The Master of Stonegrave Hall. Helen Dickson

His own narrowed. ‘Careful, Miss Lewis. Your temper is about to resurrect itself.’

      ‘Maybe that’s because I have a streak to my nature that fiercely rebels against being ordered what to do.’

      ‘I have a formidable temper myself,’ he told her with icy calm.

      Spinning her head round to look at him once more, she swallowed hard as his cold blue eyes bored into hers. It had not taken her long to throw good judgement aside and flare up at him. She must learn to control her feelings better, but with her emotions roiling all over the place it was proving difficult.

      ‘When anything happens to my mother, do you mind telling me what I am expected to do—where I will live now my home has been taken from me? Surely you must understand my concern.’

      ‘Of course, and I am sure your mother has taken everything into consideration.’

      ‘She has? Will you please explain it to me?’

      ‘I am sure your mother will do that if you ask her. I have not been made privy to her plans—and if I had it would not be my place to discuss them with you without her permission.’

      ‘No—of course not. I’m sorry. I should have known better than to ask.’ Victoria loathed herself for apologising and for being a coward. Another woman might rant and rave at him for taking it upon himself to do what he had done—or go beyond good thinking and slap his arrogant face. But she couldn’t feature herself doing such a thing.

      ‘Much as I admire your spirit, you should take special care to bite your tongue sooner,’ Laurence chided. ‘You will grow tired of pleading for my pardon if you do not.’

      She glared at him with accusation. ‘It is difficult to be silent when I find my home has been taken from me. Not only have you taken that, but my liberty as well. You have left me with nothing.’

      ‘I disagree. Are you not comfortable here?’

      ‘How would I know that? I have only just arrived.’

      ‘The staff will see that you want for nothing.’

      After a second’s pause, during which the defensive tension in her shoulders eased slightly, she said, ‘I know and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful—but I would prefer to nurse my mother myself in our own home.’

      ‘I can understand that, but you weren’t here to be consulted. The decision to let the cottage go was your mother’s, no one else’s. Betty’s condition has become progressively worse since she came here,’ he said, with the familiarity of long acquaintance. ‘She is far too ill to be moved. Even if you still had the cottage, the doctor would advise you against taking her back there.’

      ‘But—when she is better...’ Her words faded when she caught his look and a lump appeared in her throat. ‘She’s not going to get better, is she?’ she said quietly.

      He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, Miss Lewis. I’m sorry.’

      She nodded. ‘Yes—I am, too.’

      ‘It is her wish—and mine—that you stay at the Hall so that you can be close to her.’

      ‘Thank you. That is very kind of you.’

      Laurence gazed at her with a cautious half-smile. Either she had not heard, isolated at that Academy of hers in York, that he was the Devil incarnate, or she was too starved of male company to care. As someone who had little use for the human race, he found himself strangely moved by her shy smile.

      ‘Nonsense,’ he said on a gentler note. ‘Your mother was kind to me when I was a boy. I grew very fond of her. I owe her a debt. So, would you consider my offer and remain here? I believe a room has already been made ready for you close to your mother’s.’

      Victoria felt as if he had just backed her into a corner from whence she could find no escape. Why did she have this feeling of unease, that there was something not quite right about all of this? It was most unusual for an employer to show such concern for someone who had worked for his family so long ago.

      ‘Yes, I would like to stay here. But—my bags. Mr Smith, the carrier, is to deliver them to the cottage in the morning.’

      ‘I’ll instruct Jenkins to have them brought here.’ His eyes passed over her soiled skirts. ‘Meanwhile I am sure Mrs Hughs will provide you with anything you might need.’

      Laurence noted that she seemed to be holding her arm. He frowned. ‘Is there something wrong with your arm? Did you hurt it when you fell?’

      ‘Oh, no—it was before that—when I arrived in Malton. A rather irate gentleman opened a coach door, knocking me back into the side of it. I’m afraid my arm took the brunt.’

      ‘Does it give you much pain?’

      Absurdly flattered by his courtesy and concern and his understanding of her situation, and relieved because he didn’t seem to hold an aversion to her for invading his house, Victoria shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. Truly.’

      ‘All in all you’ve had a rotten day, haven’t you, Miss Lewis?’ he said softly. ‘Doctor Firth is coming to check on your mother in the morning. I’ll get him to take a look at it.’

      ‘Oh, no, there’s no need, really. There are no broken bones, just bruises.’

      ‘Nevertheless it’s best to be sure.’

      Sensing that the interview was over, Victoria moved towards the stairs where she paused and glanced back. He was watching her. He was very attractive, she decided, but it wasn’t just his good looks that drew her eyes to his profile, it was something else, something elusive that she couldn’t pinpoint. Unable to stop herself, she smiled. ‘Thank you. Goodnight.’

      Two things hit Laurence at once. Light-hearted banter with young ladies just out of the schoolroom was completely alien to him and Victoria Lewis had a breathtaking smile. It glowed in her eyes and lit up her entire face, transforming what was already pretty into something captivating. But she was so clearly a mass of pent-up emotion. There was a tension about her, a sense of agitation. He watched her walk to the stairs and was strangely disturbed by the way she moved—like a racehorse, he thought. He had a sudden desire to see her legs. She somehow seemed to glide on them—they propelled her forwards in one smooth, easy movement, rather than in a series of steps.

      He couldn’t remember ever seeing a woman’s face transform the way hers had when she talked about her mother. He’d seen ambitious women light up at the possibility of getting a piece of jewellery from him and give convincing performances of passionate tenderness and caring, but until tonight he’d never, ever, witnessed the real thing.

      Now, at thirty years old, when he was hardened beyond recall, he’d looked at Miss Lewis and succumbed to the temptation to wonder.

      ‘Goodnight, Miss Lewis. Sleep well.’

      And so Victoria sought out her room. Not until she was in bed did she allow her mind to wander and go over the events of the day. It would seem that Stonegrave Hall was to be her home until her mother... She bit her lip to stop it trembling and pushed the thought away. She couldn’t bear to think of that or what would happen to her afterwards. It was too painful and made her feel helpless.

      But it was not only her situation that had rendered her helpless, but this man, the master of Stonegrave Hall, the dark and devastating Laurence Rockford. She admitted to a certain thrill on first meeting him. There was an aloof strength, a powerful charisma about him that had nothing to do with his tall, broad-shouldered frame. There was something else—a feeling Victoria got when she looked at him. This man had done all there was to do and see and all those experiences were permanently locked away—beyond any woman’s reach.

      That was his appeal. Like every other woman he came into contact with, Victoria wondered what it would take to get past that barricade and find the man beneath.

      * * *

      Sunlight streamed in through the