Page 18 of Ravished

Everyone had felt extremely sorry for the Earl of Hardcastle when he had lost his firstborn son and found himself obliged to make due with a less than satisfactory heir. Gideon privately doubted that any man could have followed successfully in Randal's footsteps.

Randal had been the ideal son and heir, all any parent could wish for.

Just ask anyone.

Randal had been ten years older than Gideon, their parents' only child for years. His mother had doted on him and the earl had been proud of the handsome, cultivated, athletic,honorableyoung man who would be the next Earl of Hardcastle.

Randal had been groomed for the earldom from the cradle and he had met everyone's expectations. He had thrived in his role. His friends were legion, his athletic prowess respected, his honor unquestioned.

He had even been a fairly decent older brother, Gideon reflected. Not that he and Randal had been very close. The difference in their ages had resulted in a relationship between them that had resembled that of an uncle and a nephew.

Gideon had struggled to imitate his brother for years until he had finally realized it was impossible to copy Randal's natural style and flair. If Randal had lived, Gideon would no doubt have managed several of the Hardcastle estates for him. Randal had preferred life in Town to the work of overseeing his family lands.

Gideon had grieved when his brother had died. Not that anyone had noticed. Everyone had been too busy consoling his parents, who were inconsolable. Especially his mother. Many had feared the Countess of Hardcastle would never recover from her melancholy. And the earl had made it clear that his remaining heir could never compare to the one he had lost.

Crane cleared his throat. "I beg your pardon, my lord, but will you be staying in the vicinity for more than a few days? The housekeeper is concerned about laying in a proper amount of provisions and hiring sufficient staff, you see."

Gideon leaned back in his chair. He knew very well why Crane was asking about the length of his employer's stay. The steward was undoubtedly wondering if he should postpone a few plans of his own. Gideon did not know yet if Crane was involved with the thieves, as Harriet suspected, but he was taking no chances. He decided to make it plain that there was no point putting off any midnight rendezvous in the cliff caves.

"You may tell her to plan for an extended stay," Gideon said. "It has been some time since I spent any time here in Upper Biddleton and I find the sea air extremely pleasant. I expect I shall spend the spring here."

Crane's mouth fell open. He worked to close it. "The spring, my lord? The entire spring?"

"And perhaps the summer. As I recall, the seaside was always at its best in the summer. Odd. I had not realized how much I missed my family's lands here in Upper Biddleton."

"I see." Crane ran his finger around his high collar. "We are, of course, extremely pleased that you have found time in your busy schedule to visit."

"Plenty of time," Gideon assured him. He sat forward, picked up the ledger, and handed it to Crane. "You may go now. I have spent quite enough of the day on your excellently kept accounts. I find such petty details extremely tiresome."

Crane snatched up the ledger and smiled weakly as he got hastily to his feet. He passed his yellowed handkerchief over his damp forehead one last time. "Yes, my lord. I understand. Very few gentlemen are interested in that sort of thing."

"Precisely. That is why we hire men such as yourself. Good day, Mr. Crane."

"Good day, my lord." Crane hurried to the door and let himself out of the library.

Gideon waited, his gaze on the steady rain outside the window, until the door closed behind the steward. Then he rose and walked around the desk to the small table where the housekeeper had earlier placed a pot of tea.

Gideon poured himself a cup of the strong brew and sipped it slowly. He was in a strange mood and he knew it was because he was back at Hardcastle after so many years of self-imposed exile.

He had made none of the estates his permanent home. He did not feel comfortable at any of them. Instead he moved regularly from one to the other on the pretext of wanting to keep close watch on the lands. But the truth was, he simply needed to keep on the move. He needed to keep busy.

He knew who was to blame for disrupting the relentless round of mind-numbing duties he had assumed five years earlier.

Once again he recalled the scene in the cavern that morning. He pictured Harriet Pomeroy's face when he had withdrawn a fortune in gems from the sack of hidden loot. There had not been so much as a flicker of genuine interest in her eyes, let alone the lust he would have expected. Most women would have been riveted by the sight of a diamond and gold necklace.

Harriet's excitement had been reserved for a chunk of stone that contained a fossil tooth.

And for his kiss, Gideon reminded himself. A wave of heat seized him again, just as it had in the cavern. She had responded to his kiss with the same enthusiasm and sense of wonder that she had exhibited for that damn moldering tooth.

Gideon smiled wryly. He could not decide if he should be flattered or crushed at discovering that he compared favorably with an old fossil.

He started toward the window and paused when he caught sight of himself in the mirror that hung over the hearth. Normally he did not spend much time gazing at his own reflection. It was hardly an edifying sight.

But this afternoon he found himself deeply curious and not a little baffled by just what Harriet saw when she looked at him. Whatever it was, it had not put her off kissing him. And he knew she had not manufactured that sweet, innocent ardor. It had been utterly genuine.

No, for some unfathomable reason, she had not been repulsed by his face. It was his deliberate and ungentle-manly threat to strip her naked and take her there on the floor of the cave that had finally succeeded in making her wary.

Gideon winced at the recollection of his own outrageous behavior. Sometimes he could not help himself. Something within him occasionally drove him to live up to the worst that was expected of him.

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