Free Emily Greenwood by A Little Night Mischief

form of gambling. A good businessman informs himself, then trusts his instincts.”
    “And you are a man of business?”
    “Of sorts. I have the bodega and a few other interests.”
    “Do you gamble with your affairs?”
    “I take risks, yes. That’s the only way to increase profit.”
    She shrugged, unimpressed. “Well, I hope those risks will beggar no one but yourself if you are wrong.”
    “And the people who work for me,” he pointed out. “But I don’t risk more than I can afford to lose.”
    “As my uncle did.”
    He shrugged. “Ultimately, one must be in control of one’s passions.”
    Felicity’s face burned at the word “passion.” The balcony was narrow, not much more than a yard wide. The two of them were close enough together that she could smell faint whiffs of his scent, familiar to her from sitting on his coat. It was creating little thrills in her as she inhaled it. Was that hint of citrus something from Spain? Oh, why did he have to be her handsome stranger? No one half so exciting had ever crossed her path, even if he was a man afraid of ghosts. The illusion of manliness he presented was incredibly beguiling, and she could have dreamed harmlessly of him and their time by the stream for the rest of her life. But now he was here, and far too real and troublesome. She couldn’t dream about him now.
    She turned away from him and looked back at the portrait on the wall behind her, the last one.
    “And here is Great-Great-Aunt Isabella,” she said blandly. The portrait showed a stout woman, firmly upholstered in brown with not a speck of jewelry. Felicity and Simon had spent happy times as children addressing inappropriate comments to the portrait, delighting in imagining how shocked the real woman would have been to hear such naughtiness.
    “Of course,” Mr. Collington said, looking amused.
    “What do you mean ‘of course’? Do you have a Great-Great-Aunt Isabella?”
    “No, but I did have a Great-Great-Aunt Isophine.” He laughed, then tilted his head reflectively. “But aunts can be nice as well. My Aunt Miranda is a singular woman. She took care of me and my brother from the time I was orphaned at twelve.”
    He sounded like just the sort of good son any woman would be pleased to have adopted. But then, hadn’t he humored bossy Nanny Rollins when he could have put her in her place? She couldn’t afford, though, to think of him as being kind and good.
    “You have achieved a drastic change in the manor in one day,” she accused. “At least in the drawing room.”
    Mr. Collington drew closer to where she had stopped, by a small, round window that had been opened to let in the fresh air. “I have great hopes for Tethering Hall,” he said. “With care and work, it could be as magnificent as a tiny jewel.”
    “What do you mean?” she demanded. “Tethering already is a jewel. I doubt there’s another house like it in England.” She waved her fingers in a dismissive gesture. “Maybe you have had it cleaned and replaced some worn furnishings, but that’s all it needs.”
    “You are obviously fond of this house, Miss Wilcox,” he said. “But perhaps, being as close to it as you have been, you haven’t seen all of its needs. Like… here,” he said, glancing at the window behind her. She turned and looked at the place he indicated, a large area of damp rot in the wood of the frame.
    She reached out and tenderly touched the soft, crumbly area, then looked up at him defensively. “It’s just a little water damage. A carpenter can fix that easily.”
    He shrugged. “Maybe it will be easy to fix, and maybe when the frame is removed for repair, other problems will be revealed. The point is, this is just one frame in a house that is very much in need of repairs.”
    “Which you can provide,” she said.
    “Tethering will benefit from what I can offer it,” he said.
    “Money,” she said contemptuously, turning so that her back was to the window and crossing her arms. The