Page 38 of Impossible
“Is there a rose garden? I’m afraid I couldn’t tell.” Because the gardens were in such bad shape.
“There is.” He grimaced. “Not that you can see it. I suppose I should hire a gardener to fix that.”
“I’d be happy to make inquiries while I’m in the village tomorrow.” She considered inviting him to accompany her, but she was almost certain he’d decline. Besides, she’d already courted rejection by inviting him to sit with her.
“You should do that.” He returned his attention to his book, and she was sorry the conversation was over so quickly. But then he surprised her yet again by looking toward her once more, an expression of bemusement etched into his handsome features. “What have you done to me?”
“Nothing on purpose.” That wasn’t precisely true. She was trying to bring forth his better nature—for those around him as much as for him.
“I can almost believe that,” he said softly and with a shocking dash of humor.
“I probably shouldn’t say this, but in meeting the tenants around the estate, I’ve heard a number of things about you that stretch credulity.”
His brow quirked again, and damn if her breath didn’t catch. “Such as what?”
“That you were a rake. I struggle to see it.”
He exhaled, sounding weary. “That was averylong time ago.”
“You don’t deny it?”
“I barely remember it, to be honest.”
She doubted that, but he didn’t seem keen to discuss it, which was vastly disappointing. When his gaze dipped to his book once more, she didn’t interrupt again. She tried to focus on hers and even managed to read a few pages before he was the one to speak.
“How is your work coming overall? Will you be done in your allotted fortnight?”
“I should be, yes. I’ve five more days.” She still had several tenants to visit and had allotted two days at the end to write her report and finalize the ledgers to ensure they were current. Goodness, that wasn’t much time. Perhaps she should abandon her novel and return to work. Except sitting with him, even several feet away, was exceedingly pleasant.
“Good.”
His simple, emotionless response gave her the truth—he wanted to make sure she was still leaving as scheduled. He wanted her to know that even though she’d made progress, he didn’t want her to stay. Not that staying was an option. She needed to return to the Phoenix Club, to her real job. “I won’t stay past my welcome,” she assured him. “Furthermore, I’d be happy to share my progress. You’re welcome to review any of the ledgers as well as my notes.” She’d been careful not to document anything about him specifically. That information was stored entirely in her mind.
“I’ll consider that, thank you. Now, I think I must retire. Sheep, it happens, are rather sleep inducing.” He stood and inclined his head toward her, then departed the library.
Ada drooped back against the corner of the settee. She hadn’t realized how tense her body had been in his presence. She hadn’t felt like that on other occasions.
It’s because you want him.
Damn and blast, she didn’t want to want him. She was a grown woman who’d learned from her mistakes.
At least she bloody well hoped so.
Chapter8
After taking breakfast in his study the following morning, Max made his way into the library knowing Miss Treadway was out with Archie. He also hadn’t dined with her last night.
Because he was avoiding her.
Yet he was unable to ignore her invitation to review her work. So here he was, about to sit at her table and go through her ledgers.
Hertable.Herledgers. How quickly he’d adapted to her presence.
He spent the next hour reading through her notes, part of them, anyway—she’d written an astonishing amount. It was an excellent overview of Stonehill and the tenants. He would need to read all of it. And try not to feel defeated.
Hell, she really could be his steward. She was more than qualified. She was at least more qualified than him, which probably wasn’t saying much.
If she was his steward, she’d live here. He wasn’t sure he could tolerate that. Not because he found her annoying—which he still did—but because she’d tempt him in ways he didn’t want to be tempted.
