The Secrets Of Lord Lynford. Bronwyn Scott

from the drawer, penning a note with instructions. There was no question of returning to Truro until this mess was resolved. She folded the note and handed it to Gillie. ‘Have a messenger deliver this to the town house with all haste.’ Sophie and her governess could be here tomorrow. That would give her time to find suitable living arrangements. The inn wasn’t a decent place for a young girl. But where? Who did she know in town to whom she could turn? Did she dare ask Lynford? He was her only acquaintance likely to have any connections. The thought of Sophie at the inn, driving guests mad with her exuberance, settled it. As hesitant as she was about asking Lynford, she didn’t have a choice. Wheal Karrek needed her and she needed Sophie.

      Decision made, she took out a second sheet and penned another note. ‘Take this up to the new conservatory.’ She reread the note, making sure she’d struck just the right tone, short, concise, a very businesslike message, nothing that Lynford would misconstrue as an invitation to continue what they’d started and finished in the garden. Satisfied, she sent Gillie off. That only left sending a note to Detford. Her stomach surged once more at the thought. She settled it with a reminder that this was all a misunderstanding. Miles would come and explain all. She’d been on her guard for so long, it was too easy to see trouble where there was none.

       Chapter Five

      Eliza had barely finished the note when the commotion of an arrival sounded in the yard below. Perhaps another wagonload of supplies was expected today? But when she reached the window, there was no wagon in the yard, only a lone man on a chestnut horse—a tall, broad-shouldered man, dark hair unruly and windblown. He dismounted in a fluid motion and Eliza’s breath caught. Lynford was here! He’d come and immediately. He couldn’t have received her message more than an hour ago.

      He looked up at the window, shielding his eyes against the sun, and Eliza reflexively stepped back even though there was little chance of being seen. She was both flattered and flustered by his attention. What to do? Allow him to come up or should she go down to meet him? She would go down. Things tended to happen when she was alone with him. Crowds were safer. She took up her hat and gloves and paused a moment to check her appearance in the small mirror behind the door before whispering, ‘Breathe, Eliza. He’s just a man.’

      A man who had kissed her. A man who had not been intimidated by her when she’d surprised him at the school. A man who had come to her immediately even though she’d not specifically requested it. She stopped at the foot of the stairs to collect herself. She should not be excited. This was an entirely girlish reaction. She’d summoned him for business purposes because that was the nature of their acquaintance and she knew no one else in the area who might be positioned to help her. She’d not summoned him because of last night. She wanted to be clear with herself on that. In fact, that had been the singular reason she’d hesitated to send for him in the first place.

      She stepped outside, striding forward with confidence, hand outstretched in a mannish greeting. ‘My lord, how good of you to come and how surprising. I’d expected a list of recommendations in response, not an actual visit. I hope this isn’t disrupting your day?’

      He shook her hand and gave her one of his broad, winning smiles. If he was put off by the masculine gesture he gave no sign of it. ‘Not at all. There’s nothing left to do up at the school except get in the way while Kitto tries to settle the students.’ Sweet heavens, he was just as devastating in daylight and plain clothes as he was by night. Perhaps more so. Without the elegance of evening clothes, it was too easy to forget he was a marquess, heir to a dukedom and entirely above her touch. Today, he looked the part of a country squire and eminently more attainable, dressed in riding boots, tight buckskins, and a long greatcoat suited for the autumn air that blew in off the sea.

      Lynford did not relinquish her hand, but covered it with his other. ‘Tell me, what sort of accommodations do you require for the longer term? A manse? A cottage? An estate? I have a place in mind if you think it would suit. There’s a dower house at Falmage Hill. It’s not far from here. It would be close to the mine and it’s well situated between Porth Karrek and Penzance. I am in residence at the main house, or else I’d let the whole estate to you instead.’

      ‘I don’t need a whole estate.’ Eliza laughed. ‘The dower house will be ideal.’ Did she sound as flustered as she felt? The offer was overwhelming, all the more so because she couldn’t recall the last time someone had lifted the burden from her shoulders. Her world was full of wolves and vultures, but here was a stranger—an acquaintance at best—who’d shouldered the weight of this one task without hesitation. This was arguably the best news she’d heard all morning. But did it come at a cost? What guarantees was Lynford looking for? Why would a man she barely knew offer such largesse?

      ‘Are you sure, Mrs Blaxland?’ Eaton’s gaze narrowed, matching her own speculation. ‘If so, why are you looking at me as if I were a predator?’ She should have been more deliberate with what she let show on her face. She’d become sloppy in the wake of the morning’s tensions.

      ‘Are you? A predator? A girl can’t be too careful. When something sounds too good to be true, I’ve learned it usually is.’ Eliza didn’t back down from his challenge. ‘Truthfully, Lord Lynford, I am wondering why a man who hardly knows me would volunteer such lavish accommodation. What could he want in exchange? I shall pay you rent in coins and in nothing else.’ She needed to be clear on this point, especially based on last night in the garden. Did he think there were additional kisses to be had? Or perhaps something more than kisses?

      ‘You will do no such thing. I am not asking for money...or for anything else,’ Lynford answered with the swiftness of an insulted man. ‘As for why I am doing this, it is because I can. I have an empty house and you need one.’

      Did she dare believe him? She was not used to taking men at their word. But what choice did she have? Sophie and her governess would arrive tomorrow. Eaton swung up on his horse and for a moment she thought he’d retract his offer, offended by her scepticism. Then he leaned down and offered his hand. ‘Come up, we’ll ride out and look the property over. You can decide then if it will suit.’

      ‘But my coach is here,’ Eliza stammered, craning her neck to look up at him. Lynford appeared twice as large atop the big horse as he did on the ground and twice as commanding.

      ‘Send it on ahead.’ Lynford answered easily, dismissing the detail. ‘Stop stalling and come up, Eliza. We’ve already established I’m not a predator. It’s a beautiful autumn day, perfect for a ride, and I promise my horse will behave.’ She noted he said nothing about himself. She also noted he’d used her first name.

      She should be wary. She should refuse on grounds of impropriety. What would people think if they saw her with him? The argument had no teeth. Who would see them? Who would care? Miners on their way to their shifts? People who didn’t even know who she was? She lived quietly and Truro was further than most of these people would ever go in their lifetime. But she would know. But when he looked at her with that smile and those dancing dark eyes, something deep inside her began to stir, as it had last night, as it had the first time she’d laid eyes on him—that reminder that she was alive, that she was something more than a bookkeeper and an overseer. She took his hand and leapt.

      He settled her before him on the saddle and clucked to the big chestnut with an enviable ease, apparently unbothered by the proximity of the female sitting in front of him. Eliza wished she could claim such sangfroid. She could not. The rhythm of the horse beneath her beat a tattoo of freedom as the cliffs and fields of the Cornish landscape sped past. But neither dominated her attentions like the presence of the man behind her. She’d not counted on the practical act of transportation, such a mundane task, feeling so intimate.

      Huntingdon hadn’t been a rider. They’d always gone everywhere by coach. To ride astride with a man was a very different thing. There were the thighs to contend with, muscular thighs that bracketed her legs, the chest she couldn’t help but press against as they cantered along the cliff road to Falmage Hill, the arm that came around her, the leather-gloved