Page 3 of Jillian’s Wild Heart (Ladies of Munro #4)

“I have known you a year,” Lord Howell pondered aloud.

“One would think I should have grown accustomed to being maneuvered in this way by my favorite houseguest. There are very few people who may say they can best me in negotiations. Perhaps your power lies in the reasonableness of your arguments. As such, I concede willingly. But I will send two maids with you. One alone will be too easily bewildered by your wiles. I shall not have you running off to the woods to braid Bradford’s hair. The man’s dignity must be protected.”

“Spoilsport,” Jilly grumbled, though a smile played about her mouth. “Well, then, let me fetch my wrap. I’ll be back in a minute.” She turned and made to race up the stairs, two at a time, when she heard a meaningful cough behind her.

Lord Howell gestured to the footman who had opened the door to Mr. Bradford and now stood waiting with the gentleman’s hat and coat.

“Have someone fetch Miss Kinsey’s wrap for her, will you?

And these”—he indicated the hat and coat—“might as well be returned to our guest. He’ll be needing them, after all.

Oh, and while you’re at it, fetch Clark. He’ll be joining you on your walk.”

The footman handed the items back to their owner, then began to tread the steps in a dignified manner that did his uniform proud.

Jilly slunk down the handful of stairs she had climbed, her tail firmly between her legs, reminded once again that she did not belong in an environment where she could not scamper like a goat.

“Do not worry, Miss Kinsey,” Mr. Bradford said softly. “We shall soon be beyond sight of these walls. Then you may dash about as much as your heart desires.”

Jillian caught the rolling of the viscount’s eyes, but he said nothing.

He knew she made a constant effort not to let him down.

When they were in company—other than that of Lewis Bradford—she really did try very hard to do all that was expected of her.

And the viscount and Ellena, bless their hearts, asked nothing more.

In fact, Jilly had been spared much of the darker side of Munro.

She had seen snatches of it at dances, where gossiping and sniping and condescension were rife.

But dinners were only ever attended at Munro House and invitations to these were limited to a very small selection of guests.

Anyone who might treat Jilly with disdain—whether or not they felt entitled to do so—were not considered welcome.

Indeed, this was the norm even when Jilly was not visiting.

The viscount and viscountess did not tolerate arrogance or any similar meanness of spirit.

Their friends were few and dear to them. And they all adored Jillian.

She had been given a great deal of grace and was grateful for it.

And yet, she still yearned for her life back home, where cows stuck their velvety noses over the fence, her father grew endless beauty from the wholesome soil, her mother could turn the humblest of ingredients into something delicious, and Jilly’s brothers would caper about her like puppies demanding her attention.

When she and Ellena were alone in one of the many rooms of Munro House, they recaptured some of the lightness of their childhood escapades, but it was mostly in conversation.

Lady Howell could not be seen galivanting with abandon about the house and garden.

And now that Ellena had a newborn to care for, her responsibilities had increased even further.

Her husband fussed over her, scarcely allowing her to move from her bed.

He would not have her exert herself. She must rest to recover more fully from the strains of childbirth, especially since she had refused the services of a wet nurse.

The past three weeks had therefore been particularly dull and solitary, since Jilly had scarcely even been allowed to hold the baby. She sometimes wondered if it was necessary to be here at all. She would be of much greater use to her mother, who had no servants to assist her as Ellena did.

During this period, when Jillian mostly sat with Ellena in quietude, save for the happy gurgles of little Christopher Howell, Mr. Bradford had become her salvation.

He alone now welcomed and encouraged her lightheartedness.

It was as if a secret part of him sought it for himself, and Jilly was more than happy to share it.

He visited Munro House more and more often and his excuse for doing so grew increasingly vague, until it became clear he was there for Jilly.

And always they made an escape to the grounds beyond the house, Jilly relieved to move and laugh, and Mr. Bradford grateful to be away from the rigors of life in front of judges and magistrates.

