Page 20 of The Music of Love

“I’ve heard of magnolias. They are supposed to be quite spectacular.”

“They are. And there are no others quite like these two. These magnolias were planted during my uncle’s lifetime. He was a botanist and acquired some of the first magnolias to arrive in Britain. Over the course of many years he worked with them until he created a pair that would not only survive, but thrive, in our climate.”

Her smile was wry. “I see where you are going. But your uncle did this to create a tree that would live here. Geist’s offspring would survive no matter what mare he was bred with.”

“True. But survival isn’t the only point of selective breeding—there is also a desire to maintain certain characteristics, perfect others, and eradicate dangerous flaws.”

“I’m afraid you and I will have to agree to disagree on this subject, Mr. Harrington. As a person who has been referred to as a mongrel because of my mixed heritage, I’m biased.”

Stacy frowned. “I’m sorry to hear you’ve had to endure such insulting, foolish words, Signora. Horses and magnolia trees are not people and no sane person would ever advocate selective breeding for human beings.”

“The English aristocracy do.”

Her tart, spirited answer surprised a laugh out of him. “Touché, Signora, touché.”

“Oh look,” she said, gesturing with her chin. “We are nearing town.”

He realized that was her way of ending their conversation.

“Won’t you please bring the gig into the inn so I do not run down the poor ostler?”

Stacy opened his mouth to urge her to try it on her own, but when she turned her magnificent—and imploring—dark eyes on him, he found himself doing her bidding and reaching for the ribbons. He’d spent less than half an hour with her and already he was having difficulty denying her.

Yes, he thought grimly as her soft, warm, fragrant body pressed against him, this trip into town has been a mistake. The woman’s fiery persona and attractive person were proving to be far too enticing. Being in her presence made him forget she was his employee, and that was something he needed to keep at the forefront of his mind: she was pleasant to him because he was her employer, and that was all.

The truth was that spending time with Mrs. Stefani would only yield one result: infatuation at best, and, at worst, deeper feelings. As he’d learned long ago, either result would likely end in disappointment and pain for him.

Chapter Seven

Portia waited three days after her far-too-stimulating gig ride with Mr. Harrington before accepting his offer to use the library.

She didn’t want to encounter him—or rather, she was a bit too interested in another tête-à-tête—and had the feeling that he’d been avoiding her, as well, since their brief trip into town.

It turned out that his business had kept him late that day so she’d not ridden back to Whitethorn with him, but rather a groom from the inn. She’d been of two minds about that. Part of her yearned to feel his hard body wedged up against hers, wanted to inhale the faint, intoxicating hint of cologne, and was eager to talk to him about a rather scandalous topic like breeding, even if it was only horse breeding they were discussing.

But seeing him at lessons and dinner was already tempting enough. She needed this position too badly to upset the delicate balance between them, so she’d kept her willful nature in check.

But she was out of books to read and she knew Mr. Harrington rarely left his private chambers before noon so she went directly after breakfast.

She dithered about whether she should just march up to the room and fling the door open even though she knew he wasn’t in the room.

He told you to use the library.

That was true, he’d told her that more than once. Portia laid her ear against the thick door; no sound came from within. Not that that meant anything. He was hardly likely to be making a racket in his library.

She knocked before her nerve deserted her.

Nothing.

She waited a bit and then opened the door. The room was pitch-black so she left the door open to cast some light while she made her way to the heavy damask drapes and pulled them aside.

The morning light bathed the room and Portia gasped: the ceiling was at least twenty-five feet high, a coffered masterpiece that glinted with aged gilt which picked up the rays of sunshine and warmed the giant space. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered all but two walls, the south-facing wall of windows and the interior wall opposite it, which boasted one of the largest fireplaces she’d ever seen. A mezzanine around the top third held yet more books. It was magnificent and Portia could understand why Mr. Harrington spent so much time in the room.

It took her a few minutes to understand the library’s organization and she’d just located the section she wanted when a voice behind her made her jump.

“Good morning, Signora.”

She whirled around and found Eustace Harrington in the doorway she’d left open. He looked as inscrutable as ever and it was anyone’s guess what he thought about finding her in his sanctum.