“I want to see what it is you’re trying to hide.”
He strode the last few feet and topped the small hill, then paused, put his hands on his hips, and frowned.
Francesca knew what he saw without having to look.
Tanglewilde lay on the slight rise of a broad verdant valley, surrounded by the sloping hills of the Hampshire countryside. She and Winterbourne faced the south side from this angle, which meant they had to cross an expanse of grassy pastures dotted with white sheep and goats to reach the rear of the house itself. From this vantage point, one could see the stables and the various smaller storage and work buildings of the estate as well as some of the tenants’ cottages.
The north façade offered a more impressive view of the house, but she’d always preferred this charming, if simple, view from the south. She looked at Winterbourne to gauge his reaction.
But he was staring at her, his brow creased in a bewildered expression that she almost found endearing. She had the momentary urge to take her thumb and smooth the wrinkle between his eyebrows.
She bit her lip hard, reminding herself that she was irritated with him.
“—work here?”
He’d asked her a question, something about the house. She paused for a moment, trying to fill in what she’d missed.
“Oh, I believe our staff numbered forty at last count,” Francesca answered, wondering why he wanted to know. If he was that interested in the estate, she’d never convince him to leave her on the rise.
Keep calm, she told herself. Don’t panic.
“Ourstaff?” Winterbourne asked, regaining her attention. “What exactlyisyour position here? You have ample free time for a maid, and you’re a little young to be the housekeeper.”
“What?” Maid? Housekeeper? What could he possibly—?
She staggered backward as she realized. She would have fallen straight down the hillside, too, if he hadn’t released the reins of his horse and reached out at the last minute to steady her.
She swatted at his hand. “Don’t touch me.”
He jerked away. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? What’swrong?” she screamed. The horse skittered to the side, and Winterbourne grasped his bridle to steady him.
Now she’d scared the poor horse.
“Maybe you’d better sit down a moment,” Winterbourne said when he had the gelding under control again.
Her cheeks heated with embarrassment. He probably thought her half-mad, which, at that point, wasn’t far from the truth. She could kill him. Shewantedto kill him.
Not only did he not recall walking away from her on the dance floor—leaving her at the mercy of theton’s ridicule—at the Harcourts’ ball, he didn’t even rememberher. Mistook her for one of Tanglewilde’smaids!
“You have no idea who I am, do you?” She jabbed a finger at him.
His eyes narrowed in an expression that she’d seen her father make whenever her mother asked him a particularly tricky question. But Winterbourne, arrogant bachelor that he was, seemed to think he had the answer.
“Of course I know who you are.” He paused, then added, “Miss Dashing,” as if to prove his point.
“Oh, really?” She tapped her toe in aggravation. “When did we first meet?”
He gave her a weary expression and spoke as though addressing a child or an imbecile. “We met yesterday afternoon—”
“Wrong!” she stamped her foot. “We met last year at the Harcourts’ ball.”
He frowned. “Lord Harcourt?”
“Yes. And, though I didn’t think it possible for anyone toever againhumiliate me as much as you did on that occasion, I find that I am mistaken. You’veoutdoneyourself today.”
A full ten seconds passed in silence. Her chest heaved, and she fought to control her anger as she watched him struggle—struggle—to place her.
