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Elizabeth cast St. Ryne a fulminating glance, though truly she did feel chilled, but not, she suspected, from the air. Tunning, now sitting at ease by the desk, had cast more than one assessing look in her direction, and she did not care for his intense consideration.

“Now, Tunning, as I said, I will be returning to London tomorrow. While I am gone, various tradesmen and craftsmen will be coming to Larchside. The Viscountess will be directing these worthies in the decorating and restoration of the manor. It will be your responsibility to keep an accounting and see these tradesmen are paid. It will also be yours to see that the estate is not unduly charged for the services received. In fact, all bills, whether for Larchside or for the Viscountess’s personal fripperies, shall be directed to you. ”

His words set Elizabeth’s teeth on edge. Yes, he had threatened to take such an action, but Elizabeth had taken it for only that, a threat. She looked over at St. Ryne to note him regarding her steadily, a smug smile on his face.

“Surely, St. Ryne, you would not wish to burden Mr. Tunning with such trivialities. I take it from your conversation there are several farms that need his close attention if they are to be made profitable. I should be quite desolate if I hampered his efforts in that direction.”

Atheridge’s return with the refreshments, followed by Mrs. Atheridge bearing her shawl, interrupted her. Elizabeth accepted the shawl with ill grace and draped it around her loosely. She rose to pour, nodding a dismissal to the Atheridges.

St. Ryne had difficulty deciding which shone more brightly in the light of the candelabrum by the tray—the cleaned crystal wineglasses or Elizabeth.

He sucked in his breath as she bent to pick up another glass.

The hussy was near to falling out of her dress and refused to adequately cover herself with the shawl.

He watched through hooded eyes as she first served Tunning, then handed him a glass.

Elizabeth smiled sardonically at him, then turned to find Tunning devouring her silhouette with avid eyes.

A shuttered expression descended over her features.

She returned to the serving tray to pick up her glass, casually drawing the end of the shawl over her shoulder and tossing it across her front to drape the other shoulder.

She turned to face St. Ryne, the light of the candles haloing her hair.

She gracefully lifted the glass to her lips, savoring the taste of the sweet wine.

“As I was saying, St. Ryne,” she said, returning to her chair, “I am perfectly capable of overseeing the affairs of the manor.”

“Nonsense, my dear. We both know how you lack a proper understanding as to the value of money,” St. Ryne returned smoothly. "I have on two occasions witnessed this unfortunate deficit in your education. I must insist Mr. Tunning handle the accounts.”

Tunning looked from the Viscount to his wife and back, secretly crowing. “Now, my lady, don’t fret yourself. It is no burden at all. Accounts are my business, so to speak.”

Yes, I’ll wager they are, Elizabeth thought to herself.

She did not like that self-satisfied expression on his face.

Well, before St. Ryne returned, she’d examine his account books closely.

If one farm could be so creditably maintained as they inferred, it struck her odd that all were not.

Then there was the matter of Mrs. Atheridge’s petticoats.

There was something about this man she could not like.

His eyes held a sneaky shrewdness. She watched him fidget with his ornate watch chain.

That, like the housekeeper’s petticoats, was not in keeping.

Elizabeth watched him exchange a masculine, patronizing expression with her husband at her expense, and it was with sheer determination that she fought her impulse to fly up into boughs and properly rake him down.

“I’ll come by each afternoon to advise her ladyship. I’ll see she’s not gulled. I’ll also arrange for servants.”

“I prefer to choose my own.” Her voice was rigid, coming out as it did through clenched teeth.

“Well, no offense, my lady, but being new in these parts, you’d do well to be advised by me.

” He leaned back in his chair and spoke like a grand gentleman dispensing favors.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll arrange that all interviews be scheduled when we have our meeting in the afternoon, so you can sit in and give your opinion, too. ”

“What?” She could not fathom this man’s boundless audacity.

“He has a point, my dear,” St. Ryne interrupted smoothly, hoping to squelch the storm he saw brewing in her gold eyes.

Damn the man. Though it was his intention to teach his willful wife a lesson by leaving the accounts in Tunning’s hands, he had not meant for this fellow to infer that she was a helpless ninnyhammer.

He also did not care for his patronizing manner.

Then a thought occurred to him, and perhaps it would be another good lesson for Elizabeth.

“Justin!”

Tunning observed the soundless exchange between the Viscount and his wife.

There seemed to be little love lost between the two.

Perhaps he could use it to his advantage.

He’d tell the Atheridges not to fear losing their sweet deal just yet, particularly if he was able to get rid of the meddlesome Humphries, who noticed too much and asked too many questions.

He was a trifle put out that the Viscount would not allow himself to be immediately led by him; however, he considered himself a patient man, and it did appear the Viscount was disposed to defer to him, a circumstance that suited Tom Tunning perfectly.

He looked at the Viscountess. There was a morsel that suited him perfectly, too.

Highborn ladies were often known to participate in a dalliance with those of other classes, if for no other reason than to cuckold their husbands.

If the Viscount was to make a habit of long absences away from his bride, well, Tom Tunning would just have to see what he could do to soothe the poor Viscountess’s frustrations.

Several images came to his mind of a nude and writhing young woman lying beneath him.

Atheridge said they slept apart on their wedding night, too.

Elizabeth did not miss the smug and hungry look on Tunning’s face and she felt a warm blush suffuse her cheeks. How dare St. Ryne put her in this position!

Elizabeth and Tunning were so caught in their own thoughts that they were startled when they realized St. Ryne was again speaking to them.

“—looks fool you. Though the Viscountess may not have a head for money, she is an intelligent woman. I trust her to choose servants wisely, and furthermore, should a problem arise with which you would consult me, please speak to her before sending any messages to London. I trust her to handle even the knottiest problem.”

Elizabeth turned to St. Ryne in surprise.

Tunning grinned fatuously. “Don’t you worry, my lord, I’m sure we’ll get along famously.”

Elizabeth doubted that but kept her lips clamped shut as she contemplated St. Ryne’s last statement.

“I have no doubt of it,” her husband said, rising from his chair. “Thank you for coming, Tunning. I’ll see you on my return.”

At that, Tunning had no choice but to rise also, make his bows, and leave.

Elizabeth looked questioningly at St. Ryne, a slight look of wonder and openness on her face.

Suddenly there were so many questions tumbling around in.

her mind waiting to be voiced. Unfortunately they faded quickly, as memories of the humiliations she’d suffered at his hands also came to mind.

She closed her eyes, lifting her hand to her forehead as if to push away the confusion and clear her mind.

“If you will excuse me, Justin, I would retire. It has been, as you stated earlier, a long day.”

“Of course, my dear,” he said, offering his arm to walk her to the door. Pointedly she ignored his gesture, murmured a goodnight, and brushed past him.

St. Ryne crossed to the tray to refill his glass.

He had seen her open, avid look and had hoped she was ready to open up to him.

Disastrously, he also saw it fade to be replaced by a cool aloofness.

Perhaps he was making it too difficult for her to be open with him.

That was one of the reasons he was returning to London.

Branstoke was correct. He was walking a tightrope, but there was no turning back.