A few deep breaths restored Paulette’s good sense. With Mr. Gibson along, she would be safe from his lordship. And with his lordship along, she would be safe from Mr. Gibson.

And she must know whether he’d found her mother’s ring.

She lifted her hand in a greeting.

“Excellent,” Lord Hackwell cried. “You do ride, Miss Heardwyn. You there, where are our mounts?”

Johnny doffed his cap and trotted into the stable.

“I need a word with Miss Heardwyn,” Mr. Gibson said.

His lordship looked from him to her, laughed, and walked in after Johnny.

Mr. Gibson patted her horse’s neck. “It wasn’t there.”

Her skin buzzed at his nearness and she tried to steady her voice. “Thank you. I heard about what happened last night.”

“Yes, well, the valet was below stairs, and the coast was clear, as they say.” He frowned and seemed to study the horse’s mane.

“We do not need to go riding today if there is business with the legal authorities.”

“He insists we both go. Were you told where we are going?”

“Only a ride around the estate, I thought.”

He lifted his gaze and she saw humor there under layers of fatigue. The poor man had been up half the night and had already had a morning of hard riding. “An infernal, managing busybody is Lord Hackwell. He insists we visit Little Norwick.”

A tremble passed through her. Little Norwick was the cottage bequeathed to the proposed Mr. and Mrs. Gibson. The croft that was to be her prison.

Panic threatened to bloom. Perhaps they would lock her up there today. She had no means of escape—a horse she didn’t really know how to ride, no money and no loyal servants with her. She might be stuck there, as she’d been at Ferndale Cottage.

His large hand engulfed hers. “We will visit and come back. Do not be afraid. No one will force your hand, least of all Hackwell. His lady would thrash him senseless if he tried.”

She gulped air and tried to calm herself. “Of course. It’s…it’s so near here?”

“A few miles as the crow flies. Quite a bit farther by roads. We’ll be crossing fields, which is why we’re not going by carriage.”

“Have you been there?”

“I’ve seen the edge of the property but never the house.”

A short while later, her worry had been replaced by exhilaration. Thomas rode alongside her at times, and at others, while they carefully skirted around crops soon to be harvested, behind her, the two men ahead, with Mr. Gibson leading the way through gates.

They pulled up in an overgrown field. “The house should be up there,” Mr. Gibson pointed. “That hedge was the property line and this is the back approach. These fields should have been let.” He frowned.

“Your brother was negligent,” Lord Hackwell said.

“More like his father had the run of it and didn’t bother with such details.” Mr. Gibson prodded his mount and rode off.

“You mean your father,” Lord Hackwell called, laughing.

Mr. Gibson’s back went straighter and he kept going.

“There’s only trees,” Thomas said.

And a tangle of them at that. The house must be small indeed.

Lord Hackwell chuckled. “Yes, well, the next residents will have some work to do on these details.” Hackwell spurred his horse and went after Mr. Gibson.

“We’d best follow, I suppose,” Paulette said. But when she looked back, Thomas was not moving. The boy had been sullen all morning.

She caught his eye and pulled a face at him. “What’s wrong with you today?”

His mouth turned down further.

“You didn’t want to come, did you?”

“I wanted to see Jenny, and they wouldn’t let me.”

“Jenny…” The hair on her neck prickled. She turned Moonglow around and moved him closer. “Jenny?”

Her breath caught. The valet was below stairs and the coast was clear.

She’d sent Jenny down to the laundry.

She reached out for Thomas, and Moonglow shied.

“Damn it,” she cried, grasping handfuls of mane to keep from toppling.

Thomas reached for her reins and held Moonglow steady while she righted herself, face burning.

When she looked, the boy’s mood had shifted.

“Well, I’m new to this,” she said, and he grunted like a twelve-year-old scoundrel. She took a deep breath. “Jenny was the one attacked by Agruen’s valet.”

“Yes,” he said.

“And no one would tell me. But everyone else knows, or will know before the day is out.”

He bit his lip. “They’ll send her away.”

“No, Lady Hackwell won’t do that, will she?”

“For her own good, the nursery maid said. They’ll find her a new place far away, else she’ll always be that girl who spread her legs.”

