Edmund pinched the bridge of his nose and let his eyelids lower. A day spent poring over ledgers and scraps of paper wasn’t exactly his idea of fun. A string of days like this one for the last fortnight was downright eye-melting, yet he was grateful all the same.

In the two weeks since Miss Reynolds had arrived, Edmund had managed to plow through nearly half of the papers piled on his desk.

To his relief and amazement, the accounts revealed that the estate was remarkably stable. Of course, he’d begun chronologically, and he was still several months behind, so it was possible that Kinfallon had fallen into trouble in the last six months or so, but what he’d discovered so far was promising.

Assuming Miss Reynolds continued to make progress with Clarissa, Edmund would have enough time before the month he’d bought with Selfridge was up—and he was cautiously hopeful that he would be able to tell the esquire once and for all that his clearance scheme would never be allowed on Kinfallon lands.

The first few days after Miss Reynolds’s arrival, Edmund had lingered in the great hall each morning before settling down to his work in the study. Miss Reynolds had taken to carrying Clarissa’s morning, midday, and evening meals to her, leaving Edmund with no excuse to see how things were going between them.

In truth, a part of him had feared that after a few days, Miss Reynolds would come storming down the north tower stairs, proclaiming that nothing could be done for his sister and that she was through with the assignment.

Yet no such scene had occurred. He knew little of what the Englishwoman was doing in his sister’s chamber, only that neither one had run shrieking from the arrangement.

Edmund eased himself back in his chair. Curiosity niggled at him. Which of her “unconventional methods” might Miss Thea Reynolds be employing now? Nothing could have surprised him more than when she’d halted him from attempting to coax his sister into reality that first day—except for the feel of her slim, warm hand on his arm.

Even a fortnight later, his skin tingled where she’d touched him, as if she’d branded his forearm with her mark. I am yers to command. Bloody hell, his thoughts had been addled when he’d said that, but he couldn’t deny, even now, the strong desire to please Miss Reynolds—please her with his lips, his hands, his—

Edmund jerked to his feet, nearly knocking his chair backward even as his knees bumped painfully against the wooden desk.

Shite. He scrubbed a hand over his face. When he’d been searching for a woman with both experience and an established positive reputation to recommend her, he’d expected someone far older, not a young woman in the bloom of life.

Aye, Miss Reynolds was bonny. Her soulful gaze pierced him straight through his ribs and into his heart. The faint pink blush that came over her pale skin sent his own blood rushing to a few very particular regions of his body. And her curves, though delicate, could surely fill his hands—they’d certainly been filling his mind this past fortnight.

He cursed himself again. Miss Reynolds was there for Clarissa’s benefit, not to be ogled and salivated over by him. It was time he reminded himself of that.

He’d seen little of the Englishwoman since that first full day. Other than watching her cross the great hall to the north tower stairs each morning, and returning to her own chamber in the south tower each night, her back always straight and her steps even, she had been elusive.

Of course, it was the custom for a governess to remain separate, to spend her time either with her charge or alone, yet this was not some stuffy, proper English household. This was a medieval castle in the Highlands of Scotland. Edmund had never bound himself to the overly rigid rules of society in the past. No need to keep such a strict barrier between himself and Miss Reynolds’s work with Clarissa.

Besides, he told himself as he strode out of the study and up the stairs, seeing her in the role of Clarissa’s companion would help cool his blood and remind him of her place in the castle—and his own. He had more important things to do than fantasize about the governess. The sooner he could rid himself of this fascination with her, the better.

When he reached Clarissa’s door, he knocked softly before entering. As he stepped inside, he took in the altered appearance of the chamber.

Somehow, Miss Reynolds—perhaps with Clarissa’s help—had managed to shift the mattress back onto the bed’s wooden frame. The clothes and personal items that had once been strewn across the floor had been packed away, presumably into the closed armoire.

Clarissa lay on her stomach on the bed, her chin propped on the heels of her palms. Miss Reynolds sat a few feet away on the dressing table’s matching wooden chair, a book poised before her.

“…‘Emily was sunk into that kind of stupor, with which sudden and irremediable misfortune sometimes overwhelms the mind. Loving Valancourt with the tenderest affection, and having long been accustomed to consider him as the friend and companion of all her future days, she had no ideas of happiness that were not connected with him.’”

Neither Miss Reynolds nor Clarissa even looked up at Edmund as he quietly entered, so enrapt in Miss Reynolds’s reading were they both.

“‘What, then, must have been her suffering, when thus suddenly they were to be separated, perhaps forever, certainly to be thrown into distant parts of the world, where they could scarcely hear of each other's existence,’” she continued, infusing her voice with desperate emotion. “‘It was in vain that she endeavored to subdue her grief and resign herself to an event which she could not avoid.’”

