Henry? An angel?

Ha!

He scooted himself against the wall and peeked around the corner, careful to keep himself in shadows.

"God," she was muttering, "I hate porridge." She shoved a biscuit into her mouth, washed it down with a glass of milk, and then picked up a slice of—was that ham?

Dunford's eyes narrowed. It certainly wasn't mutton.

Henry took another long and—from the sound of her sigh—satisfying swig of milk before she started to clean up.

Dunford's first urge was to stomp into the kitchen and demand an explanation, but then his stomach let out another loud rumbling. With a sigh he secreted himself behind an armoire as Henry tiptoed through the small dining room. He waited until he heard her footsteps on the stairs, then he ran into the kitchen and finished off the ham.

Chapter 4

“Wake up, Henry." Maryanne, the upstairs maid, gently shook her shoulders. "Henry, wake up."

Henry rolled over and mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "go away."

"But you insisted, Henry. You made me swear I'd get you out of bed at half past five."

"Mmmph, grmmph...didn't mean it."

"You said you'd say that, and that I should ignore you." Maryanne gave Henry a shove. "Wake up!"

Henry, who'd been more than halfway asleep, suddenly bolted wide awake and sat up so quickly she started to shake. "What? Who? What's going on?"

"It's just me, Henry. Maryanne."

Henry blinked. "What the devil are you doing here? It's still dark out. What time is it?"

"Half past five," Maryanne explained patiently. "You asked me to wake you up extra early this morning."

"I did?" Oh, yes... Dunford. "I did. Right. Well, thank you, Maryanne. That will be enough."

"You made me swear I'd stay in the room until you got out of bed."

She was far too smart for her own good, Henry decided as she realized she had been about to curl back up under the covers. "Right. I see. Well, nothing to it, I guess." She swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Lots of people get up this—" Yawn.

She stumbled over to her dressing table, where a clean pair of breeches and white shirt were laid out.

"You might want a jacket, too," Maryanne said. "It's chilly outside."

"It would be," Henry muttered as she pulled on her clothing. As devoted as she was to country life, she never, ever got out of bed before seven, and even that was an hour to be avoided. But if she was going to convince Dunford that he was not suited to life at Stannage Park, she was going to have to stretch the truth a bit.

She paused as she was buttoning her shirt. She did still want him to go, didn't she?

Of course she did. She strode over to a basin and splashed cold water on her face, hoping it would make her look more awake. That man had deliberately set out to charm her. It didn't matter that he'd succeeded, she thought perversely. It only mattered that he had done it deliberately, probably because he wanted something from her.

But then again, what could he possibly want from her? She had absolutely nothing he needed.

Unless of course he had realized she was trying to get rid of him and he was trying to stop her.

Henry pondered this as she pulled her hair back and fastened it like a pony's tail. He had seemed sincere when he told her he was interested in her upbringing. He was her guardian, after all, if only for a few more months. There was certainly nothing odd about a little guardianlike concern.

But was he concerned about his ward? Or about how he could suck his newfound estate dry?

She groaned. Funny how a little candlelight could make the world seem so innocent and rosy. In the harsh light of morning, she could see things more clearly.

She made a little annoyed sound in the back of her throat. Harsh light of morning, her foot. It was still dark out.

But that didn't mean she didn't realize he was up to something—even if she wasn't quite certain what exactly that was. What if he had a secret agenda of his own? Henry shuddered at the thought.

With fresh determination, she pulled on her boots, grabbed a candle, and strode out into the hall.

Dunford was staying in the master suite, only a few doors down from her own room. She took a deep breath for courage and knocked loudly on his door.

No response.

She knocked again.

Still nothing.

Did she dare?

She did.

She grasped the doorknob and turned, letting herself into his room. He was sleeping soundly. Very soundly.

Henry almost felt guilty for what she was about to do. "Good morning!" she said in what she hoped was an ingratiatingly cheerful voice.

He didn't move.

"Dunford?"

He mumbled something, but other than that there was no indication he was the least bit awake.

She stepped closer and tried again. "Good morning!"

He made another sleepy noise and rolled over to face her.

Henry caught her breath. Lord, but he was handsome. Just the sort of man who had never paid any attention to her at county dances. Without thinking, she reached out to touch his finely molded lips, then caught herself when she was but an inch away. She jerked back as if she'd been burned, an odd reaction as she hadn't even touched him.

Don't lose your courage now, Henry. She gulped and reached out again, this time toward his shoulder. She poked him gingerly. "Dunford? Dunford?"

"Mmm," he said sleepily. "Lovely hair."

Henry's hand flew to her hair. Had he been talking about her? Or to her? Impossible. The man was still asleep.

"Dunford?" Another poke.

"Smell good," he mumbled.