She hesitated again, and he saw her jaw work even more.

“It’s all right,” he said. “You don’t need to talk about it. And you mustn’t blame yourself. It was an accident.”

She looked up at him then with the most mournful eyes he’d ever seen. “I know,” she whispered. “It was a terrible accident.”

He wanted to take her into his arms then and assuage her grief. But he daren’t. No doubt Cassandra and Perdita were watching them from the castle windows. And she didn’t want him to get close, did she?

Not an hour before, she’d let him know very clearly that their intimacy couldn’t continue.

“At least Jinx is safe,” he reminded her.

She gave him a wobbly smile. “Yes, that’s true. It would have broken Hester’s heart if she’d been hurt. Mine, too.”

They began a slow walk toward the sheep pasture.

Daisy allowed her mouth to quirk up on one side. “I long for the day when Castle Vandemere is ours again.”

Her home had slipped out of sight. They were beyond the byre now, with only fields before them and the long, curving road that wended its way down the slope of Ben Fennon to the village below.

“Ours?” he asked.

“Mine, Hester’s, and Joe’s.” She bit her lip and was silent a moment. “That’s the way it needs to be,” she said eventually. “The castle will be ours. Not my stepmother’s nor my stepsisters’. Because unless a miracle occurs and they change in the near future, I’m—I’m going to kick them out.” She looked up at Charlie, almost as if she were fearful. Or would faint.

He took her upper arms and braced her. “It’s all right.”

“I never thought I’d say that,” she whispered, staring at his chest. “But today is the last straw. I can’t wait to see them go.” Her voice gained more strength. “I don’t even care where. My stepmother will land on her feet, without a doubt.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not just saying this, either. I mean it.”

Her gaze was unwavering.

“I believe you.” He sensed she needed reassurance, and he had it for her. In spades.

“Do you?” Her expression was more determined than he’d ever seen it, yet he saw a bit of desperation there, as well.

“I think it’s a very good thing.” He longed to caress her. “You deserve better treatment than what you receive from your stepmother and your stepsisters.”

“I never really thought about what I deserve.” She began to pace in a tight circle. “I’ve always thought about what I wanted, however. I wanted freedom from Stepmother’s vitriol and Cassandra’s disrespect—Perdita’s, too—but I’ve been so busy trying to survive their lobs, jabs, and outright attacks, it simply didn’t occur to me that I don’t have to live with it. With them.”

She stood still a moment. “I can cut them loose. Not only in my imagination, either. In real life. I used to dream of their moving back to London, far away from me. But I never thought it could actually happen. Maybe I can make it happen. Or at the very least, push them in that direction.”

She turned to look at him, and he was gratified by her keen interest in his response.

“Yes, you can,” he said. “Trouble is, will they go? Or will they hang on by their claws?” He tossed her a small grin. This was serious business, but he wanted to bolster her spirits.

She managed a weak grin back. “I don’t know.” There was a frustrated edge to her honey-bee voice. “But we will get to that point, after these visitors leave and we get our money. And I can’t tell you how much I look forward to it.”


It was a miserable hour later, and they still hadn’t arrived at the Keep. Castle Vandemere was without a wagon or a horse, so Charlie had had to strap Mrs. Montgomery’s and her daughters’ trunks onto the wheelbarrow to get them there.

It was rough going.

Daisy carried her own things in a bag. It was light, she said, and not bulky. It was also about a third of the size of the trunks.

Along the way, Perdita pouted, still shaken by that morning’s events. Cassandra kept up a steady stream of chatter, as if she’d not been involved in a cruel prank at all. Mrs. Montgomery strode ahead of all of them, her dark cape swirling out behind her.

Daisy said very little. It was obvious to Charlie that she, too, was still affected by the incident of Jinx’s incarceration and her subsequent decision to rid herself of her stepfamily as soon as possible.

And no doubt she was sad to say a temporary farewell to Hester and Joe.

“Although I’ll be down every day if I can,” he’d heard her whisper to them before she’d left, and kissed both their cheeks.

When they arrived at the bottom of the impressive front steps of the Keep, neither Mrs. Montgomery nor her daughters offered Charlie a word of thanks for carrying their trunks over rough terrain.

