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“You make a good point.” Kit cut his eggs, and held the fork out to her. “You looked as if you wanted more.”

She opened her mouth, closing it around the savory dish. “I love this.” As she chewed, he poured her another cup of tea, adding milk and sugar. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“But I like to,” he said, feeding her another forkful.

Soon the floddies, toast, and tea were finished. He put his serviette on the table and stood. “I’ll go with you. Although you have left me little to be concerned with when it comes to the farming. I recently heard of a new plow that might be helpful here.”

Ooh, it would be beyond anything if he really knew about . . . “The one with the self-scouring moldboard?”

He looked almost like a peacock preening. “Exactly. ”

Talk about prayers being answered. “I wanted to buy one, but we have not been able to afford them for all the tenants.”

“If you agree”—he gave her the warm look that she was coming to like so much—“I’ll make arrangements to have one delivered for every tenant and the home farm.”

Before she could stop herself, Mary jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. “That would be wonderful.”

He stood, his arm snaking around her waist. When he gazed down at her, she was sure Kit would kiss her. She puckered her lips and . . .

The door opened. “Oh, excuse me, my lady.”

Drat, drat, drat . She dropped her arms, and Kit stepped away. “It’s all right, Simons. Mr. Featherton and I were just leaving.” All she wanted was a kiss. Was fate scheming against her? “I’ll meet you at the stables, sir.”

“I won’t be long, my lady.”

She hurried out of the room. Somehow, she must find a way to give him another opportunity to kiss her, and she would tell Simons from now on to knock if the door was closed.

Especially at breakfast. She remembered Phoebe writing that her husband had accomplished a great deal of important courting at the breakfast table.

Caro had told Mary that her husband fed her.

Mary might not have croissants and chocolate, but she had floddies and tea.

Damn, that was close . Kit resisted the urge to swipe his hand across his forehead. Her joy had been so real, her lips so tempting, he’d almost forgotten his vow. Kissing and the rest would have to wait until after the betrothal.

Thank God, he knew they would marry. He didn’t think he could manage it if that wasn’t already settled.

He had scorned Beaumont for trying to trap Serena, but if it weren’t for Kit’s grandmother’s machinations .

. . He could understand why his friend had been so desperate.

The more he came to know Mary, the more he liked her.

Not only was she intelligent and practical, but she seemed to become more beautiful each day.

How that was possible, he wasn’t sure. She’d already been the loveliest lady he knew.

Not to mention his desire for her was growing by leaps and bounds.

He’d never been so attracted to a woman before.

He wanted her; no, he needed her. In his home and his bed.

He had one, now he needed to work on the other.

How long would it take before she agreed to be his wife?

He made it out to the wagon mere minutes before she appeared.

Why it was so important for him to be there first, he didn’t know.

Nineteen baskets were already loaded. Strange, he’d thought he had more tenants than that.

Not wanting to ask her, he reviewed the names in his head.

Twenty-one. She walked out with Cook, carrying two bags.

“Ye tell ’em that was the best batch of barley I ever had,” the older woman said.

“I won’t forget. They will love your spice loaves. Mrs. Davies says you make the best ones in the county and England.”

Cook blushed. “G’an on with ye, ma lady.”

Mary smiled. “It’s the truth.”

Not wanting to disrupt the moment, or, more likely, ruin his cook’s mood, Kit waited until she was next to the wagon before saying, “Do the last two tenants not need a basket?” She gave him “the look.” The very one his mother gave his father when he’d said something dim-witted.

He hated having to dig himself out of a hole.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest . . .”

Maybe he should just stop now.

“In fact, two of the families normally do quite well. I have included hard bonbons for the children and a tisane for one of the ladies who suffers from flatulence.”

He reached into the pouch he carried, pulling out a handful of candy. “Such as these?”

“Yes.” She rewarded him with a smile. “I predict you’ll become popular with all the children.”

As long as he could please her, he would have achieved his purpose. He handed her into the conveyance. “Will you drive, or shall I?”

