Redeeming The Reclusive Earl. Virginia Heath

send her mad if she was forced to embroider or knit, or, heaven forbid, sit through endless polite teas pretending to care about the typical inane nonsense ladies talked about over tea. Her brain needed constant feeding with new knowledge and challenges, not tired, well-worn gossip. ‘No matter how long that takes.’ She sat primly in her seat, attempting to look every inch the lady for once while poor Smithson visibly paled.

      ‘He is not going to take that well. I am under strict instructions to get rid of you.’ And it was patently obvious the servant much preferred to get rid of her, the woman he had known since she was baby, rather than deliver this unwelcome news to his belligerent new master.

      Effie shrugged then offered the butler a regrettable smile in apology. ‘Then tell him if he wants me gone, I shall be gone quicker if he sees me. And while you are about it, please tell him I believe we got off on the wrong foot yesterday and that I wish to make amends for upsetting him. Tell him I come bearing gifts.’ Only the most hardened, rude curmudgeon could refuse both an apology and a present. ‘Edible gifts.’

      Smithson nodded and she watched his shoulders slump a little as he went off to impart the bad news. Less than a minute later she heard Lord Rivenhall’s explosive reaction echo down the hallway.

      ‘Get rid of the blasted woman now! When I told you that I do not wish to see anyone I meant it, Smithson. How dare you come to me and tell me that she will not budge? You should never have let the chit in! Get a couple of burly footmen and throw the wench out.’

      Effie knew the house too well not to know his bellowing shouts came from the study. She also knew that she was not going to stand by and allow the man to abuse one of his servants so abominably on her behalf regardless of the need to butter up the new Earl. She stood decisively and marched out of the French doors gripping her basket, determined to take the mountain to Mohammed. The quickest route to the study was outside and around the rose beds to the side. The study also had a pair of French doors connecting it to the garden. His Lordship would certainly not expect her to use them.

      Steeling herself to do polite and reasonable battle, she slipped outside and dashed past the roses. Fortunately, the doors were cracked open to let in the fresh spring air. She grabbed the handle and, before she sailed through imperiously, reminded herself of her mantra.

       Honey, not vinegar.

      ‘Good morning, Your Lordship.’

      The butler gaped at her intrusion. Effie had no idea how Lord Rivenhall initially reacted because he had his back to her. She watched his shoulders stiffen before his head whipped around. Despite the tousled, long black hair practically covering his face like a shroud, she had the satisfaction of seeing he appeared to be temporarily lost for words.

      ‘Isn’t it a lovely morning, my lord?’

      ‘Have you no respect for either etiquette or boundaries, madam?’

      ‘Usually—but I urgently needed to speak you.’

      ‘And you assumed barging into my private study was appropriate when you had already been refused an audience?’

      ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures and I knew you were in because I heard you shouting.’

      ‘If you heard me, then you should already know I have no inclination to suffer your presence, Miss Nuisance.’ Lord Rivenhall turned his back rudely and addressed the butler instead as he started towards the hall. ‘Show her to the door and make sure she uses it!’

      ‘If you wish to be rude to someone, my lord, I would appreciate that you direct it at me. It is not Smithson’s fault that I have refused to leave or encroached on your privacy. And to be clear, I have no intention of leaving until I have said my piece, Lord Rivenhall, so you might as well hear it. Seeing as you are plainly here...’ she let her eyes travel around the pristine study until they settled on the completely clear desk. ‘...and hardly strike me as particularly indisposed.’

      He paused mid-stride and slowly turned, clearly unsure of quite how to react to her bold statement. Bravely, Effie smiled, then walked towards the big, mahogany desk and sat in the chair opposite his vacant one to emphasise her intention to remain exactly where she was. Lord Rivenhall did not move from his spot on the Persian rug, piercing her with a glare which could have curdled milk.

      ‘Thank you, Smithson,’ she said, dismissing the servant with a smile she did not feel. ‘I shall see myself out once I am done. It shouldn’t take long.’ She fixed her gaze defiantly on her new nemesis. ‘Or at least I hope it won’t.’

      The butler eyed them both warily, then bobbed his head once and swiftly fled the room at a speed that was not at all dignified. Lord Rivenhall let the silence hang ominously, but made no move to approach the desk. Instead, he folded his arms insolently and positively glared at her as he tapped one large booted foot impatiently. Effie decided to take his lack of shouting as a good sign.

      ‘Forgive the intrusion, my lord, but I felt it imperative to apologise for yesterday.’

       Honey, not vinegar. Honey, not vinegar...

      ‘With hindsight, I imagine it came as quite the shock to see a stranger digging up your land so early in the morning, so it is hardly surprising we got off on the wrong foot.’ For good measure, she wiggled the basket now resting on her lap before sliding it on to the desk. ‘I brought fruitcake and brandy as a peace offering. A bottle of my father’s finest and one which goes particularly well with our housekeeper Mrs Farley’s famous fruitcake. It is her own secret recipe and she guards it with her life—much to the consternation of the rest of the village who would kill for it. But she baked this one yesterday upon my instruction. Just for you.’

      ‘That...was very kind of her...and you.’ He practically had to choke out the simple pleasantry through gritted teeth as it appeared to take a great deal of effort—but at least it proved he did possess some gentlemanly good manners and was capable of using them if pushed. ‘But wholly unnecessary.’ She watched his jaw set stubbornly. ‘It changes nothing.’

      But changing the subject might give her a few more minutes’ leeway. She beamed as if she hadn’t heard his latest refusal. Pretending not to hear insults or see the pointed looks was second nature to her nowadays and certainly made life easier than chastising herself for being so unnaturally different. ‘What I urgently need to talk to you about is a pot.’

      ‘A pot?’ As she had hoped, the abrupt and seemingly bizarre change of topic confused him. ‘Why the hell should I care about a pot?’

      ‘Because this is not just any old pot, my lord.’ Her cheerful smile was met with open hostility. She could feel the anger at her intrusion shimmering off him in waves despite his statue-like, wary posture. But she would persevere regardless. What other choice did she have? It was only her entire reason for being he was determined to deprive her of. ‘This is different. Unique. In the two years I have been seriously digging around the ruined Abbey, I have never seen anything quite like it.’ While she apparently had the floor, there seemed little point in pausing. It would only give him the chance to dismiss her out of hand, when he needed to realise first exactly what it was he was dismissing. Whether he wanted to or not.

      ‘I discovered it purely by chance yesterday in the new trench I have started on the eastern boundary. I am not even sure what possessed me to dig there when there are still such rich pickings coming out of the ground near the Roman settlement by the western foundations...’

      ‘Roman? As in Ancient Roman?’ Curiosity was getting the better of him, something which clearly disgusted him as he remembered to follow his question with another scowl.

      Beyond the scowl, she could not help but notice the Earl of Rivenhall was a handsome devil in a brooding sort of way, when she had been trying so hard to avoid noticing such pointlessly futile if pleasing aspects of the male form. Two dark brows furrowed in consternation over equally dark hooded eyes. A straight nose, strong jaw. The unfashionably dark and windswept hair only adding to his mysterious appeal. Excessively broad shoulders filled his coat and made him appear almost menacing from her angle in the chair below, although