Why that thought popped into his head, he had no notion. He planned to stay at the manor for a few days, a week at most. The stopover was meant to help him gather his thoughts and prepare his battle plan. Only now, his mind had never been more chaotic.
“Please tell Mr Gilligan that you have no intention of murdering him tonight,” Miss Lovell continued. “I can assure you he has worked hard to improve living standards. Whatever your problem, you should look a little closer to home.”
Miles snorted. “Without meaning to sound rude, Miss Lovell, you know nothing of my predicament. What you think you know and what happened are two entirely different things.”
She raised her chin, but uncertainty flashed in her pretty blue eyes. “Then I wish to take you up on your offer.”
“My offer?”
“To enlighten me.” Her smiled carried an air of confidence that stirred something deep within.
“Come.” Lord Lovell tugged his sister’s arm, and Miles resisted the urge to punch him. “We have delivered Mr Gilligan without causing distress to those out for an evening of fun and frivolity. Let’s leave Greystone here to deal with his steward.”
“Yes, leave now,” Gilligan implored.
Miles ignored both men, his mind engaged in all the ways he might enlighten this lady. The seductive power of a gentle caresses would leave her breathless. The slow melding of mouths would heat her blood to a fever pitch. The first thrust to fill her full would make her pant with pleasure. Oh, she would moan at him then but for an entirely different reason.
“Well, Lord Greystone?” said the tiger in the guise of a mouse. “Pray tell all.”
Miles stared at her. He had the sudden urge to taste her lips, to discover how they moved against his, discover the smooth strokes of her tongue.
Forcing himself to focus on the pressing problem at hand—the issue of Gilligan, not his arousing reaction to Miss Lovell—Miles said, “Would you care to tell them what has been going on at Greystone Manor or shall I?”
Mr Gilligan’s eyes bulged. “I don’t know what you mean, my lord. I’ve not been there. I’ve been in Burgess Hill on business.”
“What, for five years?”
Miles met Miss Lovell’s gaze, but she averted her attention to the steward. “Now is the time to tell his lordship how doubling the rents left his tenants destitute. Tell him about the Roberts boys.” The lady grew increasingly more agitated. “Go on. Tell him.”
Mr Gilligan’s face flamed beetroot red, and his head lolled forward.
“Tell me,” Miles insisted.
Silence ensued.
“Mr Gilligan?” Miss Lovell said, but the steward failed to raise his head.
The longer the man remained mute, the more Miss Lovell’s countenance altered. Suspicion marred her elegant features. Doubt and disappointment swam in the crystal blue waters of her eyes. Her shoulders sagged with the humiliating truth that she might have misplaced her trust.
Miles shouldn’t care, but he’d witnessed the same look in his mother’s eyes so many times the pain of it still lived inside him. Discovering one’s world was a lie left a cavernous hole in one’s chest. His father had chosen his mistress over his wife and heir. How ironic that after such a betrayal it was the victim who suffered from a crippling sense of inadequacy.
“Allow me to explain.” Miles had grown tired of waiting. “When a man arrives home after a five-year absence, he does not expect to find card sharps in his drawing room and doxies in his bed.”
“Doxies? In your bed?” Miss Lovell blinked rapidly. Her gaze drifted over his hair and dishevelled clothes. “What on earth were they doing there?”
“I’m hoping Gilligan can provide the answer.” Miles gave him a shake. “And I would also like to know why he has arranged for a card game to take place at the manor tomorrow evening and invited a host of disreputable guests?” The latter was merely a guess. Thieves and whores rarely kept good company.
“It’s just a few friends, my lord, just a few friends.”
“If they’re your friends pray tell me why they are drinking my brandy and sleeping in my bed?”
Gilligan kept his head bowed. “The roof in the gatekeeper’s cottage leaks.”
“And did I not release funds for you to have it replaced?”
“Replaced?”
“Yes, replaced. Twelve months ago, you wrote to me so that I might approve the work. If you didn’t get the roof fixed, what the hell did you do with the money?”