“What?” Paulette exclaimed.

He shrugged. “Every rank swell as visits will be bothering her. It’s not fair.”

No, it wasn’t. But much in life wasn’t, and didn’t she know it. And if Jenny found herself carrying a child…egad, it would make the poor girl’s life even harder.

“Your brother will not be so cruel as to send her away,” she said.

Only, she didn’t know that to be true, did she? Lord Hackwell seemed kind, but he might think sending the girl away was kinder.

“And Mr. Gibson will make sure she’s looked after,” she said.

The boy shook his head. “He’ll be in India.”

“India?”

“Yes. I’m not supposed to know, but I heard Steven whispering about it.”

Mr. Gibson was leaving for India. He might as well be disappearing from the face of the earth.

Moonglow chose that moment to explore some vegetation. “Blast it, Thomas. Help me here. And do not worry about Jenny. She is coming with me.”

Jenny, and Johnny, and Mabel—and how the devil she would feed them was anyone’s guess.

Of course, there was the treasure that Jock always spoke of, and maybe it was real if Agruen was after it. Or maybe it wasn’t.

Thomas helped get Moonglow under control, and she looked around at the tangle of trees, shrubs, and weeds.

Little Norwick needed work, but it was real. And it could be hers. All it would take was a wedding.

They caught up with Lord Hackwell and Mr. Gibson and picked their way over the open field to a small path wide enough to accommodate a cart. At the top of the tree-thickened rise, a roof came into view.

Several roofs—a village of roofs, at different heights and angles, topping walls and wings and wide swathes of diamond-paned windows.

“Cor,”Thomas cried, “It’s bigger than our house, Steven.”

Lord Hackwell turned in his saddle and flashed a grin that took in both her and Mr. Gibson next to her. She felt herself coloring. Mr. Gibson displayed no emotion, making him look…grim.

Her heart plummeted yet one more time this day. Mr. Gibson was feeling pressure, more so than she. For her, this house would be a kind of freedom, at least for a while and with enough money and the three servants she could bring with her.

For him, it would be a large, weighty anchor.

She could not do that to him, could she? He wanted to go to India, which would leave her managing all by herself. None of her servants would know how to take on the full load. Johnny could handle the one horse, Jenny the cleaning of a few rooms, and Mabel could cook, and that was a start. For the rest of it, she could hire a steward.

But supposing…

How did it work, the management of an estate like this? The home farm fields would have to be cleared. For that, workers were needed, and money to pay them.

Mr. Gibson had learned from Lady Hackwell, he said. Perhaps Lady Hackwell could tutor her.

Once her business in London was settled, he could be off to India.

And…perhaps, if what Lady Tepping had said was true, there was a way she could set him all the way free.

They drew closer and she could see gaps in the roof where shingles were missing, windows covered with boards, and paint hanging in strips.

As they passed a fenced kitchen garden, a hare darted out through the gateless entry sending her mount shying and shaking.

In seconds, Mr. Gibson was there, reaching for Moonglow’s bridle.

That same serious mood preoccupied him.

“I’m fine.” Her voice trembled and she cleared her throat. “Though this is the second time in the last quarter hour I’ve almost slipped off. Perhaps Moonglow and I need a rest from each other.”

His lip quirked. “You’ve done well.”

“Yes. Well enough for the first time in a blasted side saddle.” His smile sent her heart dancing. He was truly a kind man, with a good sense of humor.

And a good kisser. They could do more of that before he sailed off for India.

Another flutter went through her, and she shook it off. “This is a great pile, is it not? When do you suppose we will come to the Little Norwick hut?”

His smile widened and he added a chuckle. “From the look of the outside, the floors may have indeed crumbled back to dirt. We shall soon see.”

“We’re going inside?”

“Oh yes. Never does anything halfway, does Steven Lord Hackwell. The caretaker is meeting us.” He glanced her way, concern in his eyes. “Do you not wish to see it?”

Her deep blush touched a nerve in him. They hadn’t talked about that kiss the night before.

