Free The Rake by Mary Jo Putney

herds.”
    Davenport nodded again, setting his horse into motion while he asked another question. The interrogation continued throughout the morning as he inquired about the seed drill, the efficiency of the threshing machine she had bought, the oil cake she fed to the beef cattle to improve the quality, the breeding stock used for the dairy herd, the experiments she was trying on the home farm before recommending them to the tenants. His cool expression showed neither approval nor disapproval of her answers.
    By noon Alys had acquired a headache and a considerable respect for her new employer’s understanding. As they rode side by side down a lane toward the home farm, she commented on his knowledge of farming.
    Davenport shrugged. “I was the heir presumptive to the Earl of Wargrave for many years. My uncle wouldn’t let me set foot on any of his properties, but since I was likely to inherit someday, I kept an eye on developments in agriculture.”
    Alys glanced at him thoughtfully. He had done more than “keep an eye” on what was going on. Clearly he had made a serious study of farming and land management, fitting it in between orgies or whatever it was that had given him such a terrible reputation. She felt a surge of sympathy. Davenport had spent his life preparing for a position he would never fill. How did he feel about that? His hard profile gave no clues, but it would take a saint not to feel resentment at being displaced. Alys saw no signs of a halo.
    They came to the irregularly shaped ornamental lake that lay near the manor house. Davenport pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted. “Excuse me, there’s something I want to see.” After tethering the beast, he disappeared into a thicket of trees next to the lake.
    Curious, Alys dismounted and tied her own horse, then lifted the long skirts of her riding habit and followed him. Her dress put her at a disadvantage in the thick undergrowth. Swearing under her breath as she unsnagged her habit for the third time, she emerged from the shrubbery into a small clearing at the water’s edge.
    She halted, surprised at the beauty of the place. Lush grass carpeted the ground while bluebells clustered beneath the trees, the violet hue set off by a drift of pale yellow primroses. It was a magical spot, the only sound the fluting song of a thrush and the whisper of wind in the trees. Private, too, because it lay on a cove invisible from the manor.
    Her employer stood by the edge of the lake, looking over its surface as he absently twined the stem of a bluebell around one finger. Alys studied the picture he made. He didn’t have the dandy’s perfection of figure that she had so admired in Randolph when she was eighteen and besotted. Davenport was taller and leaner, with a whipcord grace that hinted at power even when he was motionless.
    He was also disturbingly masculine. Uncomfortably Alys recognized that his virility was much of the reason she found him so unnerving. Breaking the silence to keep her thoughts from that direction, she asked, “How did you know about this clearing? I’ve lived here for four years and never found it.”
    Without turning to look at her, he said, “I was born at Strickland, Miss Weston. Didn’t you know that?”
    Her brows shot up. “No, I didn’t.”
    â€œI’m surprised that the local gossips weren’t more efficient,” he said, his tone even drier than usual.
    She crossed the clearing and halted beside him. “You caught them unaware. I only heard that the estate was being transferred two days ago, and you appeared yesterday. The gossip didn’t have a chance to catch up.”
    â€œIt will. Gossip always catches up with me.”
    â€œAnd wouldn’t you be disappointed if it didn’t,” she said tartly.
    His mouth curved a little. “Probably.”
    â€œHow old were you when you left Strickland?”
    His smile vanished.