As he listened, recognition of the story dawned. A ripple of surprise stole over him, but he dared not interrupt Miss Reynolds’s dramatic reading.

“‘Having reached these steps, she paused a moment to look round, for her distance from the chateau now increased the fear, which the stillness and obscurity of the hour had awakened,’” she continued breathlessly, now leaning forward from her chair intently. “‘Her tears were suddenly stopped by terror—a voice spoke near her in the pavilion; she shrieked—it spoke again, and she distinguished the well-known tones of Valancourt. It was indeed Valancourt who supported her in his arms!’”

Abruptly, Miss Reynolds lifted her head and snapped the book closed. A satisfied smile played at the corners of her pink lips. “And there we shall resume tomorrow,” she said to Clarissa.

Clarissa blinked, the spell of the story beginning to fade. She sighed, dropping her hands from her chin and pushing herself back to sitting. As she reached for her doll and nutcracker, Miss Reynolds turned to look up at Edmund.

“Lord Kinfallon,” she said. “May I help you with something?”

Edmund shifted on his feet, suddenly regretting his decision to check in on Miss Reynolds. Not only had it failed to lessen his fascination with her—nay, in fact he found himself more drawn to her than ever after hearing her read so passionately—but now he was curious to learn more about what she’d been up to with Clarissa.

“I…I wished to discuss yer progress,” he said stiffly.

Miss Reynolds glanced at Clarissa, who seemed insensible to their presence now. Yet the governess rose, nodding toward the door. “Perhaps we can speak outside.”

He motioned for her to precede him, then followed her, closing the door quietly behind them. So as not to tower over her, he took up the same step she stood on, but it meant that only a hand-span separated them in the narrow confines of the stairwell.

“Ye are reading The Mysteries of Udolpho to my sister,” he said without preamble.

“Yes,” Miss Reynolds said, that little smile returning to her mouth. Damn, but her lips were enticing. “I hope you aren’t terribly shocked, my lord, but we’ve already read another of Mrs. Radcliff’s books—The Romance of the Forest.”

Edmund felt one of his brows lift. “I am no’ shocked, exactly, but surprised. I thought ye proper English governesses considered such gothic tales highly inappropriate for the minds of young ladies.”

She tilted her head. “You do disapprove?”

“Nay,” he replied. “I promised to give ye leeway in yer dealings with Clarissa. I am only…intrigued by yer methods.”

Miss Reynolds lifted one shoulder, the smile lingering on her lips. “I brought a few primers with me, but they are for children. I thought it would insult Lady Clarissa to present them to her. But I brought a few novels as well, and found that she enjoys them. She seems more lucid and engaged when I read. Or rather, when I read such…entertaining works.”

“So those salacious books are yers?” he murmured, taking a half-step forward. It was all the small space would allow—unless he wished to feel the brush of her breasts against his chest. Damn it all, he did. “I never took ye for a romantic, Miss Reynolds.”

To his satisfaction, she did not move away from him. Instead, she gazed into his eyes, the smile fading and her lips separating on a breathy exhale. “Everyone is entitled to a bit of pleasure, Lord Kinfallon—even a ‘proper English governess,’ as you call me.”

The air suddenly felt hot and thick between them. Edmund had no idea if she’d meant for her words to be as suggestive as they sounded to him, but regardless, his blood hammered insistently through his veins, coils of desire knotting in his stomach—and lower.

“True enough,” he murmured.

“May I ask you a question, Lord Kinfallon?”

“Edmund,” he blurted. She blinked in confusion. “Ye are welcome to call me Edmund when we are alone, Miss Reynolds,” he clarified.

“Edmund,” she said slowly, as if tasting his name.

His manhood surged against his trousers. Bloody hell. So much for quashing his desire for this Englishwoman.

“Ye told Clarissa that she may call ye Thea if she liked—does that offer extend to me as well?” he asked, searching her pale eyes.

“Yes,” she replied. “When we are alone.”

Edmund’s mind immediately began concocting a wild list of scenarios in which they could be alone so that he could hear his name on her lips once more. In the stairwell. In his study. In his bedchamber.

“What was your question?” he managed through a tight throat.

She drew a deep breath, which nearly caused them to touch. “Why doesn’t your sister dine in the great hall with you?”

That caught him off-guard. It helped cool his blood enough for him to remember himself.

“When she wishes to, she joins me, but mostly she prefers to remain in her chamber.”

“And you haven’t established it as part of her routine to come down for meals?”

