Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels #1)(41)

“Then he must be blind. No man with eyes in his head would ever mistake you for a boy.” Devon paused. “From now on, you’ll ride in skirts or not at all.”

“What?” she asked in disbelief. “You’re giving me orders?”

“Someone has to, if you’re going to behave with so little propriety.”

“You are lecturing me about bloody propriety, you sodding hypocrite?”

“I suppose you learned that filthy language at the stables.”

“No, from your brother,” she shot back.

“I’m beginning to realize I shouldn’t have stayed away from Eversby Priory for so long,” she heard him say grimly. “The entire household is running amok.”

Unable to restrain herself any longer, Kathleen went to the open gap in the doorway and glared at him. “You were the one who hired the plumbers!” she hissed.

“The plumbers are the least of it. Someone needs to take the situation in hand.”

“If you’re foolish enough to imagine you could take me in hand —”

“Oh, I’d begin with you,” he assured her feelingly.

Kathleen would have delivered a scathing reply, but her teeth had begun to chatter. Although the Turkish towel had absorbed some of the moisture from her clothes, they were clammy.

Seeing her discomfort, Devon turned and surveyed the room, obviously hunting for something to cover her. Although his back was turned, she knew the precise moment that he spotted the shawl on the fireplace chair.

When he spoke, his tone had changed. “You didn’t dye it.”

“Give that to me.” Kathleen thrust her arm through the doorway.

Devon picked it up. A slow smile crossed his face. “Do you wear it often?”

“Hand me my shawl, please.”

Devon brought it to her, deliberately taking his time. He should have been mortified by his indecent state of undress, but he seemed entirely comfortable, the great shameless peacock.

As soon as the shawl was within reach, Kathleen snatched it from him.

Casting aside her damp towel, she pulled the shawl around herself. The garment was comforting and familiar, the soft wool warming her instantly.

“I couldn’t bring myself to ruin it,” she said grudgingly. She was tempted to tell him that even though the gift had been inappropriate… the truth was, she loved it. There were days when she wasn’t certain whether the gloomy widow’s weeds were reflecting her melancholy mood or causing it, and when she pulled the brilliant shawl over her shoulders, she felt instantly better.

No gift had ever pleased her as much.

She couldn’t tell him that, but she wanted to.

“You look beautiful in those colors, Kathleen.” His voice was low and soft.

She felt her face prickle. “Don’t use my first name.”

“By all means,” Devon mocked, glancing down at his towel-clad form, “let’s be formal.”

She made the mistake of following his gaze, and colored deeply at the sight of him… the intriguing dark hair on his chest, the way the muscle of his stomach seemed to have been carved like mahogany fretwork.

A knock came at the bedroom door. Kathleen retreated deeper into the bathroom like a turtle withdrawing in its shell.

“Come in, Sutton,” she heard Devon say.

“Your clothes, sir.”

“Thank you. Lay them out on the bed.”

“Won’t you require assistance?”

“Not today.”

“You will dress yourself?” the valet asked, bewildered.

“I’ve heard that some men do,” Devon replied sardonically. “You may leave now.”

The valet heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, sir.”

After the door had opened and closed again, Devon said, “Give me a minute. I’ll be dressed soon.”

Kathleen didn’t reply, thinking to her dismay that she would never be able to look at him without being aware of what was beneath those elegant layers of clothing.

Over the rustle of cloth, Devon said, “You’re welcome to occupy the master bedroom, if you like. It was your room before it was mine.”

“No, I don’t want it.”

“As you prefer.”

She was desperate to change the subject. “We need to discuss the tenants,” she said. “As I mentioned in the telegram —”

“Later. There’s no point in talking about it without my brother’s participation. The housekeeper said that he has gone to Wiltshire. When will he return?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Why did he go?”

“To consult with an expert about modern farming methods.”

“Knowing my brother,” Devon said, “it’s more likely he’s gone a-whoring.”

“Apparently you don’t know him, then.” Not only was she pleased to be able to contradict him, she was affronted on West’s behalf. “Mr. Ravenel has worked very hard ever since he arrived here. I daresay he has learned more about the tenants and estate farms than anyone, including the land agent. Spend a few minutes reading the reports and ledgers he keeps in the study, and you’ll change your tune.”

“We’ll see.” Devon pushed open the bathroom door. He was fully clothed in a gray wool suit, although he wore no necktie, and his cuffs and collar had been left unfastened. His face was expressionless. “Will you help with this?” he asked, extending his arm.