“Obviously. Though I did manage to find several items of interest during my search, Mr. Ellis. Your choice of reading materials is quite telling. You were studying the peerage, forms of address, and great country houses. You were researching my family with nefarious intent.”
“It’s not a crime to read research books, Lady Henrietta.”
“And these architectural drawings. I’m taking these to my father.”
“Be my guest,” he replied coolly. She wouldn’t find any cracks in his armor.
But he knew exactly how to disarm her. She was a woman. A woman who’d smiled dreamily and relaxed into his arms as they waltzed. She might be brave and bold, but he knew the truth of it: Lady Henrietta Prince was soft and romantic at heart.
She shook the rolled plans at him like a warrior’s spear. “You’re planning to build stud stables over my vineyards.”
“Breeding Thoroughbreds is a profitable business. I’ve already purchased a prime bit of blood.”
“May I remind you, Mr. Ellis, that you haven’t been declared my father’s heir, as yet. And if I have anything to do with it, you never will be. How could you draw up these plans? Rosehill is a majestic estate designed by the fourth Duke of Granville. The gardens are renowned throughout the world for their beauty.”
“I don’t want the gardens. I want access to the river, and your vineyards run right alongside it. Making wine may be a delightful hobby, but those grapes of yours aren’t profitable.”
“Hobby! I’m so tired of men like you, Mr. Ellis. My winemaking isn’t a hobby. It’s a well-thought-out venture with potential to reap great financial rewards, as well as establish a foothold for English wines in the world market.”
She paced about his rooms, waving the architectural plans around so vehemently that hairpins began popping loose and unleashing her brunette curls. “If I were a man, you wouldn’t scoff at my ambitions. ‘You shouldn’t trouble your pretty little head with such weighty masculine matters.’ I’ve heard it so often that when I die, I’m quite sure some man will engrave it upon a stone: ‘Here lies Lady Henrietta Prince, who involved herself in weighty matters, to a tragic end.’”
“While I’d simply love to stand here and be lectured by a burgling bluestocking all afternoon, if you haven’t noticed, I’m bleeding, and I should like to attend to it.”
Gus had landed a sneaky undercut on his jaw, and Ash had bit down on his lip. He turned his head so she could see the cut on his lip and the trail of dried blood.
“Oh. You’re bleeding.”
“Please tell me you’re not a fainting kind of female. Because I don’t keep any smelling salts. I’d have to pour gin down your gullet.”
“Of course I’m not the swooning sort.”
“Then march back the way you came, Lady Henrietta. Before the servant brings my bathwater.” He took a menacing step closer. She quailed but stood her ground.
He was sweaty and grumpy from the beating he’d taken. His reflexes weren’t what they once were. And he was worried about Toby.
And he’d been distracted by thoughts of this very same lady, suddenly materialized in his rooms.
A lady who refused to be intimidated by him.
And refused to leave.
“I won’t leave,” she said. “Not until you present me with more evidence of your birth.”
“That’s for the lawyers to see.”
“I want to judge for myself.”
“Now see here, Lady Henrietta, you’re the one who stole into my rooms. I don’t have to answer to you for anything. You’ll be able to judge my evidence at Granville House tomorrow. Where I’ll be declared the heir.”
“I’ll see you in hell first.”
They faced each other like opponents in a boxing ring. Circling warily. Seeing who could land the decisive blow.
“I’m seconds away from throwing you over my shoulder and bodily depositing you outside my door,” he warned.
She shoved a lock of hair away from her eyes. “I should like to see you try.”
He towered over her, crossing his arms and flexing his muscles in a display of strength. “Does your father know that you go around bribing landladies and sneaking into private chambers?”
“I’m doing this for him. The end justifies the means.”
His reasoning, precisely.
He wanted to throw her off balance. Keep her on the defensive long enough for him to button up this heir business.
The lady was far too intelligent for her own good.
He swiftly closed the distance between them. To her credit, she didn’t back away. “Now that we’re speaking in private, are we going to talk about what happened at the ball?”
“What happened?” she asked, with an innocent fluttering of her thick, dark lashes.
“You can’t pretend that kiss away. It’s burned into my memory, and I’m quite certain you’ve been thinking of it ever since.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. It wasn’t that memorable.”
“Shall I refresh your memory?” He gazed at her full, pink lips.
Her lower lip trembled. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Damn his reaction to her. He was meant to be asserting his mastery, but his heart was beating suspiciously fast, and his palms had gone damp.
Kissing her again would be grave folly. He should make good on his threat and bodily carry her out the door. Or he could frighten her away and do it so thoroughly that she’d learn a lesson about trifling with scoundrels.
There were other ways of forcing highborn ladies to leave one’s rooms.
He loosened his cravat and flung the cloth over a chair, holding her gaze all the while. “I’m injured and in need of a good scrubbing and a soak to ease my aching muscles. Of course, if you want to stay while I have my bath, you’re welcome to continue searching my rooms.”
He undid the buttons at the top of his shirt.
She swallowed. Hard. And her gaze swept over the exposed triangle of chest with an almost physical weight.
He moved to the washbasin and turned his back on her, shrugging out of his braces and stripping his shirt all the way off.
A startled gasp. Excellent.
“I, er . . .” she mumbled.
“Yes?” He turned around.
“I’m leaving.” She backed up and stumbled into a chair.
“Don’t forget to return the key to Mrs. Dougherty on your way out, Lady Henrietta.”
She escaped out the door.
The lady wouldn’t be back, that much he could be certain of. She’d seen quite an eyeful of handsome beast, and it had thoroughly addled that too-sharp mind of hers.
He slapped the washcloth on his chest and wiped his armpits. He stripped out of his trousers and wrapped a towel around his waist.
There was a knock at the door and, assuming it was the landlady’s nephew come to pour his bath, he shouted, “Enter.”
“Oh. My,” pronounced a wobbly female voice.
It was Lady Henrietta. Eyes round, throat working, she clutched the doorknob, her gaze roaming over his chest, over his towel-draped hips, and down his legs.
His cock stirred, as if it wanted to give her an even better show.
“Did you forget something, Lady Henrietta?”