Daisy, still in a brown study, lifted her gown with one hand and walked with great purpose up the steps to the grand entrance to the Keep. Charlie couldn’t keep his eyes off her ankles, so dainty and fine they were. He remembered seeing her whole leg bared—indeed, her whole self bared—to him on the Stone Steps, and the memory caused a surge of heat in his loins that he knew would plague him all day.

To his left, Mrs. Montgomery waved away the four crofters’ sons who were doing a fine job at playing footmen, offering to help the residents of Vandemere with their trunks. “Don’t you dare touch my precious things. You’re thieves, all of you!” she cried.

The young men managed to race back up the stone steps and go back through the gigantic front door of the Keep as fast as they could, disappearing long before Charlie could call them back.

And no wonder. Mrs. Montgomery was terrifying, especially in her swirling black cape.

Not that Cassandra and Perdita seemed terribly concerned about their mother’s fit of pique. They rushed up the steps after the footmen, giggling the whole way. Charlie had no doubt that they were off to introduce themselves to all the males in the house.

“Lumley,” Mrs. Montgomery called to him. “Take the trunks to our rooms straightaway.”

He wondered what particular sin he’d committed that caused him to have to endure this particular widow. With a weary sigh, he hoisted her trunk onto his shoulder and regretted every moral lapse of his youth and childhood.

“And don’t dally,” she told him, her tone curt. “Daisy’s gone on ahead, the impertinent girl, so I need you to empty them and—”

“Put all your shoes in perfect rows,” he finished for her.

“Right,” she said.

He’d been joking.

Poor Daisy, to have to perform such menial chores for the ungrateful harridan on a regular basis!

The weighty trunk dug into his shoulder. When he circled around Mrs. Montgomery, he resisted the perfectly natural urge he had to knock her over like a bowling pin with the end of the trunk—“by accident,” of course.

He heaved a sigh and carried the bulky chest up the front steps of the Keep, wondering how far in the bowels of the castle he must walk to find the woman’s bedchamber.

He ran into a maid who said she knew the way, so he followed her.

It was hard work, carrying that massive trunk, but it felt good to exert himself. Charlie thought of the myriad times he’d allowed other men to pick up his bags, shine his shoes, deliver him his horse, fix his wobbly chair legs, feed him meals while on the hunt, tie his cravat, carry his dead birds, balance his accounts, clean his guns, wipe down his saddle, pour his whisky, shine his cuff links, build his homes, remove his dishes from the table, bury his faithful hunting dogs, escort women he’d slept with from his home, take his coat, his hat, his coat, his hat, his coat—

His damned hat.

His coat.

How many times?

How many thousands of times?

His throat tightened.

What kind of a man are you? Daisy’s words echoed through his mind.

The only exertion he’d ever made had been artificial work—in the boxing ring and at D’Angelo’s, fencing.

The trunk dug into his neck now, and he was sweating. God help him, he was sweating. He straightened his back, felt his spine align with his hips and shoulders, and adjusted the trunk.

He was going to be the best damned trunk carrier there ever was.

At least it was a start.

By the time he’d turned back around to carry in the other trunks, as well, he’d even convinced himself he’d be the best damned sheep shearer there ever was for the visitors. And then when he got back to London, he’d be the best damned …

He had no idea.

It would be something substantial—something beyond the contrived world of high society and the advantages that had been bestowed on him because of his wealth and birth.

It would be something … real. And he couldn’t wait to tell Daisy. She’d be excited for him. She’d take an interest. He just knew it.

Perdita rushed through the great front hall and stopped in front of him.

She was patting her frizzy brown hair. “Excuse me, Lord Lumley. They’re here—the visitors are here! I saw them out a window, many carriages pulling up to the drive. And there’s a man—”

She stopped talking and went running past him.

He inhaled a breath to recover from her onslaught when Daisy came around the front door of the castle into the great hall. She was all aglow. Those were the only words for it.

A gentleman appeared behind her, obviously the one that had left Perdita speechless. He looked like Apollo, and he carried himself as if he were the Keep’s owner. Perdita’s trunk sat lightly on his broad shoulder.

“Where should I put this, Miss Montgomery?” he asked Daisy in an American accent.