My husband’s feet, clad in chestnut-leather hunting boots, crunched along the gravel pathway toward me, a smirk carved on his handsome face. Smith had acclimated to the country with enviable ease. His Barbour jacket fit him like he’d been born to this lifestyle, its waxed canvas shell a deep olive-green that brought out his eyes. He’d turned up his brown corduroy collar against the wind, which had swept his hair into a sexy mess. Today he’d skipped his razor, leaving a noticeable stubble along his strong jaw. My core tightened at the sight of him. That had been happening more and more of late.
It was the only thing that was happening. I’d lost track of all the reasons why.
“I’ll see you this evening,” I said, descending the stairs. “Where’s Rowan?”
“Apparently, he doesn’t need my opinion on how to run an estate,” Smith said ruefully.
My mouth gaped. “He didn’t?”
“In fairness, he’s right. I don’t think the month we spent with your mother actually counts as real experience.” He bent to sweep a kiss over my lips, when he finally straightened up, his green eyes stormed. “I’m not certain I want you to leave, after all.”
I licked my lower lip, searching for signs that he meant it. I’d managed to wriggle into a pre-pregnancy pair of black, leather pants and a white silk blouse that buttoned too low to be proper for a countryside luncheon. Smith caught the lapels of my cashmere coat and tugged them together.
“I don’t think Mrs. Winters approves of me going out like this,” I murmured to him. “Actually, I don’t think she approves of me in general.”
“Who cares, beautiful?” he muttered. “Although, I think I’d rather you stay home and work if you’re going to wear something like this. It reminds me of sneaking peeks at your breasts when you worked for me.”
“Sir,” I said in mock horror. “If I’d known you were looking…”
“Oh, you knew,” he growled. “Maybe when you come back, you could give me another peek at—”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Nora’s voice called, and we broke apart to find her head popping out of the Range Rover’s back seat, a low cry filling the air behind her. “But she’s not fond of her car seat.”
“On my way!” I ducked under Smith’s arm, throwing a kiss over my shoulder at him. It was the first time in weeks I felt like he meant his flirtations. He hadn’t chosen each word carefully. He hadn’t avoided touching me. I’d begun to worry that he didn’t see me the same way after Penny was born. It’s not like I could blame him for being tentative after that. Truthfully, I rarely found myself even thinking about things like sex these days. Why had I waited so long to bring Nora on? I already felt more like my old self.
That feeling fled from me as I climbed into the driver’s seat to discover Penny was no longer fussy, but pissed.
“Sorry, darling,” I called.
“I think I better stay back here,” Nora said. “She’ll calm down once we get going.”
I hesitated for a moment. I should be the one back there, trying to calm her down. What if she just got more and more upset? But more than anything I wanted today to be as normal as possible. She’d calm down like Nora said and I’d have a moment of normal for the first time in weeks, I decided as I shifted into drive and started toward the village. It was time to get back to the real world.
16
Smith
“Detective Longborn called,” Humphrey informed me as I stepped into the mudroom. The first time I tracked mud into the foyer I’d learned the hard way that this was Mrs. Winters’ house—I only happened to live here.
“What did he want?” I loosened the twin straps at the top of my boot, giving me enough room to yank it off. I left the pair of them on a berber rug by the back door. Shucking off my jacket, I ran a hand under the collar of my wool sweater to soothe the goddamn constant itching it caused.
“Apparently, there’s been some development regarding the situation in the wine cellar,” he said meaningfully.
“The bones?” I asked. I had barely thought about them in weeks. I’d been too distracted with everything else going on at Thornham to worry about someone else’s tragedy.
“He’d like to meet with you.”
I heaved a sigh. The trouble with living in the countryside was that people were constantly inventing drama out of sheer boredom. No wonder half the country’s television programs were about little old ladies solving murders in idyllic country towns. “I’ll phone him.”
I’d only gotten a few steps inside the kitchen when Mrs. Winters confronted me, a long wooden spoon resting ominously in her palm. If Belle thought the old housekeeper—who doubled as our cook, per her own request—disliked her, she hated me and did little to hide it. Part of me wondered what she had against me. At first I’d thought it might have to do with being Scottish, but she’d been warm enough to Rowan, who took pride in his heritage to a concerning level. I suspected she simply disliked working in a less than traditional household.
“Mrs. Winters, how are you?” I asked, doing my best to be polite as my patience wore thin. I’d had very little sleep last night. Belle had taken to sleeping through Penny’s cries until I shook her awake. At least, she was acting more like herself during the day.
“Well, that depends, Mr. Price,” she said in a stern voice, and I braced myself, “on whether my services are actually needed in this house?”
I frowned. There was no way we could keep on top of all this space, especially with a newborn demanding most of our attention. “Of course. You’re essential.”
“Then, you don’t like my cooking?” she demanded.
I blinked. “Your cooking is fine.”
“Then what time would you like dinner served every night?” she asked through gritted teeth.
I’d guessed it was about something as simple as this. Belle and I weren’t likely to start living a traditional country lifestyle anytime soon, not while her business was growing so swiftly or I was starting my own practice, but if we didn’t make some changes, we were going to have a mutiny on our hands. Rowan wanted to be left to do his work in peace. Humphrey never seemed to have anything to do, given our lack of visitors. Half of me thought he only existed in the pockets of time in which we needed him. I never saw him save for when he appeared to deliver a message. And Mrs. Winters took our liberal schedule as a personal insult.
“Seven,” I answered her. “I’ll be certain Belle knows, and if we’re caught at work, you can save us plates.”
“Save you plates?” she echoed.
I adopted my best lawyer voice, the one I saved for dealing with particularly difficult clients. “I’m afraid it will take us some time to adjust from our lives in London to Thornham.”
The stern angles of her face softened slightly.
“And the baby,” I added, certain this would be the lynchpin to my argument. She couldn’t possibly disagree with the struggles of new parents.
“Perhaps, if the missus was more focused on her babe, she wouldn’t be running around looking for happiness.”