“She can wear what she likes, but she is not a man,” he said through clenched teeth. “I cannot single-handedly change the world. The men need to respect the person giving orders.”
“Thank you for letting her try,” Iona said demurely, now that he seemed to be calming down. “I’ve seen her work with your grooms. I’m not sure they realize she’s a woman any longer.”
The earl rubbed a tic in his cheek. “This is not suitable dinner conversation. I cannot even imagine the scandal if word goes out that I have a woman masquerading as a man running my estate, and it will. She won’t be able to negotiate or sign contracts with banks or others.”
Iona winced. She had no answer for that. She was relieved when he turned his attention elsewhere.
He glanced down the table. “Mrs. Merriweather, do you know if there has ever been a discovery of Roman ruins or artifacts hereabouts?”
As the Malcolm Librarian, the slight, older lady held a paying position even higher than Avery’s had been. She was the only woman currently on the premises addressed with formality. She wrinkled up her eyes in thought, then shook her gray curls. “Not that I recollect, but I’ll ask the books this evening, shall I?”
“I would appreciate that, thank you.” He turned to Mary Mike. “In your wandering, have you noticed anything that might be the remains of an old keep?”
Iona cut into her fish and wondered what was on his mind. And why he’d set her at his right if he didn’t want to shout at her. Smelling integrity didn’t answer her curiosity.
“There are outcroppings of rocks all over the fells but none that appear to be more than a shepherd’s hut,” Mary Mike acknowledged. “The plowmen occasionally turn up a coin or two but nothing of significance.”
Iona eyed the earl with interest but didn’t speak up again. If she wanted him to help her, she shouldn’t push him too far. He didn’t need to remind her that she was small and weak. Sitting next to a muscular man like the earl reminded her of all she was not. Her wits were her best defense.
As the last of the dessert plates were carried away, the earl bent toward Iona again. “May I have a word with you without everyone watching?”
A tingle ran up her spine, and she was pretty certain it wasn’t of fear. Ives was extremely handsome, after all, and she wasn’t immune to masculine interest.
“You should probably ask Mike to linger over port,” she said, lips twitching as his steam level rose again. “I usually check on my queen at this hour. While you talk to your new steward, I’ll sit with the ladies a little before going out.”
“You go out in the orchard at night alone?” His voice rose.
“Talk to Mike.” Iona stood up with the other ladies and left him simmering.
Yes, she was a managing, interfering female, but the earl wouldn’t have to put up with her for much longer.
And a good thing, too. She was enjoying her brief freedom entirely too much. Not having to watch her tongue or mind her back gave her time to think about what she actually wanted.
She wasn’t certain what she wanted in the long term, but right now, she wanted her sister and her hive safe, and she’d like to kiss the Earl of Ives and Wystan, at least once. Before she could have anything, she had to pry Mortimer out of her life.
Once her stepfather held no threat over her, she’d be able to think clearly again—because wanting an English earl with little more money than she had made no sense at all.
Eleven
Leaving the castle and striding for the orchard, Gerard longed to be anywhere but Wystan. He’d not been able to concentrate on his conversation with Mary Mike while he worried over the damnable countess out here alone. This might not be the city, but foxes, poachers, and other rogues all roamed the night. Did she plan to hex them?
He found Iona just where she’d said—communicating with her queen. She’d wrapped a cloak around her against the cool night wind. With the hood up, she looked the part of witch. But when she heard him coming, she dropped the hood, and moonlight caught her corona of golden hair, and it was like watching the sun rise. He could almost believe in magic.
Treasure comes with danger, the medallion said grumpily.
“You wished a word with me, my lord?” she asked politely as he approached.
Why did he have the impression that he could have been a monster, and she would have faced him equally coolly?
“I simply wanted to assure myself that you weren’t planning on doing anything hare-brained like running away.” Now that he’d said it, he felt a right fool, but he’d needed this moment with her alone, just to settle his temper.
No one ever stripped away his polished veneer the way this diminutive female could. That was a problem. Next, he’d be telling her about the voice in his head crying Danger, and he’d be a laughingstock within weeks.
Although once his friends learned about Mary Mike, that would happen anyway.
The countess shrugged. “First, I need to determine if the Queen is at Balmoral yet or still at Holyrood. I assume she might have left staff at Holyrood, so Edinburgh would be simpler. Then I’ll run.”
She dimpled up at him, apparently recognizing that she was only raking the coals of his ire. The damned female was a manipulator par none. How did she do that?
Then remembering his mother’s dangerously sensitive abilities and Iona’s mention of smelling his lust, Gerard wished he’d never requested this meeting. He should be riding the hell out of here before the beekeeper had him turned inside out so she could examine his innards. Wrapping himself in a cloak of ennui wouldn’t deceive her perceptivity. He already felt
