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If she pushed against Conor’s rules, whatever they might be, it was possible he would allow her to keep running until she ran right off the edge of a cliff and destroyed herself.

She shivered at the thought.

Every night, Conor came to her room and asked her whether she would like to have her evening meal with him or alone in her chambers. She had several times considered asking to eat alone, just to see what he would do about it, but the truth was that she was beginning to enjoy their evenings together.

Conor had been right about his cook. Every meal was a delight. There was boiled partridge with herbs one night, freshly caught fish another. It was always a surprise.

She had begun trying to guess, each night before the covers were whisked off the plates, what would be under them. So far, she hadn’t been right once.

“Pork,” she said, settling into her chair at the end of her first week in the manor. “I could smell it the whole way down the stairs. I know I’m right this time.”

DuBois removed the lid from her plate. Astrid stared. A bowl of hearty stew sat before her.

“If it helps,” Conor said, smiling at her from across the table. “I believe there is porkinthe stew.”

She lifted her spoon and tasted it carefully. “I can’t be certain,” she admitted. “I was so sure I smelled pork, but now that I’m tasting it…there are a lot of wonderful flavors here.”

“You’ll have to meet our cook,” Conor said. “You haven’t yet, have you?”

He knew perfectly well that she hadn’t. She had been spending the majority of each day in her chambers, reading books she had borrowed from the Earl’s personal library with his permission.

A week ago, she would have taken that comment as a reprimand, a reminder that she ought to get out of her room more and get to know the staff. But now, after having lived with the man, she didn’t think that was right. Conor kept to himself too. He wasn’t criticizing her.

If anything, he was reaching out to her. Trying to help her feel at home.

“No,” she said. “I haven’t met the cook.”

She heard the softness in her own voice. She had been so brusque the first few times she had spoken with him. She had felt defensive, and she had handled that fact by challenging him. Questioning his motives. And later, by making light of things that were serious and deserved serious responses.

But something had shifted, she realized. She was able to talk to her husband without looking for traps and hidden attacks. She no longer thought he was trying to trick her or force her into something she didn’t want to do.

How can this be the same man who threatened to lock up my father?she wondered.Now that I’m here, in the manor with him, he seems so thoughtful and kind. He seems like the kind of man who would forgive an offense against him.

He seems like someone I could learn to love.

That impression was reinforced the next day, when he came to her room at midday.

Astrid was sitting at her vanity and pinning up her hair when she heard his knock at the door. “Come in,” she called, expecting to see Betsy, and she was surprised when Conor’s face appeared in the doorway.

“Are you busy?” he asked her.

Astrid secured the last pin in her hair. “I’m not,” she said, and got to her feet quickly. “What can I do for you, My Lord? I mean, Conor.” Inwardly, she chastised herself. It was hard work breaking the habit of referring to an earl by his title, even though she knew it was what he wanted.

“I thought you might join me for a tour of the manor,” he said solicitously.

“Really?” That was something Astrid had been wanting since her first day here, but she hadn’t known how to ask, or even if it was proper to do so.

“Of course,” Conor said with a smile. “And, if you’d like, we can begin in the kitchen. I believe the cook is baking bread.”

Conor’s cook turned out to be a plump woman in her forties with dark hair that was just starting to go grey, and kind eyes. She bustled happily around the kitchen, quietly going about her work and allowing Conor and Astrid to share a loaf that had just come out of the oven. The bread cracked pleasingly when Astrid broke it between her hands and tasted delicious.

From the kitchen, they went out onto the grounds, a place Astrid had only seen from her bedroom window so far. Conor walked her down to a large outbuilding. “This is the stable,” he said, waving a hand at it. “Do you like horses?”

“I don’t know,” Astrid admitted. Living in the city with her father, she had never had any great need to associate with horses. Most people walked wherever they went. And Astrid had never gone very many places to begin with.

Conor hesitated, as if he was thinking carefully about something. Then he held out a hand to her. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you to meet them.”

She was surprised. He hadn’t grabbed her hand or wrapped an arm around her shoulders to propel her forward, as she might have expected. Instead, he stood, hand outstretched, patiently waiting for Astrid to decide.