and slow. Something must be done. Immediately.”
Chapter Nine
“By all means, do not mince words.” A knot was slowly growing inside Dominic, dark and hungry, eating a hole in his insides. His temples pounded as any trace of good humor fled. “Since this household does not meet your satisfaction, why don’t you devise a list of your perceived wrongs and leave it on my desk. I’ll get to it when I’m ready.”
Henrietta crossed her arms. “It does no good to be oversensitive about these matters, my lord. I am not attacking your abilities, nor do I intend this as a personal critique. I am merely drawing your attention to issues which require noticing. Pouting is unattractive,” she added, as though that tidbit would uncarve the lines he felt gouging his forehead.
He gathered up the papers, jamming them into a semblance of squared order. “You may leave your list here, Miss Gordon. Your concerns are noted.”
Though he was not looking at her, he felt her move from the desk. A small swish of air that told of retreat. He had spoken in a hard voice. One he did not care to use, but her prodding annoyed him. Everything about her annoyed him. He turned, and saw that she had not left after all. Indeed, she had moved closer and when he faced her, he caught again that flowery scent.
The aroma wrapped around him, twining like ivy, drawing him closer when he should be walking away. Her eyes widened, but she did not back away. An invitation. His senses sharpened, narrowing into a single focus, that of getting closer to her.
Only the sight of mud on her nose brought him back to reality. The reality in which she was his temporary governess. She was not of the society he kept and she would not take his flirtations lightly, if she took them at all.
Pulling in a deep, shuddering breath, he stopped inches short of her. Annoyance still traipsed through him, but that other feeling, the one he would do best to ignore, was fading beneath the bitter wipe of reality.
“Was there something more, Miss Gordon?” His voice remained unyielding. Good. She would not argue with him now.
Irises almost indiscernible within the black of her pupils, she nodded. “Yes, I would like your permission to treat Mrs. Smith for a rash.”
“Given.”
Unsurprisingly, Henrietta continued talking. Dominic was torn between several equally terrible urges: stomping out of the room like the pouting child she had accused him of being, great concern that his tenants had suffered due to his own, selfish negligence and hauling Henrietta up against him and stopping the talking in the most elemental way possible.
Her lips, pale rose, did not seem to realize the havoc they wreaked on Dominic’s thoughts as they moved, forming words. He struggled to bring his mind to the present.
“The apothecary has given her an ointment which is making her rash worse, in my opinion. I’d like to meet with him and discuss his medical training. He obviously has no idea what he’s doing.” Her foot tapped.
“Uh.” Dominic pushed his fingers through his hair. “The apothecary?”
“Your village doctor? Surely you know his name, though on the other hand, you probably do not.”
It made no sense that her peevish tone could make Dominic want to hold her, but it did. His arms ached with the sensation. His legs begged permission to move forward, to gather her in his arms and inhale the sweetness of her hair. He blinked, bringing her face into clarity. That foot of hers still tapped steadily against the floor.
“My lord, are you okay?” Before he could stop her, she closed the gap between them and pressed her palm against his forehead. As quickly as her cool skin met his, she removed it. A blush stained her cheeks, as though even she, impervious to societal dictates as she was, recognized the impropriety of touching him outside of a sickroom.
“Overwhelmed,” he said.
They stood quietly for a long moment that stretched thin and taut.
She broke the silence and said, “This dirt is making my face itch. I suppose I should refresh myself and carry on with Louise’s lessons.”
“Yes.” He rubbed his forehead. “I know I’m going to regret this, but this evening we shall take a ride about the property. Take me to the Smiths and I will see what needs to be done.”
“Why don’t you have a steward?”
His jaw tightened. He weighed her words. “I wrongly supposed that I did. Because I did not want this responsibility, I did not pay particular attention.”
“Did you ignore your responsibilities in hopes they would disappear?” The tease of a smile tugged the corners of her lips.
“Ignoring problems has been my chosen method of living.”
“That does not surprise me in the least.”
Now they were both sharing