Kiss, nothing. He’d almost ravished her in the corridor, only a glimmer better than that scoundrel Spellen. Except of course, Paulette had not been tied up and she’d been a full participant.

But he had tied her in knots with kisses.

No, he’d seduced her, almost, and the end would have been the same, only instead of his head in a noose like Agruen’s valet could expect, he’d have his leg in a shackle and this great house to take on.

Would it be so bad?

“I confess, I’m curious.”

Her voice brought him around. Curious. That was it. She’d been curious last night, yes, that had been part of it, not just the great power of his kissing or this pull between them. Would she act thus with another man because she was curious? Certainly, she hadn’t with Agruen.

She kicked her mount and trotted off behind Thomas.

He shook off the tendrils of jealousy. Of course there’d be other men who could stir her. And it was not for him to tie down this sprite who wanted so much to experience life.

Inside the manor was not so bad, at least not by Gibson standards. Old-fashioned, yes, it was, with its ornate carvings and gilded décor. Faded, yes—the draperies were patterned with diamond shapes bleached by the sun. And when the Holland cloth covers came off in clouds of dust, the upholstery was worn in places also.

“This must have been a favorite chair.” Paulette stared down at the huge wingback, its cushions sagging, the arms threadbare. She glanced at him, eyes glittering. “For a man as large as yourself.”

Hackwell hovered nearby. “Miss Heardwyn is right. Try it out, Gibson.”

He bit his lip. “Let’s get on with this.”

Below stairs was next, a tour of the service areas and kitchen, and his steward’s mind ticked through the amenities. A Rumsfeld stove had been installed and a water closet added. The butler’s pantry still held a complete dinner service.

The caretaker noticed his interest. “The house conveyed with all the furnishings, dishes, and linens, many relatively new and in good repair.”

“And they are still here,” Hackwell said.

“I could have wished for the funds to make more repairs, but I’ve kept a good eye on the place.”

Indeed he had. Perhaps he could recruit the caretaker to manage Hackwell’s properties when he himself left for India.

The second and third floors were next, with more parlors, and a generous number of bedchambers. An airing, a thorough cleaning, and the bedrooms would do as they were for a few more years.

The caretaker led him up a smaller flight of stairs. “There are servants’ chambers above in the attic, and this floor is the schoolroom and nursery.”

His head buzzed as he surveyed the sunlit room. It was much like the nursery at Cransdall, with more beds crowded in. Five child-sized cots, two cribs and an assortment of furniture and toys occupied the large open room. Paulette’s eyes brightened and she pressed her hands at her waist, her lips together. When their eyes met, hers shimmered. “It was a large family, I suppose. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

She colored deeply and looked away.

Desire sparked in him again. “Indeed. And very jolly, by the look of those worn out hobby horses. Raced them, I’d warrant.”

A smile lit her face. “How many children—” Her gasp made him turn.

Hackwell, Thomas, and the caretaker were gone. He ducked into the corridor and heard them moving around upstairs.

Excitement thrummed in him. He was alone with a woman who he’d heartily kissed less than twenty-four hours ago. Alone in a bedchamber of sorts, talking about how many children might fill it.

Damned managing Hackwell. Paulette should not be in here alone with him.

She ducked her chin, looked everywhere but at him, and finally stepped to an open door leading off from the nursery. He followed her.

This was another bedchamber, for the nursery maids, probably, with a bed big enough to accommodate two.

Paulette sat down upon it. His heart beat a staccato.

She leapt up, paced to the window, peered through the wavy glass.

When she turned, she’d set her mouth and clasped her hands in front of her.

“Mr. Gibson, you do not wish to marry. You wish to go to India. Is that correct?”

Her voice shook, the trembling lighting up the air around him. He moved a step closer. “That was the plan, yes.”

Was the plan. He could see that word was triggering some strong emotion in her.

“I know I’ve been adamant about going to London, which I still will do. I must see…well, not for social reasons. I know I’ll never be part of the ton, but to be able to take care of my business, and perhaps visit a famous place or two, and shop…”

She gazed at a spot on the wall and cleared her throat. “I have a proposal, Mr. Gibson. It will serve us both and answer to Bakeley once and for all.”