the mahogany-cabled carving. "Have you a clerk?"
"It belongs to me."
"How often do you use it?"
"Rarely. This is my library. My office is through that connecting door."
"Your hours?"
"Vary, as I said, as required by my business concerns."
"Your mines , I assume." She endured the bitterness, offered him a smile.
"Yes. As well as my forges and smelters, my foundry—"
"So you're busy most days?"
"And most nights."
Busy stripping hillsides of ancient trees and defiling gentle waterfalls with coal slag. Like any busybody dragon, he'd soon tire of sniffing round his new bauble and leave her to the wonders of his lair. Hiding her work from him would be simple if she built her walls of dancing mirrors.
Oh, Papa, the possibilities.
"May I see the lodge?"
* * *
He led her silently through the clipped shadows of the formal garden, past an afternoon-gilded greenhouse, over a low footbridge and its crystal stream, and into a remarkably unspoiled willow woods. He was single-minded in his long stride, constantly looking back to make certain she was following.
And when the lodge appeared beneath the heavy canopy of oak and hornbeam, Mairey thought they had accidently stumbled onto a storybook house.
It had a thatched roof and round-topped windows, three chimneys and a winding path of pearly gravel that seemed to sing as she followed it to the front porch.
Rushford held open the door, and Mairey found herself as charmed by the inside as she had been by the outside. Big, bright rooms freshly furnished, the homey smell of woodsmoke caught up in the timbers.
The girls would love it here!
"I trust it meets with your approval, Miss Faelyn."
Rushford was waiting for her in the wide hall as she came down the stairs. He'd been oddly puritanical in staying below while she explored the bedrooms, this feral-forged man who had thought nothing of pinning her to a post in an abandoned mill and fondling her as though they had been hungry lovers.
"The house is very unlike you, Rushford."
"An old royal hunting lodge. It was the first building on the property, some three hundred years ago. And as I promised, a full five-minute walk from the main house, with plenty of locks and a sturdy bar for the door. It's yours to do with whatever you wish."
"Are you married, my lord?" Mairey hadn't meant to ask that particular question, and never so bluntly, but it seemed important if she was going to be tied to the man indefinitely.
She'd have thought the question a simple one to answer, but Rushford just stood there looking at her, frowning.
"I only ask, sir, because a wife might object to having another woman living on the estate." Mairey's heart beat wildly under all that glowering. " I certainly would."
"You'll have no trouble on that count, Miss Faelyn. I've never had a wife."
Her heart took a crazy thunk , a little too relieved, a lot too giddy. She hurried the few steps past him into the parlor. "Do you plan to take a wife any time soon?"
"Why?"
Because the idea didn't set well with her. A wife in the offing—a wedding at Drakestone . She couldn't quite look at him, so she inspected the hearth and its damper, rattled the handle and came away with sooty fingers.
"Because, Lord Rushford, although no one hopes to conclude our pact sooner than I do, my father spent his entire professional life looking for the Willowmoon Knot. He was a much more experienced scholar than I am, and after thirty years he'd made little headway. We can hardly expect success after only a few weeks."
"And?"
She faced him, glad for the distraction of rubbing the soot off her fingers. "And if, sir, three years from now you should find a wife and you and I are still … associated, she would doubtless want me to conduct my research elsewhere than on your estate."
"Would she?"
" I certainly would!"
"Well, then, my dear," he said, leaning too close with a badly tucked-away grin, "I'll keep that in mind should I ever go looking for a wife."
"You'll warn me if you
"It belongs to me."
"How often do you use it?"
"Rarely. This is my library. My office is through that connecting door."
"Your hours?"
"Vary, as I said, as required by my business concerns."
"Your mines , I assume." She endured the bitterness, offered him a smile.
"Yes. As well as my forges and smelters, my foundry—"
"So you're busy most days?"
"And most nights."
Busy stripping hillsides of ancient trees and defiling gentle waterfalls with coal slag. Like any busybody dragon, he'd soon tire of sniffing round his new bauble and leave her to the wonders of his lair. Hiding her work from him would be simple if she built her walls of dancing mirrors.
Oh, Papa, the possibilities.
"May I see the lodge?"
* * *
He led her silently through the clipped shadows of the formal garden, past an afternoon-gilded greenhouse, over a low footbridge and its crystal stream, and into a remarkably unspoiled willow woods. He was single-minded in his long stride, constantly looking back to make certain she was following.
And when the lodge appeared beneath the heavy canopy of oak and hornbeam, Mairey thought they had accidently stumbled onto a storybook house.
It had a thatched roof and round-topped windows, three chimneys and a winding path of pearly gravel that seemed to sing as she followed it to the front porch.
Rushford held open the door, and Mairey found herself as charmed by the inside as she had been by the outside. Big, bright rooms freshly furnished, the homey smell of woodsmoke caught up in the timbers.
The girls would love it here!
"I trust it meets with your approval, Miss Faelyn."
Rushford was waiting for her in the wide hall as she came down the stairs. He'd been oddly puritanical in staying below while she explored the bedrooms, this feral-forged man who had thought nothing of pinning her to a post in an abandoned mill and fondling her as though they had been hungry lovers.
"The house is very unlike you, Rushford."
"An old royal hunting lodge. It was the first building on the property, some three hundred years ago. And as I promised, a full five-minute walk from the main house, with plenty of locks and a sturdy bar for the door. It's yours to do with whatever you wish."
"Are you married, my lord?" Mairey hadn't meant to ask that particular question, and never so bluntly, but it seemed important if she was going to be tied to the man indefinitely.
She'd have thought the question a simple one to answer, but Rushford just stood there looking at her, frowning.
"I only ask, sir, because a wife might object to having another woman living on the estate." Mairey's heart beat wildly under all that glowering. " I certainly would."
"You'll have no trouble on that count, Miss Faelyn. I've never had a wife."
Her heart took a crazy thunk , a little too relieved, a lot too giddy. She hurried the few steps past him into the parlor. "Do you plan to take a wife any time soon?"
"Why?"
Because the idea didn't set well with her. A wife in the offing—a wedding at Drakestone . She couldn't quite look at him, so she inspected the hearth and its damper, rattled the handle and came away with sooty fingers.
"Because, Lord Rushford, although no one hopes to conclude our pact sooner than I do, my father spent his entire professional life looking for the Willowmoon Knot. He was a much more experienced scholar than I am, and after thirty years he'd made little headway. We can hardly expect success after only a few weeks."
"And?"
She faced him, glad for the distraction of rubbing the soot off her fingers. "And if, sir, three years from now you should find a wife and you and I are still … associated, she would doubtless want me to conduct my research elsewhere than on your estate."
"Would she?"
" I certainly would!"
"Well, then, my dear," he said, leaning too close with a badly tucked-away grin, "I'll keep that in mind should I ever go looking for a wife."
"You'll warn me if you
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