Page 30

Chapter

FIFTEEN

The Traverses’ farmhouse was larger than Guy expected.

It was no smallholder’s tied cottage. It was a gentleman’s house.

However, from the few missing roof tiles, lack of any servants rushing out to greet him, and the overgrown roses cascading over the porch, it was clear the family money that had once purchased this house and land was long gone.

That observation didn’t mean that the place had gone to rack and ruin from mismanagement either, as it was well-kept and homey, the yard neat and tidy.

A nearby barn looked to be almost new, and he was surrounded by well-tended fields.

This was the home of an obviously hard-working agricultural family and he admired that.

Although he had no idea why he was here. Not really. His only excuse was tenuous at best, but after an almost-kiss, some very real warring doubts, and yet another sleepless night craving her, he’d had to come. Had to see where the vixen came from.

“Can I help you, sir?” The man emerged from the barn, wiping his hands on a rag as he smiled.

He was a big bear of a fellow of around his mother’s age.

Late fifties, perhaps early sixties, but as fit as a butcher’s dog.

Tall and broad with the sun-burnished skin of one who spent most of his time in the fields, a thick mop of graying sandy hair, and what could only be his daughter’s bright blue eyes.

“Mr. Travers?”

“I am indeed. And who might you be?”

“Guy Harrowby, sir.” Not wishing to intimidate while he looked down on her father from Zeus, which for all manner of worrying reasons was not the first impression he wanted to give this man, he dismounted and held out his hand. “Or Wennington. I answer to either.”

Rather than incline his head as many did when they learned of his title, Mr. Travers’s smile only widened in recognition as his enormous work-roughened palm gripped Guy’s.

“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.

It’s also an honor to finally meet the man who took on all those bloody grain merchants last year and won.

Good work! Made it so much easier for many of the farmers of Kent to get a fair price for their crops.

” He pumped Guy’s hand enthusiastically.

“We all owe you a debt of gratitude. I should also offer you my condolences as I’m told that you currently have the unfortunate pleasure of my daughter as a houseguest.”

“I do indeed.”

“Please tell me that you’re not here because Lottie’s driven you mad with her willfulness and you’re hopeful that I can use my fatherly influence to make her less so.

Because trust me, I’ve tried for three and twenty years so far and nothing’s worked.

” He chuckled with obvious affection. “I know I should’ve beaten her as a child, because lord only knows she gave me plenty of reason to—and still does—but I was brought up never to strike a woman and now the whole world is paying for my saintly restraint. ”

Mr. Travers feigned exasperation, but his eyes danced with amusement. This was a man who clearly loved his only daughter to distraction and enjoyed the way she was. It also proved where she got her sense of humor from. “What’s the firebrand done this time?”

“Nothing.” Apart from mining under Guy’s skin and most of his defenses and leaving him so conflicted inside that he didn’t know which way was up. “At least nothing recent.” He grinned and Mr. Travers chuckled back. “Although she is the reason I am here.”

“I see.” Mr. Travers looked him up and down, his ready smile flatten ing, suddenly every inch the protective father who knew that his daughter was a prize and who wasn’t going to allow her to settle for a man who didn’t deserve her.

“Do I need to sit you on a low chair in my study, loom over you in a menacing fashion, and quiz you about your intentions?”

Maybe.

And maybe not.

Guy still hadn’t made up his mind about that.

He had been engaged in a full-scale war between what his sensible, battle-scarred head and his clearly still reckless but equally battle-scarred heart wanted.

He’d veered both ways since he had almost kissed her last night.

Part of him—the part that terrified him the most—was furious that he hadn’t just said to hell with it all and tasted her mouth.

Because they had both wanted him to.

Of that he was sure.

Guy might not be the expert womanizer that Bill was, but he had been with enough women to know when one was willing!

Miss Travers had enjoyed being in his arms. He knew that because she practically melted against his body the second he’d caught her, just as his body had instinctively fused against hers—as if it was meant to be there.

