is cup, rose, coming around the table to stand by her side. “I hadn’t intended to leave you so soon, but I’m afraid I have to hie off to inspect some fields. I’ll be back by midday.”
Kit remembered her morning engagement and bit back her request to go with him. She looked up at him, her expression blank. “Mrs. Miles is to show me over the house this morning. No doubt I’ll be so entralled I won’t even notice your absence.”
Jack tried to keep his lips straight and failed woefully. A rumbling chuckle escaped him. He put out one finger and wound it in the curls by Kit’s ear. Then he bent his head and whispered: “Never mind. Why not use the time to consider the more interesting aspects of Lady Hendon’s duties? Perhaps, when I get back, we could discuss those?”
Kit stiffened. He couldn’t mean…?
Jack’s fingers drifted down the sensitive skin beneath her ear. His lips followed, leaving a tickling trail of nibbling kisses. Before she could gather her wits, he tipped her chin up, kissed her full on the lips, and was gone.
Stifling a most unladylike curse, Kit wriggled her shoulders to dispel the delicious shiver he’d sent rippling down her spine, drew a deep breath, and applied herself to her breakfast.
Her morning went in the inescapable task of being ceremonially inducted into the workings of Castle Hendon. The staff was pleasant, clearly pleased to find a local filling Lady Hendon’s shoes. The business of running a household was second nature to Kit—a legacy from her grandmother. She dealt with the staff with an innate confidence that had the inevitable result. By midday, the domestic reins were firmly in her hands.
Jack was not at the luncheon table; Lovis confirmed he’d not yet returned. Used to solitude, Kit walked the extensive gardens, then, tiring of such tame exercise, went upstairs to change into her new riding habit. The day was fine, the breeze beckoned—what better way to spend an afternoon than riding her husband’s lands?
The stables were large, set around two interconnecting yards. Kit wandered along the rows of stalls, searching for Delia’s black hide. The head groom came out of the second courtyard. Catching sight of her, he hurried over, doffing his cap as he came.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.”
Kit waited for him to ask if he could help her. When he simply stood, plainly nervous, twisting his hat in his hands, she took pity on him. “I’d like my horse, please. The black mare.”
To her surprise, the man subjected his hat to a further twist and looked even more uncomfortable. Kit frowned, a nasty suspicion displacing her good humor. “Where is Delia?”
“The master said to put her in the back paddock, my lady.”
Kit put her hands on her hips. “Where is this back paddock?”
The groom waved in a southerly direction. “Over the hills a-way.”
Too far to walk. Before Kit could ask her next question, the groom added: “The master said she was only to be brought up at his orders, ma’am.”
Inwardly, Kit seethed. There was no point haranguing the groom; he was only obeying orders. The person she wanted to harangue, needed to harangue, was the giver of those orders. Abruptly, she turned on her heel. “Send word to me the moment Lord Hendon returns.”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am but he came in not ten minutes ago.”
Kit’s eyes glittered. “Thank you—Martins, isn’t it?”
The groom bowed.
Kit rewarded him with a stiff smile and marched back to the house.
She found Jack in the library. She sailed into the room and waited until she heard Lovis shut the door before advancing on her husband. He was standing behind his desk, a sheet of paper in his hand. Noting the arrested look in his eyes, she realized any attempt to hide her anger would be wasted. She drew breath, only to have him seize the initiative.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t back for lunch. How did your tour with Mrs. Miles go?” Jack dropped his list on the blotter and came around the desk.
Thrown by the mild question, Kit blinked, then realized Jack was advancing on her. He was going to kiss her. Nimble-footed, she stepped around a chair. “Er…fine. What have you done with my horse?”
His flanking attack defeated, Jack halted and faced her guns. He contemplated her belligerent stance, muted in effect by her retreat behind the chair. “I’ve had her put in a paddock large enough for her to stretch her legs.”
“She stretches her legs often enough. I ride her every day.”
“Past tense.”
Kit frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“You rode her every day.”
When no further explanation was forthcoming, Kit gritted her teeth and asked: “Just what are you trying to say?”