A story, a smile, a pair of long, graceful legs, sparkling gray-green eyes, a mouth as ripe as berries...
He needed to get back to work, to focus on the task at hand. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.
That night after dinner, while the girls were distracted with a clever puzzle, he’d spoken to Emm in private and raised the subject of Georgiana’s about-face, the transformation from recalcitrant brat into demure young lady. “How did you do that? Made her do what you wanted without any fuss and bother? Rose too. I ask them to do something andit’s the worst thing in the world and I’m an evil bully. You ask them and they’re as sweet as honey.”
She smiled. “Young girls, especially bright and spirited young girls, need to be handled delicately.”
“Delicately?” He made a rude noise. “There’s nothing delicate about those girls. Perhaps Lily.”
“Delicate in the sense of how you would handle a spirited filly. With praise and reward. Not force.”
“In the army, discipline was all about force and leadership. And trust.”
She nodded. “Trust is vital here too, but it goes both ways. The girls are coming to trust you, but they need to know you trust them too. Show them what you expect, trust them to do the right thing, give them responsibility and some freedom—”
“Freedom?” He shuddered. “I hate to think what they’ll get up to!”
She laughed. “And praise, lots of praise. The girls, for all their apparent confidence, are full of doubt, particularly self-doubt.”
“Even Rose?”
She nodded. “Even Rose.”
He frowned. He didn’t want the girls to be full of self-doubt. He wanted them confident and strong. “Trust, and responsibility, you say?”
“And praise. For everything they do right, or every attempt they make to do the right thing—praise them. You’ll see.”
He looked doubtful, so she added, “They admire and look up to you, you know.”
He snorted. “They do not.”
She laughed. “They do. They just don’t show it to your face. But have patience. You did well today—and so did they.”
It gave him something to think of.
And then, later that night when he’d entered her bedchamber and found her lolling sleepily in her bath, soaking out the stiffness of her long ride...
The bath had been placed in front of the fire. The flames made her glow, her skin gleaming with water and bath oils.
She was stiff and sore from her long unaccustomed ride.He should have left her to soak, left her to sleep in peace. By herself.
If he’d touched her at all, it should have been to rub her briskly with horse liniment—that would have soothed her aches.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t been able to resist the sight of her, all creamy and pink and damp. She’d welcomed him with a sleepy smile, and that was all it took. He’d scooped her out of the bath and made love to her, once in front of the fire, and then again in bed.
Heneverlost control. Now, it escaped him on the smallest of excuses.
Cal eased his horse into a canter, and the house fell away from sight. This business of being married, of being part of a family, of handling wild and unruly hoydensdelicately...
He was much more comfortable hunting assassins.
***
The two sagging cottages were joined by one wall. Both dwellings seemed deserted. Cal knocked on each door, then peered in the windows. The rooms were sparsely furnished, but there were signs of recent occupation.
“Told you you was too late,” the ancient who’d directed him to these cottages called out in a creaky voice. “Cleared out, they have. Gorn to America.”
Cal swore. The old man had told him, while puffing on an evil-smelling pipe, and with the encouragement of the occasional coin, all he needed to know to be sure that he’d found his man at last.
