After a long moment, she nodded. “I won’t. I know you think I’m overstepping, but—”
“I think you are accustomed to being zealous.” He half smiled. “In all manner of things.”
“I dislike being cheated,” she said seriously. “And I dislike being taken advantage of even more.”
“I won’t take advantage of you,” he promised, wondering if he was making a mistake by offering such a foolhardy promise when, for the first time in countless years, he found himself wanting someone.
Not in the vague, unsubstantiated way he had craved intimacy in the past. Then, he had merely wanted a woman’s touch, a feminine body against his own.
Now, he found, he wantedher. Her soft hands on his skin. She had knobby knuckles and long fingers. He wondered what her mouth would feel like if it brushed his. Or even if she used it elsewhere on his body.
His ruined, disfigured, disgusting body.
These were useless, pointless imaginings. No matter what he wanted, and no matter the grace with which she accepted him, she could never want him in truth. If he offered himself to her, if she accepted, it would always be becausehewanted it, not because she did.
He did not think he could bear anything but enthusiasm.
“You should retire to bed,” he said, taking a step back, as though by so doing, he could convince her he was not someone she should be afraid of.
Her gaze tracked him, eyes still a trifle wide behind her glasses, her hand still cradling her wrist by her chest. She said nothing as he left the room.
Chapter Seventeen
The next day,Hugh threw himself into his work, meeting with his steward to discuss addressing his tenants’ complaints, arranging for new fencing to be built around livestock and fields, and debating at length whether to raise or lower the price of corn when harvest came around.
This, alongside responding to various letters of inquiry, took him a large portion of the day, and it was only when he emerged from his study that he allowed himself to think about Christiana.
How she had appeared in her dressing room.
The expression in her eyes when he had kissed her fingers.
He couldn’t allow himself to get lost in thoughts of this nature.
“Mr. Arnold,” he said to his steward, who was in the midst of packing up his papers. “I need you to travel to Yorkshire for me.”
“Yorkshire?”
“I am seeking to make a substantial investment there. Barnsley Hall, I believe it’s called. It may be a little dilapidated now.”
Mr. Arnold frowned, evidently puzzled. Although Hugh worked hard to maintain his land and the people who lived on it,this was the first time he had shown interest in anything outside of that. “You wish to make a purchase, sir?”
“I do. I shall write to my solicitors in London and see which assets may have to be liquidated in order to make the purchase. Report to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I wish to know the state of the estate, its dependents, and what work you estimate requires to be done in order to make it functional and profitable.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Mr. Arnold said cautiously. “May I ask what has inspired this change of heart?”
“The estate belongs to my wife’s father. I wish to purchase it for her before it falls further into ruin.”
Mr. Arnold’s face didn’t change, not even a flutter crossing his expression. “I understand, sir.”
“Good.” Hugh adjusted the hem of his gloves as he strode away, finding Amelia, not Christiana, in the library.
“I believe she has gone to visit the village,” Amelia said, raising her head from her latest novel. Hugh believed in the value of literature, but he did not believe that Amelia was necessarily the best recipient of bad ideas written into novel form. She had altogether too many bad ideas of her own; she hardly needed any more.
“The village?” he asked. “Why?”