Page 11 of A Duke Changes Everything
She knew Gleason meant well, but she bristled at the implication she was too fragile to be a proper steward. She hadn’t chosen her post, but she couldn’t imagine giving it up. If she could gain the trust of the new Duke of Tremayne, Mina prayed she wouldn’t have to.
Near the rise where oak trees stood, she stopped for a moment and took in the view. She’d never been to London, never set foot out of Sussex in her entire life. But she doubted she’d ever see anything as stunning as the way Barrowmere’s ribbons of fields stretched out to meet the horizon.
She heard Milly mewing miserably from a high branch. A summer ago, the feline was a fleet-footed hellion. Now her belly swelled with kittens that Mina had expected to arrive last week.
“I’m coming for you, Millicent. Don’t do anything daring.” Mina braced the ladder against the trunk and started up the first rung. The wood and rusted nails protested, but she continued up. “Did you have to go quite so far?”
Milly’s meow grew less desperate. A bit high-pitched, almost defensive.
“I suppose Tobias and Gleason can be fearsome when they shout.”
The cat was so high, Mina realized she’d need to abandon the ladder and scramble up a few of the branches. They were low, not as thick as those higher up, and she prayed they’d hold.
“If we both come out of this unscathed”—she gritted her teeth and heaved up, wrapping an arm around a branch—“I want a promise that you’ll never do this again.”
Millicent responded with a slow blink.
“And that you won’t teach your babies this trick either.” She pushed up toward a higher branch and crooked a knee against the one below to keep steady while she reached for the cat. “When I grab you, it’s to help. I mean you no harm.”
The cat was already shifting in a less than helpful direction, retreating an inch on her branch. Below Mina, the ladder clattered to the ground, and Milly’s eyes bulged before she scooted back another inch.
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
The cat narrowed her eyes to little jeweled slits, but her swishing tail announced how irritated she’d become.
Mina reached out and just brushed the scruff of the cat’s neck. “Got you, girl.”
Chapter Four
The place was so bloody vast. In London, a square mile cost a small fortune. Here in Sussex, a hundred acres could be gobbled up by the railway and few would raise a brow.
Where would a steward hide on Enderley’s endless acres? The man wasn’t in the stables, and the two irritable servants Nick encountered there directed him toward a clump of trees on the highest patch of ground on the estate.
Oaks and maples heavy with autumn leaves—gold and orange and patches of crimson—made a spectacle at the top of the hill. The sound floating down from the rise wasn’t nearly as appealing. A growl carried on the breeze, like the warning cry a tomcat offered before scratching your eyes out.
Nick detected a woman’s voice too. A gentle, cajoling murmur. Almost seductive. “Come closer, darling. Stop being such a stubborn creature.”
A jolt of awareness rippled across his skin. He couldn’t recall the last time a lover had spoken to him in such an arousing purr. Hell, he’d been so focused on Lyon’s of late, he could barely recall his last lover at all.
Scanning the horizon, he expected to spot a trysting couple. Perhaps a lusty tenant farmer and his bride. What he saw instead was a flurry of leaves and twigs floating down from a single tree.
Narrowing his gaze, he noticed somethingupthe tree. A small figure with feminine curves but garbed as a man—black vest, white shirt, and dark breeches. Exceedingly snug breeches, Nick couldn’t help but notice, made more so from her odd position.
“Hello?” he called as he approached.
The role of hero had never suited him, but he couldn’t imagine the young woman getting down from the height she’d reached without aid.
She didn’t seem to agree. He received no acknowledgment of his greeting.
A bit louder, he called, “You look as if you’re in need of rescue.” He swung a discarded ladder up, locked it against a notch of bark, and started up one rickety slat.
That caught her notice. The lady tipped her head to glare at him, and that odd sizzle of awareness skittered across his skin once more. Her eyes were arresting, a unique whiskey shade that caught the light like amber. He felt a twinge under his breastbone, as if one of his sparring partners had got in an unexpected blow.
Her eyes widened, and he braced himself for the usual feminine reaction to his features. But she didn’t scream or blanch as if his visage repulsed her. Which was as odd as the unexpected pleasure of looking up a tree at her trouser-wrapped legs and lush derriere.
“Kindly cease talking,” she whispered angrily. “You’ll frighten her.”
“Her?” Nick spotted the lady in question. A fat orange feline with a glare as ferocious as the woman protectively cradling the cat in one arm. Nick lowered his voice. “Let me help you.” He wasn’t sure if he was attempting to reason with the cat or her mistress.
