“I didn’t scare you, did I?” the man said, and his voice was a rich, deep baritone that tickled her innards. “If so, I apologize.”
“No. My dog told me you’re harmless.”
“Harmless! Since I view myself as being very tough and masculine, I like to think there are better terms to describe me than that.”
Mutt went over, eager for some vigorous attention. The man obliged him, which made her like him immediately. She was partial to people who liked dogs.
“What’s your name?” he asked Mutt rather than her, the two of them bonding in a thoroughly male fashion.
“It’s Mutt,” she answered.
He snickered. “You’re not very clever at naming your pets.”
“It just seemed appropriate, and he doesn’t mind.”
Mutt lay down at his feet as if he’d decided they would tarry and chat.
“He likes you,” she said.
“He should like me. I’m a likeable fellow.”
“Modest too.”
He chuckled over her assessment, then he pitched his cheroot into the dirt, grinding out the flame with his boot.
“I’ve been spying on you since you left the manor,” he said.
“I can’t believe you’d openly admit it.”
“You were gazing at the house as if you might devour it.”
“I like to see the candles shining in the windows. It’s like a fairy castle in a storybook.”
“I’ve never stared at it from this angle.”
“You should try it more often. It’s very soothing, especially when the colors are so intense and the evening so pretty.”
“I don’t remember us ever being introduced,” he said. “Who are you?”
“Miss Joanna James. And you?”
“Captain Ralston.”
She blanched. Captain Miles Ralston was the sailor who’d marched onto her tiny island when she was a little girl and had whisked her away to safety. She still dreamed about him, and she’d never stopped pretending he was her father.
But the dear man was long dead, and she smiled at her silly error.
“Captain Jacob Ralston, I presume?” she said.
“At your service, Miss James.”
He pushed away from the tree where he was leaned, clicked his heels, and bowed, but it was in a teasing way.
“We were informed that you were coming,” she said, “but I wasn’t aware that you’d arrived. You’ve been away for an eternity. Why are you lurking in the woods? Have you even gone inside to announce your presence?”
“I’ve been inside, but I swiftly found myself craving some fresh air. The manor always seems very stifling to me, so it’s difficult to settle down and feel comfortable.”
It was a brash confession, and they were strangers, so she was surprised he’d uttered it. She supposed the black night and the quiet forest made it easy to offer comments that normally wouldn’t have been voiced.
In the ten years she’d lived at the estate, she’d never previously met him. Due to his being in the navy, he was rarely home, and when he was in England, he wasn’t too keen on visiting the property.
He’d inherited it from his father, but he hadn’t been fond of his shrewish mother, Esther Ralston. She’d been a spiteful harpy, renowned for her out-of-control raging and foul moods, so his childhood had been incredibly dreary. Mrs. Ralston was deceased now, and with her exhausting specter having vanished, perhaps he’d visit more frequently. She would wish for that to be his ending.
She hated to see families quarrel or not support each other or have members assuming they’d rather be alone. She had only Clara to call her own, so she could categorically confirm that being alone was no fun at all.
“Are you settled and comfortable?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“How long does it usually take you?”
“Too long. Typically, I leave before any contentment appears.”
“Maybe it’s not possible for you to be content in any one spot. It sounds as if you’re filled with wanderlust, and you need to keep moving.”
“You could be right.”
He stepped nearer, and he studied her in a manner that was thrilling. She was very petite, so he towered over her. After her ordeal in the Caribbean, she’d never gained the height and weight another woman might have. She was just five feet in her slippers, and she was thin to the point where people thought she didn’t have enough to eat and were always giving her gifts of food.
She ate plenty, but it never added weight or stature. She was destined to be small.
“What color is your hair?” he inquired.
“What an odd question. Why would you wonder about that?”
“It’s too dark for me to be sure, and when I want to know something, I ask. I don’t blunder around and guess.”
It was likely a habit developed because he was a ship’s captain. He barked orders and had them obeyed.
At his query about her hair, her arrogance flared. They resided in a land where almost every female had blond hair and blue eyes, so she—with her auburn hair and green eyes—was very different. Pride was a great sin, but she couldn’t stop being vain about her looks.
She constantly tried to tamp down her conceit over her exotic features, but she never succeeded. Her Aunt Pru had claimed she’d inherited her conceit from her father who’d been an earl’s wastrel son. It definitely hadn’t come from her mother who’d been kind, modest, and even a tad shy.
“Well, if I’m being charitable with myself,” she said, “I’ll declare my hair to be auburn, but if I’m being brutally honest, I’ll have to admit it’s red.”
“Ooh . . . a red-haired woman! How absolutely fascinating. Do you have the temper to match?”
She chuckled. “No. I’m the most placid female in the kingdom.”
“There’s no such thing as a placid redhead.”
“Then let’s call it auburn.”
She never wore it in a proper chignon, so it was hanging down and tied with a ribbon. He stunned her by reaching out and grabbing a dangling strand. He wrapped it around his finger, using it as leverage to draw her closer. Her pulse thundered with a peculiar excitement, and she was frozen like a statue, puzzled over his intent.
He pulled her even nearer, and she could smell alcohol on his
