Page 11 of The Heir’s Return

And so, Mina worked.

She toiled day and night, pouring over papers and reorganizing ledgers, making sense of her father’s many unfinished notes and misplaced zeroes. When she required verification from a vendor or solicitor, she had no compunctions about using her father’s seal and forging his signature to obtain the documentation. She quickly became so adept at it that their handwriting was nearly indistinguishable, and not once was she questioned.

Her life became caring for her father and doing whatever she could to undo what had been done to the finances of Ravenshire Manor. She took notice of little else—barely registering when one of the maids commented that the earl had died following a brief illness—and continued her efforts without slowing.

That was, until the new Earl of Ravenshire strode into her office one blustery autumn afternoon. Windswept golden curls and high cheekbones pinkened from the wind framed eyes so intensely blue they put the brightest summer sky to shame.

The quill fell from Mina’s ink-stained fingers, spattering droplets across her tidy rows of numbers, and she whispered, “Harry…”

CHAPTER 7

The last person Harry thought to find sitting at the desk in the study at Ravenshire Manor was Mina Fletcher, but he could not say he was the least bit disappointed.

He blinked his eyes several times to be sure he was not imagining the sight before him, but she remained. He hadn’t imagined her. She really sat there in a beam of white-gold afternoon sunlight, the hearth crackling merrily nearby, an extra quill tucked into her messily twisted hair the color of roasted chestnuts. Harry could not recall the last time his heart had felt so light.

How long had he lived with that weight? What was it about this woman and this house that healed aches in his soul he hadn’t even realized were there? What spell had been cast over him when he’d been a lad; moreover, why did he never want to break it?

“Mina?” he rasped. His mouth was dry, and his throat was raw from the biting autumn wind as he rode from London. He wouldn’t normally have traveled with such haste, but the documents delivered to his flat had spurred him into immediate action. There was no time to waste.

As if coming back to herself at the sound of his voice, Mina gave a little shake of her head and stood so abruptly that the chair she’d been sitting in would have toppled backward were it not for her quick reflexes. Once it was steady, she snatched up a handkerchief blotted with ink and began to scrub hopelessly at her fingers.

“Lord Ashcombe,” she said by way of greeting, his title sounding wrong coming from her lips, like a discordant note from an opera singer.

“I do not believe you have ever addressed me in such a manner.”

“It is proper, is it not?”

“It would have been, a fortnight ago,” he said, not unkindly.

Mina winced before saying, “My apologies, Lord Ravenshire.”

“No apologies are necessary,” Harry reassured her and advanced several steps into the room. “And if you insist upon addressing me as such, please take no offense if I am slow in my response. I am not yet used to answering to Lord Ravenshire.”

“I am sorry for the loss of your father.”

Harry cocked his head. “You and I both know it is no great sorrow; the man was more specter than father to me. I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.” It was then that he noticed Mina’s gown of flat grey wool, unadorned and simple. “You are not garbed in half-mourning for my father, are you? Even I gave up on it after a week—you should hear the scandalous whispers.”

She looked down at her gown and barely stopped herself from running her hands along the garment, opting instead for clasping her hands behind her back. It should have been a demure posture, but it served only to display the luscious swells of her breasts above the modest neckline of her dress. Her curves had always been delightful, but now they were downright sinful. They made his mouth water. Despite the chill still settled in his bones from the ride in the autumn air, a searing heat began to pool in his⁠—

“For my husband.”

Harry’s mind skidded to a halt and knocked the wind from his chest. “Y—Your husband?” His tongue suddenly felt too large for his mouth.

“Robert suffered an accident,” she explained gently. “Six months ago.”

Was her tone from grief? Or was she gauging his reaction? Did she expect him to rejoice in the tragic end of another man’s life?

Well, Harry would reserve a reaction until Mina gave him a better idea of whether she still grieved the loss. Until then, he would ignore the selfish needling in his heart that told him she was now free…

“Please accept my deepest condolences,” he said after clearing the thickness from his throat, and she inclined her head in polite gratitude. “Is that why you returned to Ravenshire Manor?”

There was a small hesitation before she nodded her head. “I had not heard from my father in several months and wanted to see him in person.”

Every muscle in Harry’s body tensed for an entirely different reason—the reason he’d ridden so hard from London to this corner of Kent.

“And how is he?” This time, Harry’s tone took on a decidedly chillier temperature.

“Better now.”