"DID YOU BRING the pump?"
Tristan smiled. "Good morning to you, too."
"I'm sorry." Griffin had the good grace to look chagrined. "I'm a mite distracted these days." He ushered Tristan inside, letting Boniface shut the door behind them. "I appreciate your response," he said, then waited a beat before repeating, "So, did you bring the pump?"
"I haven't started building it yet," Tristan said, following his friend up the staircase.
Griffin glanced openmouthed over his shoulder. "I sent the note to you a full week ago."
"As I wasn't at Hawkridge, I received it only yesterday. I do have other properties." As they approached the first floor, something drew Tristan's gaze over the gray marble handrail.
Alexandra, watching from the picture gallery.
Suddenly he remembered why he hadn't wanted to return.
In the month since he'd last seen her, she had come to him in his dreams, and there he'd touched her as he hadn't in life. He'd danced with her, their bodies pressed close. He'd released the pins from that mass of curls to comb her hair with his fingers. He'd tasted her skin and breathed in her scent and explored her sweet curves with his hands. Her laughter had lifted his heart, and her smiles had soothed him, and when she'd grown serious, as she was sometimes wont to do, she'd seemed to understand him as no woman ever had.
And here, in the flesh, she was even more appealing than that woman who haunted his dreams.
And every bit as unattainable, he reminded himself fiercely.
Her sisters were with her. "Good morning, ladies," he called from the landing.
"Good morning," they replied in chorus, looking shocked to see him.
Griffin wasn't allowing time for pleasantries. "Come on up to the study."
Demonstrating a deplorable lack of resolve, Tristan's gaze lingered on Alexandra before he resumed his climb. "Didn't you tell them I was expected?"
"I hadn't the foggiest idea when you'd arrive," Griffin hedged. "Particularly when I failed to hear from you. I figured it would take you at least a week to build the pump—"
"Quite a bit longer to do it from home. The foundry here has the molds from my newest design." In the study, Tristan claimed his favorite chair. "Were your sisters unaware you contacted me?" he pressed.
"The ball is only four days from now," Griffin said in an apparent non sequitur.
But Tristan understood. "Ah," he murmured. Obviously Griffin was hoping that, in only four days, Alexandra would be betrothed and therefore safe.
Safe from him.
Well, she was safe from him already. He'd spent a month apart from her and had survived just fine. Perhaps he'd dreamed of her sometimes, but his life was tranquil and productive, and he had no intention of upsetting hers by trying to be anything more than a friend.
He accepted the glass of brandy Griffin offered. "I'm not here to seduce your sister."
Griffin busied himself pouring another glass. "No. You're here, once again, to help me solve a problem." He sat and met Tristan's gaze. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Tristan took a sip. "Why do you need a second pump? Your note was more than vague as to your requirements. Ram water pumps are known to be very reliable, but if the first one malfunctioned, most likely I can repair it. And instruct you—or one of your men—so you can fix it yourself next time. I should have demonstrated the workings before I assembled it. I won't make that error again."
"The first pump is working fine. Read this." Griffin rose momentarily to swipe a letter off his desktop. "It's from my cousin upriver."
Tristan set down his glass and took the paper. Judging from the careful, fancy script, Griffin's cousin was decidedly female. Dear Lord Cainewood, Tristan read silently,
I write on behalf of my brother, Lord Greystone, who finds himself in London and unable to communicate. In his absence, his estate manager approached me concerning flooding in our southernmost fields. Upon investigating the matter, I have discovered this is a result of water runoff from your property, apparently due to an irrigation program you have initiated. I must insist that this irrigation cease, as the resulting marshland is detrimental to our crops.
My thanks for your immediate attention to this matter.
Yours Sincerely,
Lady Rachael Chase
Tristan remembered Griffin's cousin Rachael; she was a quite distant cousin, if he recalled correctly, her family several generations removed from where their line intersected with Griffin's. But as they shared the same surname and lived close by, Rachael and her younger sisters had been great friends with Griffin's sisters and spent many a day here at Cainewood.
"So formal," he murmured. "Couldn't she come to you directly?"
"I haven't seen her in seven years."
Tristan looked up in surprise. "Have you not paid calls since returning from the Peninsula?"
"The Greystone Chases were in London for the season; they've returned only recently." Griffin rubbed the back of his neck. "Upon receiving Rachael's letter last week, I rode out to assess the problem. Her conclusion was not in error. The way the land is contoured, all the runoff from my vineyard is creating a stream that drains onto Greystone's estate. Twenty-four hours a day, I'm essentially pumping water onto his land. The only solution I could see—short of ceasing the irrigation—is to direct all that water into another pipeline and pump it back to the River Caine."
"It's downhill. You should be able to dig a simple canal to direct it back to the river."
"Unfortunately, from where it's collecting, the only way to avoid running it through Greystone property is to direct it uphill before it can go down. Hence the need for the second pump."
"Sounds as though you've investigated this fairly thoroughly. But before I invest time in building another pump, I'd like to ride over and inspect it myself."
"Naturally. How quickly do you think you can build the pump and have it delivered?"
"Are you suggesting I build it at home? That could easily take a month." Perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration, but though Tristan realized
