Page 12

“The country may be free and the air, too,” Peregrine murmured, “but the meadow belongs to me now. It is now an extension of Westbourne. I know you are an intelligent woman who knows where the boundaries are. I refuse to believe that you would be wandering about not knowing where you are.”

“Would you like to build walls around the meadow, as well, Your Grace?” Rosamund asked. “You may be interested to know that I am also making my own inquiries. So, no, I am not merely wandering about.”

“Inquiries?” Peregrine echoed, raising an eyebrow. His lips formed into a teasing curve, almost a full-bodied smile. “Truly? Over my meadow and under my oak tree? Who has been responding to you? The fairies?”

“Oh, no. I just visited Mrs. Higgins today,” she said. “I have also walked around and asked questions. On my first visit, I had the good fortune of having talked to Mr.Clough, Farmer Barnaby, and other villagers. Today, I decided to come closer. I heard you have been playing quite the benefactor to my family’s former tenants and servants.”

Peregrine’s smile slightly faded. He watched her quietly, as if he did not know what to do with her. Then, he dismounted his stallion in one fluid motion. Rosamund might have watched with her mouth open, and she wished that he had focused on getting that dismount right that he did not notice.

The Duke walked toward her as if she would not hear him if he had stayed a safe distance. Rosamund’s pulse stuttered in her throat as his physical presence made itself completely known to him. She could not help but get a whiff of his clean scent, mixed with the scent of fresh rain.

“What did your investigation tell you, then, Lady Rosamund?” he asked, with a deep voice. He spoke as emotionlessly as he often did, but there was something in the way he breathed that told her that he was not as unaffected. Pah! Her mind was becoming too wild for its own good. “Did you uncover my plans to sacrifice the villagers at the foot of the mountain? Did you discover that I lowered the rent to spite you?”

Rosamund narrowed her eyes, her temper about to explode at any time. Well, considering that she did not really make much of an effort to control it in front of him before, it was the beginning or end of a civilization. Her pride at least let her hold onto her composure.

“I know what you are trying to do, Your Grace,’ she said, with fury coloring her words. “You are trying to change history by making people like you and take your side. You want to have the perfect reputation as a landlord. And so you make them forget that you have ruined my family!”

Peregrine’s face remained so immobile, so unflinching, that it was infuriating. He looked down at her, his eyes wandering to her lips, before snapping back to her eyes.

“Oh? Do you truly believe that?”

“Believe?” Rosamund asked. “I know it! You purchased Ashbourne Hall during our time of difficulty because you wanted it. Your decision drove my father straight into his grave. It gave you the full opportunity to lay full claim, even to the narrative that surrounded what happened. I believe everything was purely calculated.”

For a second, Rosamund thought that pain flashed in those pale eyes, but it was so quick - so sudden - that she wondered if she merely saw what she wanted to see.

“If you believe that it was calculated,” Peregrine said, “then you are also playing your part in this theater. You are doing a wonderful job playing the aggrieved heroine.”

“I am not!” she protested, her eyes widening. “I am not aggrieved. I am here to reclaim what is rightfully mine.”

“And I am prepared to tell you several more times that Ashbourne Hall is not for sale. Yet, I can see you here, standing on my property, expecting me to hand you the keys and the title because you are incapable of respecting boundaries.”

“One hundred thousand pounds is sufficient. It will provide you with peace of mind, too, and you can rest at Westbourne Abbey, where you truly want to be!”

“Some things cannot be bought back, even with a draft for a respectable sum coming from Pilgrim’s Bank,” Peregrine said.

Rosamund’s breath hitched as she felt more aware of his physical proximity. Her anger was also dwindling, making way for something more confusing. She was surprised that from where she was, she could see flecks of silver on his blue-gray eyes and the rigid lines of restraint on his jaw. She was caught between wanting to slap his face and touching the tendrils of dark hair touching his forehead. Instead of doing either one, Rosamund pressed her fingernails hard against her palms to stop herself.

“You are truly exasperating! I wish somebody had told you that!” Rosamund snapped. “An arrogant scoundrel!”

The melancholy in Peregrine’s face seemed to disappear, then. It was replaced with something else - again, that infuriating almost smile.

“Ah. There you go. I was waiting for the time when you would finally call me a scoundrel. It took you longer than I expected.”

“I say things that I mean, and now I know that you deserve that name.”

“Oh, I am sure that you believe that,” he said smoothly. She was not ready for the quick movements that followed, with him remounting his stallion in one fluid motion. He made it appear like nothing, his posture straight and his horse uncomplaining as he gathered the reins in his hand. “As the master of this estate for scoundrels, I am afraid that we were not prepared for your invasion today. However, if you come this way tomorrow, I will assure you that Cook will have lemon cakes for you.”

“Why would I come back for lemon cakes?” Rosamund asked, glaring at him. Her hands had clenched into fists.

“Well, it is better than eating air while standing by the meadow. What would you have done if I did not pass by and spend time with you?” Peregrine grinned at her.

Then, he gave the stirrup a gentle kick. The stallion knew what to do, as trained as everyone in the Duke’s life. It was ready to trot away, but Peregrine paused.

“Do remember that the northern bridge is dangerous, Lady Rosamund. Please do not even try,” he warned.

It seemed that Peregrine was so eager to have the last word, because he urged his horse to leave before Rosamund could say anything else. The young woman fumed, but she managed not to stomp her foot on the grass like a child having a tantrum. Instead, she lifted her chin. She was supposed to be the one irritating the Duke and not the other way around.

Five