Then, rather than scramble out of his arms and acting all missish about their compromising clinch, she’d looped hers around his neck while she had waited for him to make the next move.

Lips parted. Breath expectant. Her lush body languid and compliant, inviting him to continue without any hint of disapproval at their intimate position.

She had even stared at his mouth while she waited.

All clear signposts that she wasn’t averse to being kissed.

He certainly couldn’t ever remember wanting a woman more—and that was what troubled him the most. Nobody had ever heated his blood like she did.

Not even Florinda, who had gone out of her way to heat it in all manner of highly improper ways.

That conniving woman’s overt seductions hadn’t seduced him half as much as the desire in Miss Travers’s lovely eyes.

But as the comparison with Florinda popped into his mind a split second before he gave in to the urge to kiss Miss Travers, it panicked him enough not to.

The last time he had jumped headfirst into the murky waters of love—again after a ridiculously short acquaintance thanks to far too much temptation—he’d been made a fool of.

Only a complete idiot would rush into it again with a woman he barely knew, simply because he wanted her in every way possible.

Which he supposed was part of the reason he was here.

He needed to know precisely who Miss Travers was before he gave too much of his wary heart away again.

Hoping against hope that lightning wouldn’t, couldn’t possibly strike so destructively twice.

Especially as Miss Travers—Lottie—wasn’t anything like the conniving and social-climbing woman whom he had made the fatal mistake of proposing to.

“There is no need for you to loom today, sir. I come here as a fellow farmer and not a prospective suitor.”

Yet, said the impetuous and increasingly loud voice in his head.

But he might be. He could admit that to himself.

Feeling his way slowly—with sensible caution—despite the overwhelming longing he was suffering from that urged him to rush in and make his aunt’s latest but unconventional companion his.

A turn up for the books likely so scandalous that it would make it into the dreaded gossip columns because viscounts didn’t tend to court lady’s companions.

At least not as a general rule. But as he had eschewed all the stupid rules of the ton when he had exiled himself from them, if she was the elusive one that his lonely heart had been looking for, he wouldn’t give two figs what those jumped-up, judgmental, preening fools thought.

“Just as well as I’m not in the mood for looming today.” Mr. Travers’s shoulders relaxed as he sighed in relief. “You do not strike me as mad and you’d have to be to want to shackle yourself to my Beanstalk. I love my daughter more than life itself, but she’s a handful.”

The mention of a handful reminded Guy of how perfectly she had fit in his arms last night and how desperately he had wanted to fill his hands with every soft, womanly part of her. Thighs, bottom. Those saucy, pointed, raspberry-tipped breasts that begged to be teased and licked and…

Good grief! What the bloody hell was the matter with him? The menace hadn’t just seduced him, she’d thoroughly bewitched him because nothing would shift her from his mind. He certainly shouldn’t be fantasizing about all the things he wanted to do to the woman in front of her father!

“Your… um… daughter mentioned that you have persistent blight and I happened across an article in one of my farming journals the other day that I thought you might find of interest.”

Glad of an excuse to escape Mr. Travers’s gaze, Guy retrieved the journal from his saddlebag, where he had put it after she had failed to turn up for her usual dawn ride. After she’d avoided him all through dinner and afterward last night.

His fault. He had embarrassed them both last night by withdrawing from the kiss and he figured he owed her some sort of explanation for his behavior.

He hadn’t fathomed the exact words he needed to say yet but recognized that she deserved to know that his failure to kiss her wasn’t because he didn’t want her.

In fact, nothing could be further from the truth.

There was something about Miss Travers that called to his soul, as well as his body, in a way that had never happened before.

Something that transcended all his lust. It was hard to categorize what it was he felt for her, especially as every sensible part of him warned him to run away and to deny what was happening.

All he knew was that there, alongside his intense physical attraction to her, was a unique connection between them, as if they were kindred spirits in some way.

Someone he could be himself with. Someone he was tempted to entrust his heart to.

He just needed to prove that.

Perhaps the only way to do that was to court her?

A sudden epiphany which absolutely terrified him.