“You may. I find I like being a passenger. Aunt Eunice never likes to tool the wagon.”

Now that she had mentioned her, Kit had noticed Lady Eunice had been absent of late. “Where is your aunt?”

Mary’s brow crinkled. “I’m not sure. Normally she is down for breakfast before I leave.”

The woman damn well needed to be there during breakfast. Especially after what almost happened this morning.

Less than fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the Robson cottage.

The children, remembering him from yesterday, ran out to greet them.

Although they were too well mannered to ask for the sweets, the youngest, whom Kit judged to be around four years old, wrapped her arm around his leg and beamed up at him.

“Annan,” a frustrated voice called from the cottage, “git yer hands off the master.”

Lifting the girl into his arms, Kit called back, “Please, Mrs. Robson, don’t let it bother you.”

He reached into the purse he’d left in the wagon, drawing out a handful of the bonbons. He handed one to her, then divided the others among her brothers and sisters. Eight children—the house didn’t seem large enough. Still holding Annan, he whispered in Mary’s ear, “Do they require an addition?”

She smiled. “If you look in the back, you will see it has recently been enlarged.”

“Thank you.”

A sudden blush infused her cheeks, and she grabbed the basket, hurrying toward Mrs. Robson. Now, if he only knew if she was pleased with his approbation or he’d embarrassed her.

It took most of the day to complete their rounds, but since they were offered everything from tea to cheese and bread at every stop, neither of them was hungry when they returned home.

Home .

Kit had never before thought of Rose Hill as his home, yet Mary did, and even if he had a choice, he would not take the property away from her.

All day long he’d fought himself from taking her into his arms. He lifted her down from the wagon and struggled to remove his hands from her waist. She stared up at him, her gray eyes searching his, and his chest tightened. God, how he wanted to kiss her, run his hands through her golden hair.

One finger at a time, he released her. “We should go in now.”

Her lashes lowered and she turned toward the steps. “I shall see you before dinner.”

What he needed was a cold bath. That evening he made sure he was the last one down. Kit no longer trusted himself to be alone with his prospective wife. No matter how drawn to Mary he was, he would not behave as his brother had.

Shortly before seven o’clock in the evening, Gawain Tolliver entered a clean, neat tavern in the City, not far from the ’Change.

He understood why bankers would patronize the place.

It reminded him of an orderly account ledger.

Spying an empty table in the back, he strolled to it and ordered a coffee.

Late yesterday, a clerk who worked at Hoare’s Bank, Mr. Beacon, whom Gawain convinced to help him find Cousin Mary, had sent a note around.

The man had been reluctant to assist until Gawain wove a story telling the man that her family was concerned, as Lady Mary had not been in touch with anyone for several months.

Thankfully, Mr. Beacon’s opinion of females’ abilities to take care of themselves was not high.

As the church bells of St. Paul’s tolled the hour, a spare, middle-aged man entered the tavern.

Beacon slid onto the seat across from Gawain.

He took off his spectacles, wiping them thoroughly with a cloth before replacing them on his face.

“I do not know how much help the information I have found will be to you. The funds are transferred to the Bank of Scotland in Edinburgh. You would need to contact them to be provided with more information as to your cousin’s whereabouts. ”

Gawain wiped his brow and heaved a huge sigh. That was more information than he’d had in months. “I thank you. The family thanks you. Surely we will be able to discover her whereabouts now.”

The clerk stood and bowed. “It was my pleasure to assist. I trust her elders will give the young woman a good talking-to when you find her.”

“Yes, they certainly shall.” He rose, and shook the man’s hand. “Again, you have our thanks. You were our last hope.”

Mr. Beacon flushed. “I wish I could have been of more aid. Well, good-bye and good luck.”

Gawain retook his seat and slowly drank his coffee.

Was Mary really in Scotland? Or was this simply another wild-goose chase to keep him busy until she could find a husband?

If his cousin weren’t so headstrong, he would suspect the dowager of making a match for her.