The question gave him pause. Clearly, Miss Reynolds—Thea—had an opinion about how he’d handled his sister.

“Nay,” he said slowly. “The doctor who saw Clarissa two years past said that she needed a great deal of rest and quiet. Besides, I dinnae wish to force her to come down when she doesnae want to.”

Thea’s blue eyes softened. “You have indulged her because you love her. It is a noble impulse, but I think it may be misplaced. And as for the doctor’s advice—the prescribed solitude hasn’t worked yet, has it?”

“Nay, it hasnae.”

“I believe Lady Clarissa would benefit from a bit more structure,” Thea said, straightening her back. “Routines and habits will anchor her, and I think being around people may help as well. Of course, if she is ill, she should be allowed to rest in her chamber, but on days like today, there is no reason she shouldn’t join you for supper.”

Edmund considered this. “Would ye join us as well?”

Thea’s light brown lashes fluttered in surprise. “I…yes, I could, if you wish me to.”

“Aye, I do.”

“Very well,” she said, a pink flush stealing over her cheeks. “This evening, then.”

* * *

Two hours later, Edmund sat alone at the head of the enormous dining table, contemplating the bottom of his whisky glass.

What a fool he was. He’d thought of nothing but Thea since descending from the north tower stairs, his body humming with desire and his head spinning with hope.

Hope for Clarissa. And hope for himself, that what he felt for Thea might be returned.

But he’d been waiting for over an hour with no sign that either his sister or Thea would come down for supper.

Had Clarissa resisted? Had she screamed and cried hysterically, as she sometimes did in her darkest moments, refusing to come down?

Or had Thea thought better of dining with her employer? Had he misread her blushes and breathy words, interpreting them as desire when in fact they represented discomfort—or fear?

At a noise in the north tower stairwell, he jerked to his feet, his chair sliding with a muffled protest over the carpet.

Thea appeared, placid and assured as ever, yet she hesitated at the base of the stairs, waiting for something.

A long moment later, Clarissa stepped into the great hall, her doll and nutcracker clutched to her chest.

Edmund felt a twinge of disappointment at that. Clarissa’s reliance on the toys disturbed him. Then again, all the previous companions and nurses had tried to rid Clarissa of the dependence, some even attempting to take the dolls from her, but as Thea had pointed out, none of those others’ efforts had worked thus far.

Clarissa’s eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. No doubt there had been a scene abovestairs, yet it seemed as though Thea had held steadfast.

The two women walked to the table, and Thea gave Edmund a little tilt of the head that was both apology for their lateness and thanks for his patience.

Clarissa sank into the seat to Edmund’s left, still cradling the doll and nutcracker.

“Now Lady Clarissa,” Thea chastised gently. “You know very well it isn’t proper for husband and wife to sit next to each other for supper.”

Edmund felt his brows shoot up. To his surprise, Clarissa reluctantly handed the nutcracker to Thea, who walked it around to the other side of the table. She sat down to Edmund’s right, then placed the toy in the chair on her other side.

Clarissa set the wooden doll on its own chair next to her. “There you go, Margaret,” she murmured.

Edmund frowned. This had gone too far. “Miss Reynolds, I do not think it wise to indulge in Clarissa’s fancies to such an extent.”

Thea glanced at him as she spread her napkin over her lap. But instead of replying directly to him, she turned to Clarissa. “Lady Clarissa, what do you think of what your brother has just said?”

At Thea’s simple question, realization hit Edmund like a punch to the chest. He sank slowly into his chair. How long had he been talking about Clarissa instead of to her, even when she was directly before him? He’d always been fiercely protective of her, even more so since the fire and her mental break. But how much better was he, truly, than the others who had been callous or even cruel to her in an attempt to bring her back to sanity?

He stared at Thea. In the fortnight he’d known her, it felt as though she’d tilted his whole world—and Clarissa’s—on its side. But instead of feeling off-kilter now, he felt grounded, righted, as if his life had been perched at a precarious angle until she came along.

Clarissa lifted her dark head and met first Thea’s gaze and then Edmund’s.

“I think he is a numpty,” she said, her voice slow and measured. Then her lips twitched. “And a dunderhead.”

Thea’s eyes rounded, but then her lips, too, began to tremble as she fought a smile. She coughed delicately into her hand, obviously trying not to laugh.

Relief, cool and refreshing as loch water the color of Thea’s eyes, washed over Edmund. How wrong he had been—and how right Thea made everything. Unbidden, a bark of laughter broke from his throat.

“Aye, well, I have never claimed to be otherwise,” he shot back at Clarissa. Heart swelling against his ribs, he pulled his napkin onto his lap. “Now, let’s eat.”