CHAPTER 12

THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN Hannah arrived at the stables for her daily ride, the earl was already there. He had saddled their mounts and smiled at her with an innocent expression on his face. Gabriel was wasting no time in starting his wooing campaign.

"Duchess. I hope I'm not being presumptuous, but will you allow me to accompany you on your ride today?"

"Lord Brentworth. You are welcome to accompany me, of course. But I'm afraid that today's ride is not one of leisure. I plan to visit the kiln and the mill and stop by to watch the washing of the sheep on my way back."

His smile grew brilliant. "All the better, then. I'm sure I'll be able to learn a thing or two about estate management."

She threw him an incredulous glance. "I doubt it. What could a lord learn about estate management from a mere woman?"

"Ah, but you are no mere woman. You are a duchess. The duke speaks highly of your management of the estate," he said, coming over to caress the neck of her mare. His long-fingered, elegant hand slid over the glossy coat of the horse, and warmth spread over her as her imagination provided an image of that hand sliding over her skin.

"Does he? My husband indulges me much."

His eyes narrowed slightly at the word husband. An infinitesimal movement. A flash of something in his gray depths. It was so fast that, had she not been looking closely, she would have missed it. But she was looking. And she had noticed. A hit. Good. She had done it on purpose. Let him remember the role each of them played in this little farce.

"I'm sure the duke speaks the truth," he replied smoothly, coming over to stand before her. "May I help you mount?"

Disconcerted by his nearness, she nodded. He put his hands on her waist and hoisted her onto the saddle as if she weighed no more than a feather pillow. Then he helped her place her feet in the stirrups and draped her voluminous riding skirts.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure."

So saying, he swung onto his own saddle with an effortless movement that spoke of the athleticism of his body and followed her out of the stables.

As they rode, the rolling fields, lush and green, stretched out all around them, dotted with grazing livestock and bordered by meticulously maintained hedgerows. Satisfaction swelled in her as she watched the estate come alive with the gentle bustle of the morning.

Each aspect of her domain reflected her hard work and dedication, and she reveled in the quiet triumph of knowing she had helped transform Stanhope into a prosperous and beautiful haven.

A haven that would be destroyed at Neil Blackwell's greedy hands. It would be the tenants and workers who depended on the estate who would suffer the most. Was it selfish to want to retain her domain? Or did the selfishness lie in letting it go to an evil man without doing anything to stop it?

As she went about her tasks, meeting with the kiln operator, she expected him to be highhanded and overbearing, even condescending. Or maybe it was more accurate to say she would have preferred him to act thus. It would give her the perfect reason to dislike him. She needed to find some annoying trait, something to hold on to, to avoid falling for him.

But he listened more than he spoke. Praised her enterprises. Asked relevant questions and then listened with interest to her responses.

"Am I to understand that you founded the kiln?" he asked as they exited the building.

"Something like that. I met the Turner sisters when I bought a small creamer in a shop in London. It was so unique and pretty that I asked the shop owner who manufactured it. He directed me to the sisters. They had a little atelier, but they did it all with rudimentary equipment, which made it difficult to escalate production. I offered to fund the kiln and worked with them to establish an apprenticeship program. So far, they have trained over fifty women who now work at the kiln. It provides much-needed work for women, and it produces a tidy income for them as well as the estate."

"Impressive." And she could tell he meant it. There was nothing but admiration in his tone.

He once again put his hands on her waist and lifted her onto her horse. This time without asking permission and with the familiarity of habit. There was no salaciousness or impropriety in his touch, and yet, every time he put his hands on her, a shiver of delight spread from that area to radiate throughout her body.

"Where to now?" he asked, swinging onto his horse.

"To the stream. Today, they will wash a special flock of sheep in preparation for the shearing later, and I want to see how the proceedings are going."

"What makes this flock special?"

Damn, she didn't want to talk about breeding programs and rams. It was too uncomfortably reminiscent of their own situation.

"I have been trying to improve the quality of the wool the estate produces by cross breeding the sheep," she said as nonchalantly as she could, but her face heated, nonetheless. Thank goodness they were outside. With luck, he would think the wind, or the sun, had caused her to blush.

"Indeed? What breeds are you trying to cross?"

Was that a hint of wickedness in his tone? She ignored the undertone and responded to the question.

"Southdown and a type of Merino. Merino produces the finest, most expensive wool. But Merino sheep are notoriously difficult to keep in England. Our weather doesn't suit them. I'm hoping that by crossing them with the Southdown, we'd be able to produce a finer wool without the health difficulties that plague the Merino in England. This is the first flock, and I want to make sure it is being handled with care."

"That's impressive and very enterprising. What sparked your interest in business ventures?"

She shrugged. Nobody had ever asked her that. "At first, I took an interest in the estate out of boredom. At the beginning of my marriage, I was aimless. Becoming a duchess at the tender age of eighteen can be overwhelming. I was thoroughly inadequate and unprepared for the role. For the first few months, I used to follow the duke around like a lost puppy," she added with a self-conscious laugh.

Gabriel didn't laugh, just regarded her with something akin to tenderness. It did something to her insides, so she cleared her throat and went on.

"Harold was very patient with me. He took me under his wing and taught me everything about the running of the estate. When I showed interest and aptitude, he gave me more freedom. For the past eight years, as his health declined, I've been single-handedly running the estate."

"The duke is very fortunate to have you."

She didn't want to feel warmed by his praise, but it was impossible not to. How many men would see her abilities as an asset instead of an unnatural inclination?

Society valued feminine skills in women, such as embroidery, music, or painting. None of which she excelled at. She couldn't paint or embroider to save her life. Her singing voice was mediocre, and her skill at the pianoforte even worse. But she shone at business and the management of a large estate. It meant something that he considered those abilities valuable.

Especially considering recent revelations about her marriage. Doubts had plagued her, and she'd questioned her value as a wife when the duke revealed he had kept a mistress. He had never really wanted to marry her. He had tolerated her but had never wanted or needed her. Now, with a single phrase, Brentworth had helped her see she was an asset to the dukedom.

"Thank you." She smiled. "Now, let's hurry or they will have finished by the time we get there." With that, she spurred her horse into a gallop.