Their rambles about the estate had become something of a game, seeing how quickly they could elude poor Ingsley, only to reappear behind her and pretend they were chaperoning her walk.

Today, however, Lord Howell had undone their mischief.

Two maids were too hard to evade. Unless she and Mr. Bradford split up and circled ’round individually.

Jilly grinned within the privacy of her thoughts.

Yes, that might work very well. She had to hide her gleefulness at the idea.

If Lord Howell suspected, he might withdraw his chaperones altogether, and then the walk could not take place.

He really was very serious about protecting her reputation, bless his heart.

It did not matter that her father was a groundskeeper, and that she could run wild back home.

At Munro House, she was a companion to the viscountess, and that meant playing a role in the public eye.

Lord Howell relented a little within the privacy of their home, but only a little.

Stolen moments with Mr. Bradford were just that: moments.

Today, however, she would foil the viscount’s efforts to rein her in. She hugged her little plan to herself until she could whisper it to her accomplice.

As soon as Ingsley had arrived with her wrap, Mr. Bradford took it from her and placed it about Jillian’s shoulders, his warm hands resting a moment upon her arms. Jilly felt the heat seep deeper into her body.

She reached across and touched his hand with her fingertips—gently, so that he would not think she wished his hand to be removed.

A buzz of current ran between them. Jilly wanted to step back, fully into his arms, to feel his chest against her back, his lips against her hair.

Instead, it was Mr. Bradford who stepped back abruptly.

Jilly turned, disappointed. Mr. Bradford was looking down, pulling his gloves from his pockets and then tugging them over his fingers.

Why he needed them, she could not understand.

His hands had been warm enough and the day had not yet turned cool.

Ready at last, he offered Jilly his arm. She took it with a little less enthusiasm than she had felt but moments ago. They fell into step together. Behind them, the two footmen did the same.

“Be back in an hour,” Lord Howell commanded. “I cannot have you so tired that our business cannot be concluded, Bradford. And I am sure my wife already misses Miss Kinsey’s company.”

The two nodded in unison. Jilly brightened at how quickly they became one.

Despite their differences in gender, age—though what was nine years when they were both still young?

—and background, their connection was undeniable.

If only more could come of it. But even impetuous Jilly knew she could not broach such a topic. Not unless Mr. Bradford did so first.

Today, then, this would be a walk shared by friends. Dear friends. Friends whom she wished could be so much more. Perhaps, if she were patient…

“You are far away in your thoughts today,” her companion noted.

Jilly tried to shake her daydreams from her mind. After all, an hour with Mr. Bradford all to herself was not to be wasted. Except they weren’t alone. Not really. Which reminded her…

Jilly lifted her chin toward his ear. “I have an idea,” she whispered.

*

Miss Kinsey’s words breathed warm and moist into his ear. Lewis felt a shiver of delight thrill down his spine. She always had this effect on him. It didn’t matter what she wore or what she said or did. Miss Kinsey was like a beam of light that shone straight to his heart.

And his heart could be a dark place.

Being a second son had not merely been an accident of birth. It had bled into all aspects of his life. Although he had moved in social circles with other nobility, he had always been counted among the lesser order, the ones who would have to marry into other noble families to maintain their status.

When his brother, Philip, traveled to London, he took a carriage and servants, enjoyed a generous allowance, and visited the homes of the upper echelons.

Lewis had been given his mother’s maiden name as his Christian name, a reminder that he would inherit very little from his father.

When he studied at university and later at the law inn, his finances had been more limited.

After all, he did not have to maintain the lifestyle of a future lord.

In every sense, Lewis was reminded he was less, simply because he’d been born second.

The only advantage to this position was the freedom to make somewhat riskier choices.

He did not have to be quite as proper or move in all the right circles or maintain quite the same degree of perfection to which a firstborn son was bound.

The result of mixing with other lesser mortals was that Lewis was kinder, more down-to-earth, and automatically the brother more likely to befriend Viscount Howell, who detested pretentious behavior of any kind.