The Dowager Countess (The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor Book 2), Sahara Kelly [best thriller novels to read txt] 📗

His eyes turned to her, unusually dark and piercing. She’d noticed them upon their first meeting, wondering if they were just a very dark brown or if, in fact, they were as they appeared—all black.

“I am sad to report that yes, the Dower House was indeed in less than ideal condition,” she answered. “But fortunately I learned of my connection to Wolfbridge and decided to leave Kilham for a different future.” She would not mention what happened there, to anyone who did not need to know.

“You have a link to this family?” He gazed out the window again. “The grounds seem charming indeed.”

“I do, yes. Through a great aunt on my mother’s side.”

“Ah. Not the Kilham line then.”

“No.” She left that topic there. “What brings you here, Baron, if I may ask? Why were you seeking me?”

“I have been away for quite some time,” he began, leaning against the windowsill in a casual pose. “And upon my return I learned of my good friend the Earl’s passing. I immediately knew that I had been remiss in not offering my personal condolences…”

She nodded, a brief dip of her head in acknowledgement.

“And…I wished to know if you were as beautiful as you were when we first met, my dear.” His smile was gentle and caressing, but never reached his eyes. “Had I been privileged to make your acquaintance before the Earl, I can assure you, with all due modesty, your life would have been much different.”

She blushed, in spite of herself. Such words were embarrassing, to say the least, and it took her a moment to come up with a suitable reply.

“I am most flattered, sir, but we cannot go back and change the past. We can only move forward.”

He nodded. “You are correct, of course. However, I am encouraged by the sight of you, entranced yet again by your luminous beauty and charm, and thrilled that you have put aside your mourning. Though it is not yet a year, I feel myself emboldened by the vision of spring before me.” He placed his hand over his heart. “Therefore I must do what I failed to do before. I must tell you that your image has embedded itself in my heart. I know there is much I should do before declaring myself, but I cannot wait or allow anyone else to claim what I perceive, deep inside, is rightfully mine.”

He walked to her, dropped on one knee and took her hand in his, apparently ignoring her widened eyes, her frown and her slightly open mouth.

“Be mine, dear Gwyneth. Make me the happiest man alive. Marry me and become Baroness Randschen. Alleviate my loneliness with your sweet affections.”

Gwyneth wanted to wrench her hand from his grasp, but his grip was firm. Her usual control was quivering, on the brink of deserting her. She was afraid, for some reason she could not identify. Held in thrall to the look in those dark as night eyes, she struggled for words.

Thankfully there was a rattle at the door and Jeremy entered with the tea tray. As a result, the Baron jumped to his feet, a German oath sputtering on his tongue.

“Here we are, my Lady. Evan has taken the liberty of adding some of his fresh scones. I believe they will tempt your appetites?”

His smile was all teeth, and Gwyneth could see his muscles rippling as his body tensed. He knew. He’d seen the Baron on his knees.

She heaved a sigh of relief and rose with a grateful smile curving her lips. “Thank you, Jeremy. That is most welcome. I’m sure the Baron will enjoy a cup, will you not, sir?” She moved to the small table and allowed Jeremy to pour.

The Baron, in the presence of a footman, was left with nothing to do but take a seat and smile politely.

Gwyneth managed to change the subject, asking after some mutual acquaintances, speaking calmly of the funeral of the Earl, and touching briefly upon the sadness that had visited Kilham.

Then she turned to questions…where had the Baron been recently? Had he been in London…all the kinds of topics that were unexceptional and quite acceptable for a morning visit.

Jeremy stood quietly by the door, his hands behind him, exactly as would be expected.

There was no way the Baron could complain about his presence.

After fifteen or twenty long minutes, another tap on the door heralded Giles. He bowed politely. “Forgive me, my Lady, but you will recall that the Vicar of St. Polycarp expects you shortly. The meeting about the Whit Sunday events?”

“Ah yes, of course. Thank you for reminding me, Giles.” She rose and turned to the Baron. “My apologies, sir, but my duties must bring our delightful visit to a close.”

He nodded and rose. “I must thank you for your courtesies, my dear lady. You are as generous with your time as you are with your smiles.”

She couldn’t help a slight shiver. There was something about this man’s compliments that did not sound in the least bit complimentary.

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a fervent kiss on her knuckles. “I trust you will take the matter we touched upon under consideration?” A squeeze of her fingers emphasised his point.

“Of course, sir. Are you staying in the area?”

He threaded her arm through his as he turned to walk out of the parlour. “For a day or so only, to my regret. I have rooms at the Inn in Little Maddington, and business matters to attend to. It is great good fortune that I can combine these things with a chance to see you again.”

“How kind,” she murmured. “Although I’m at a loss to guess at your business matters. Unless you are planning on becoming a jam supplier…” She laughed at her own joke.

“Pardon…” He took his hat