He might be unhappy with his current circumstances, but it was not her fault and he need not be a bully about it.
They were not children squabbling over toys anymore. They had not been that in many years. And in those days he always won, taking whatever he wanted for himself. Those days were over and he had best finally learn that fact.
She stared ahead, blinking in the sudden wash of light. It was not Bede.
No. No. No. No.
She staggered back a pace.
It was no one from the farm. No one it should be.
No one that made sense.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded as the man stepped forward, advancing more fully into the circle of light.
Had it been only three days since she had last seen him? She gulped so loud she feared he heard the sound. Three days since she had wrapped herself around that body of his? It felt a lifetime ago.
It was beyond a strange thing, not to mention terrifying, seeing him here, in her world, away from his world, that domain where she had let go of herself, shed her skin and pushed herself into unfamiliar territory and permitted herself to become a creature of passion. Someone who lived only for herself. Only for pleasure.
He glanced at the orange tree nearest him, brushing a leaf with a long finger. “I see why you smell of oranges now.”
Her face caught fire and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. It felt like a great unrelenting weight was pressing down on her chest.
He released the leaf and looked at her again. “And taste of them.”
Oh. My.
What was he doing here? He still had not answered her first question. “How did you get here?” she demanded.
“Well. I got on my horse and road north.”
She flushed and snapped, “You know what I mean.”
One of his dark eyebrows winged high. “Oh. You mean . . . how did I find you?”
She gave a jerky nod.
He continued, “Your apology note was the first clue.”
She closed her eyes briefly in a hard blink. The note had been a mistake. She had left it in a moment of weakness. It had been foolish and soft of her. Not well done at all. Not smart at all.
“I went through all the vouchers and I was missing only one.” He gestured around them. “It did not take me long to deduce the rest. This place. This farm.” He paused. “It all belongs to me.”
Hot emotion swept over her. “No,” she growled in a voice that did not even sound like her own.
“I won it,” he countered.
“You have no proof of that. It is not yours. This land belongs to my family.”
“I won it from Bede Kittinger . . .” He hesitated, considering her. “Given the state of my bedding back in London, Kittinger is not your husband.”
“No,” she agreed, unsure what the reference to his bedding signified. “I am not married.” She sniffed indignantly. Did he think she would have so readily shared his bed if she was married? But what did he know of her? Nothing. Nothing at all. Just as she knew very little of him. Beyond the biblical sense, of course. Her cheeks burned hot.
“Then who is Kittinger to you?”
She swallowed. Silas Masters was here. Standing before her. There was no running from him.
She supposed it did not matter to admit to her actions now—or to confess that her brother had lost their home to him. She had reclaimed her family lands. There was no existing proof to counter their claim on the home that had always belonged to them. She had made certain of that. “That fool was my brother.”
He nodded as though that made sense.
“I am Mercy Kittinger. But,” she continued, “he is the one with his name on the deed.” She flung her arms wide. “I keep this place going whilst he plays and fritters away our money. Whilst he goes to your club and gambles away our home! As though he has ever been a skilled card player.” Her chest heaved with a hard breath.
“But he has you,” he smoothly inserted, “to clean up his messes and make grand sacrifices for him.”
“I do my best.”
“Clearly.” He chuckled lightly and the deep sound rippled across her skin, leaving a wake of gooseflesh. “And your best is quite impressive, I must say, Miss Kittinger.”
Her face burned hot with mortification, her body instantly humming and alive with the memory of what he referenced. Seeing him before her, hearing his voice, feeling his nearness . . . it all came crashing back. She fairly vibrated with awareness of him.
He continued, “I have to ask though. Was it your primary plan to seduce me? Or was that more of a contingency plan? In case I happened to discover you rifling through my rooms? Which I did.”
“I did not go to your club with that plan at all.”
Her face burned even hotter. No, but she went there determined to do whatever she had to do to get back her lands. She went there desperate. There was no denying that.
“So that was more of a spontaneous decision you arrived at when I walked in on you stealing from me. It was a ploy to distract me from realizing your true purpose.”
The guilt she had been denying swamped her. It was irrefutable when faced with him and his accusations. “You could call it spontaneous, yes.”
“The note was a nice touch,” he complimented and yet his words did not sound like flattery in any way.
She winced. The note was not a nice touch at all. It had been weakness. Stupidity.
He added, “I doubt I would have put it all together so quickly without that courtesy from you.”
Wonderful. Her flash of conscience in that moment had landed her in this trouble. Except her conscience had not been her only guiding impulse. She had felt a flash of tenderness as she stared at him sleeping, gloriously naked, his chest rising and falling with his deep, even breaths.
“I could not just . . . go,” she admitted, her voice a grumble.
“No? You had regrets?” His lip curled in a sneer. “I have a suggestion for you then. Give me back the voucher. That might ease your guilt.”
She shook her head. “It is gone.”
“Gone?”
“Destroyed.”
He could not have thought she would have kept the voucher. She would not be that foolish.
“Your guilt must not be too great then.”
No. It was not.
“This land has been in my family a long time. Since my great-grandfather.” She stabbed a finger in the direction of the ground. “You had no right to—”
“Your brother made the decision to put up your lands as collateral. Not me. It was his choice. Again, not mine. He valued your family’s land so little.”
There was nothing he said that she did not already know, but it was still terribly bitter to hear it pronounced out loud by another. “You do not think I know that?” she erupted. “It is not right though. It should not be his to do with as he chooses. He should not be able to gamble it all away.”
“But he did.” His expression turned coldly furious. “And what of you? Were you any more right to steal into my house? To seduce me as though you had no ulterior motive? As though you were no thief at all?”
“Thief?” she echoed with a hollow laugh. “Well.” She squared her shoulders. “I did render a service.”
She held her chin high, refusing to be daunted. Let truth prevail. As shocking as it was to admit out loud, he was not left without recompense.