Then again, she’d need to be somewhere there was at least some sort of Marriage Mart, and surely the dowager would insist on being there with Mary.

After all, an established lady with connections had to sponsor her.

Edinburgh had a Season. Not as large or refined as London’s, but Mary might think it was better than nothing. He’d just have to wait until the dowager made a move and led him to his soon-to-be wife.

“Sir.”

Gawain glanced up. His groom had a wide grin on his face.

“The old lady is getting ready to leave. I sent a message to have your things packed.”

“Finally. Get the boy we’ve had watching the house. We’ll take him with us. He can be useful. It won’t do to let her know I’m following.”

The George Inn, Stamford, Lincolnshire, England

“Is he still following us?” Lucinda lowered herself carefully into a chair in their private parlor.

A fire roared in the fireplace, and the room was warm enough, but her old body wasn’t what it used to be.

Riding in a coach for hours over the past week hadn’t helped either.

Blasted roads. One would think with the tolls the government charged they would be in better repair.

“That’s what Athey said,” Constance replied, leaning on her cane just a bit too heavily.

“You are making sure she is in no danger?” Not that Lucinda thought the girl would come to harm, but when her friend was focused on something . . .

“She is well protected. There is at least one footman with her at all times.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a more tenacious young man.”

Constance gave a basilisk stare. “With sixty thousand at stake? I’m only surprised he hasn’t done more.”

Lucinda took a sip of the excellent claret. The George was known for the quality of its cellars. “I’m wondering if we haven’t been the slightest bit ham-handed with Kit and Mary.”

“What do you mean?” Constance sniffed her wine before taking a sip.

“Well, dear, we were both able to arrange matches for our children and many of our grandchildren without anyone being the wiser . . .” Lucinda left her sentence hanging. It was always better to allow Constance to figure things out for herself.

“I see your point. They will come to the conclusion that we masterminded the scheme.” She heaved a sigh. “I know Mary has romantic ideas, but honestly, I do not know what else we could have done. Allowing Gawain Tolliver to get his hands on her was not an option.”

“I would like to see my great-grandchildren,” Lucinda prodded gently.

“Never fear. Once they discover they were meant for each other, they will come around.” Constance’s tone was bracing but not convincing.

“I do hope so. From the last letter Featherton received from Kit, it appears he is not happy with the situation.”

A sharp tap sounded on the door and dinner was brought in.

Footmen assisted Lucinda and Constance to the dining table.

Perhaps she was right and the children would forgive them.

Now, if they could only get rid of the ogre.

Mayhap they could arrange for young Mr. Tolliver to have a carriage mishap someplace in an area several miles from a coaching house.

In fact, that was an excellent idea. She’d speak with the coachman after dinner.

Gawain sat in the common room of the inn across from the George.

Even if he’d had the funds, he couldn’t have stayed there.

Hell, he couldn’t even afford to bring the boy he was using to watch the duchess.

Who would have thought the lad’s mother would demand twenty-five pounds for the urchin.

Five days and the dowagers had only traveled thirty miles from London.

Where the hell were they going? It couldn’t be back to the dower house; he had bribed one of the villagers to watch and there were no preparations being made.

Even his mother agreed that Mary wouldn’t go into Polite Society until her grandmother was with her. Unless she planned on joining the old ladies somewhere along the road. Now that would be convenient. He’d follow them and snatch her the moment she was alone.

He took a pull of the bitter local ale. If only his mother was right and Mary had taken up with a man.

That would settle all their problems. Even if she waited to wed him, he’d be able to blackmail her.

Not everything he wanted, but a damn sight better than nothing.

He took another drink and frowned. He wished he didn’t have to marry her, but the money would make up for a lot.

Perhaps he could find a gentleman to seduce Mary and convince her to wed him before her birthday?

Then he’d have the money. He’d have to pay a goodly sum, but it might be better than having a shrew to wife.

Yet, who could he get to do it who would wait for payment?