Then he lifted her hood and positioned it over her head to block the rain once more.
He reached around her to grip the horse’s reins, one arm cradling her back and the other hovering just in front of her stomach. Beneath her, she could feel the corded muscles in his thighs clench as he urged the horse into motion.
Unexpected—and unwanted—heat bloomed across her skin. No man had ever been so familiar with her. His nearness, his size, and the hard contours of him under her, around her, made her lungs compress almost painfully.
This close, she could see the dark shadow of black stubble along his angular jaw, and the fine lines etched around those frosty blue eyes. Had they been formed from laughter?
More likely from scowling, as he was doing now. He certainly cut an imposing, and frankly downright fearsome, figure. Yet he fascinated her, as the stripes on a tiger no doubt fascinated a lamb.
He kept the horse to a slow walk, but the animal’s gait still sent her rocking in his lap. Despite her best efforts to keep a modest distance between them, her shoulder repeatedly bumped into the wall of his chest. He didn’t seem to notice, however, for he kept his flinty gaze fixed on the manor house as it rose before them, his jaw locked tight against further conversation.
Amelia remained silent as well, though inside, a riot of thoughts crashed through her.
Who was the Earl of Brenmore? What was the man’s character, and what did he intend for Glenrose?
And what on earth was she to make of the way his nearness sent a rippling, warm awareness coursing through her?
Chapter Four
Their arrival at Glenrose manor gave Amelia cause to put some blessedly cooling space between them once more.
Lord Brenmore helped her dismount, then led his horse to the stables before returning to enter the keep with her. As Mrs. Drummond hustled forward to take the lord’s gloves and hat, he turned to Amelia, pinning her with a sharp gaze once more.
“I have a few questions about my ward,” he said, shrugging out of his overcoat.
“Oh?”
“Aye. To begin with, where is she? Mrs. Drummond said she was hiding.”
Amelia busied herself unfastening her cloak. “Yes, she does that.”
Lord Brenmore made a displeased noise, but before he could growl another question, his attention was diverted by a pale orange blur coming down the stairs. Scone, the manor’s large tomcat, went straight to Lord Brenmore and began sniffing his boot.
“Scone, leave the master alone,” Mrs. Drummond chided, shooing at the cat as she departed to hang their soaking outer garments.
Scone was undeterred, however. Finding Lord Brenmore’s boot acceptable, the cat sidled his body against the Earl’s trouser leg, leaving a smattering of pastel orange fur plastered to the dark material.
Frowning, Lord Brenmore shook his leg, but the fur did not budge from the wet wool. “Who is this?”
“This is Scone, Lady Livie’s pet,” Amelia replied.
“And why is he inside and not in the stables catching mice?”
Oh, honestly. How could anyone be grumpy with a cat he’d only just met?
“He is quite domesticated, I assure you.” she said. “He was rather a nuisance a few years ago, what with the trail of kittens he left in his wake. But instead of drowning or shooting him, one of the crofters suggested that he be castrated as farm animals are.”
Amelia cleared her throat delicately, feeling a blush rise to her face. Why was she talking about castration and bastard kittens to the Earl?
“It worked, and he’s become quite tame,” she concluded hastily. “And he’s almost inseparable from Livie. In fact, his appearance is a good indication that she is close by.”
Still frowning, Lord Brenmore swung his gaze over the entrance hall. His eyes snagged on the spiral staircase. Sure enough, Amelia caught a flash of strawberry-blonde ringlets and one wide blue eye before the girl ducked behind the stones.
Ignoring the cat weaving between his feet, Lord Brenmore strode purposefully toward the stairs. “Lady Lavinia,” he said in a loud, gruff voice. “Please come down. I should like to meet ye properly.”
The pattering of the girl’s slippers told Amelia that she’d fled, but Lord Brenmore continued on to the stairs. Realizing that he meant to continue after Livie, she hastily darted forward and gripped his arm to halt him.
And halt him she did. He stopped and spun toward her so abruptly that Amelia nearly crashed into his chest.
“I—forgive me, my lord.” She yanked her hand back from his sleeve.
Perhaps he’d been right when he’d accused her of being foolhardy. She had no right to grab him, but she’d acted rashly to avert what was sure to be a disastrous and perhaps even damaging first encounter.
“Forgive me,” she repeated, “but I fear that a forced introduction will only strain matters between you and Livie. You must understand that she’s been through a great deal of late. Her father passed only six months ago, and now her home and her future have been placed in the hands of a stranger.”
He pursed his lips, but instead of chastising her for her boldness, he said, “Why do ye and Mrs. Drummond call her Livie instead of Lavinia?”
The question caught her off-guard. “We don’t stand on formality here at Glenrose—that was as the late Earl wished it. Livie has always been…unconventional. She is lucky her father sought to encourage rather than quash her spirit. He extended the same liberty to those he employed.”
“And he died six months past?” Lord Brenmore scrubbed a hand along his jaw. “The solicitors must have sought me at Brenmore before locating me in Edinburgh.”
He tsked softly, as if that displeased him, but Amelia wasn’t sure why. Before she could ponder that further, he continued.
