Lord Deverill's Heir by Catherine Coulter (best books to read all time .TXT) 📗

thought he had died and gone to Hell after meeting her the previous day. She had rubbed him rawer than a pair of new boots.

He hadn’t believed it possible that a man could exist with such a woman.

Today, though, was different. Today he nearly made her laugh. Today he had seen the quickness of her mind. He had actually heard her utter witticisms. He drew out his watch and consulted it. “Coming, ma’am?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, eyeing that cleft in his chin. “I am coming.” Dr. Branyon didn’t move a muscle when Lady Ann lifted her skirts to step over a tiny blossoming rosebush. Beautiful ankles, but then again he believed every inch of her was beautiful. She wasn’t wearing a bonnet and her thick blond hair shone like minted gold beneath the bright midday sun. She held a handful of cut roses in her right hand. It seemed to him that her face glowed with a new health and vitality. He wasn’t prejudiced about this, he knew it.

As Lady Ann was carefully stepping over a rosebush, she was wondering where in heaven’s name Paul could be. It was growing quite late, and he had not even sent a message. She clasped her daffodils and roses more securely and looked up, a tiny frown puckering her forehead. She saw him standing but a few feet away from her, looking at her. Just looking. How long had he been there, just looking at her? Why was he just looking at her like that? She flushed red to the roots of her hair. No, that was silly. She was thirty-six years old. She shouldn’t be flushing all because he was staring at her, just standing there, saying nothing, just staring at her.

This was ridiculous. She nearly yelled, “Paul, however did you find me?”

“Crupper is very observant. I’ve been here but a moment. Less than a moment, actually.” It had been a bit longer, but who cared?

“Oh, that’s all right then, perhaps.” So he hadn’t been staring at her.

Well, piffle. She wished she could curse as fluently and raucously as Arabella, but she couldn’t. Every time she tried, she pictured her own mother’s face, and turned white. Her dear mama had made her eat soap every time she had even whispered the mildest of curses.

What was she to say now that wouldn’t embarrass him? She could but try.

“I thought that perhaps you were too busy with your patients to come to us today.” Surely that was innocent enough.

“Only the imminent birth of triplets would have prevented me. May I carry those murderous-looking cutters for you, my dear?”

“Yes, thank you, Paul.” She handed him the flower cutters and found that the mundane action brought back some perspective. The good Lord knew she needed it. Yes, everything between them was back into focus, and he was again her old friend of many years. Her old friend. How depressing that sounded to her. Still, she could not recall having ever found his dark brown corduroy suit so terribly smart. His eyes were very nearly the same color, filled with a sharp cutting intelligence and with humor, and oddly, they seemed all the brighter today.

Dr. Branyon matched his stride to her shorter one as they walked through the ornamented parterre back to the front lawn. “How is our Arabella getting on?”

“Do you mean her physical health or her relationship with Justin?” He chuckled, smiling down at her. “Well, knowing my little Bella, she is again as healthy as that black beast she persists in riding. Justin, ah, now there’s the rub. I do believe he will handle her very well. He isn’t stupid. I imagine he’s quite excellent at strategy.”

“I don’t know about his strategy, but they did ride together this morning. I have no idea what went on between them. Neither said a word about it. I was also pleased that neither of them looked any the worse for it at luncheon.”

“You mean that it didn’t appear that they’d had a fistfight.”

“Exactly. If Arabella wasn’t as talkative as she usually is, well, she wasn’t, at least, overtly rude to the earl. If I am not mistaken, I think the both of them are in the library poring over the Evesham Abbey accounts. Arabella knows as much as her father about running the estate.

Poor child, I remember him drumming fact after fact into her young head.

Dear Mr. Blackwater, the earl’s agent, almost swallowed his tongue when Arabella issued her first orders to him at the advanced age of sixteen.”

“What did he say? Do you remember?”

“As I recall, Arabella told me he gaped at her like a hooked trout.

Arabella’s father just gave the man a look. As you know, it normally took only a look to bring anyone into line. Except Arabella. I can still hear him yelling at her and she was yelling back. I used to quake in my slippers. But the two of them would come out of the estate room, grinning at each other like the very best of friends. He admired her as much as she did him, you know that.”

“Oh yes, I know that. I got the look a couple of times. I don’t remember hearing about that incident.” He laughed this time, a deep rich sound that made the daffodils and roses tremble for a moment in Lady Ann’s hand. Tremble? Goodness, she would be a halfwit by the end of the week if she didn’t get a hold on herself.

“How do you think the earl will adjust to Bella’s most unwomanish competence in a traditional man’s domain? To boot, the chit is nearly eight years his junior.”

“To tell the truth, Paul—and no, I am not being biased—he seemed to me to be rather pleased. I think he will come to admire her tremendously.

Actually, I think he will exploit her shamelessly. I don’t think he has any particular enthusiasm for estate accounting.” Dr. Branyon paused and dropped a hand on Lady Ann’s shoulder, gripping it an instant. She stopped immediately and