Her breath hitched in her chest. "He...owns Kirkwood?"

"That's what he said."

"It can't be true. Can...it?"

They stared, a thousand unspoken thoughts flitting between them. They never knew what Miles did when he was in the city, except that he gambled for outrageous amounts. Most of Georgina's time and energy were expended in finding ways to keep everyone fed and sheltered and the servants paid, despite how Miles had ruined their finances.

Every person who relied on Kirkwood for their livelihood was aware of how reckless Miles could be. Could he have gambled away the estate? Was it possible?

She wanted to declare that it wasn't, that she was being ridiculous, but Miles had no moral compass, no brakes to slow him down. He might commit any atrocious deed.

"Mr. Drummond is in my office?"

"Yes."

"I'll talk to him at once. I'll get to the bottom of this."

She dashed off, practically running through the halls to the rear of the mansion, to the small office that looked out on the gardens and the working parts of the farm: the barns, fields, orchards, and outbuildings.

To her dismay, there were several men carrying out boxes, books, and other items. She pulled herself up to her full height of five-foot-five, and though it wasn't nearly enough to intimidate, she marched into the middle of them.

"I am Georgina Fogarty. You've invaded my private quarters without invitation or permission. Who's in charge?"

One of the men gestured inside the room, then stepped back so she could enter. She'd planned to scold and chastise, but when she realized who was seated in the chair at her desk, she stumbled to a halt and all her fancy, reprimanding comments flew out of her head.

"Hello, Miss Fogarty," said the man from the stream, calm as you please.

He was attired all in black as he'd been the prior day, but he'd added a diamond ring on his little finger, and he had a gold earring in his ear, such as a pirate might wear. She'd never seen a man with an earring before, and the sight flummoxed her. He was armed too, the butt of a pistol sticking out of his coat, but she couldn't imagine why it would be. Kirkwood was not dangerous or roaming with bandits.

She'd been rendered speechless by him, and she gaped like an imbecile, having to muster all her fortitude to inquire, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm taking possession of my new property."

"Your property?"

"Yes. I have men with me to complete an inventory and control the situation during the transition, but I thought it best to seize the account books immediately."

He pointed to a man standing behind him. He was tall and dark-haired, and the two men looked enough alike to be brothers. The main difference was that the other man had blue eyes, and he was very tidy, his hair neatly barbered, his clothes more conventional: white shirt and cravat, blue coat, tan trousers.

"This is my friend, Mr. Roxbury," the man said. "He doesn't mind fussing with numbers so he'll analyze everything for me." He smirked. "I hate numbers myself."

Mr. Roxbury grabbed a stack of files and started out. Georgina leapt in front of him.

"Whoa!" she snapped. "Just a minute! Where are you going with those?"

"I need to review these right away," Mr. Roxbury said. "The quicker I begin, the quicker I'll know where we are financially."

With that curt explanation, he strolled out, and Georgina was alone with the man at the desk.

"What's your name?" she demanded. "Out on the road, you couldn't be bothered to introduce yourself."

"It's Damian Drummond."

"So the butler tells me."

"Then why ask? And might I mention I can't believe that horse's ass still has his job."

"What do you mean?"

"He always tippled down in the cellar until he was staggeringly inebriated. I'd have wagered he'd been fired years ago."

The butler was rumored to drink to excess, although Georgina had never personally witnessed it. At Mr. Drummond citing it as a flaw, she was unnerved by his apparent in depth knowledge of their private business.

"He says you claim to have lived at Kirkwood when you were a boy."

"I don't claim to have lived here. I did live here-with my grandfather-out in the estate agent's cottage."

"And now you're back."

"Like a bad rash, and with how my temper is flaring, you hadn't ought to call me a liar. I'm not in the mood."

"Fine. You lived in the estate agent's cottage with your grandfather. I hardly see how that gives you the right to barge in and take our account ledgers."

"I have the right if the ledgers are mine."

"You own Kirkwood?"

"Yes."

"How is that possible?"

"The promissory notes were due and owing. Miles couldn't buy them, but I certainly could."

"What promissory notes?" she asked like a dullard, but he didn't choose to enlighten her.

"Where is Miles?" he said instead.

"I have no idea."

"When do you expect him?"

"I never expect him."

He snorted. "Nothing has changed, has it? He's still as slothful as ever."

She was too loyal to agree, and she was struggling to figure out how best to deal with him. He was bigger, tougher, and convinced of facts Georgina couldn't begin to imagine. Promissory notes? Due and owing?

A sick feeling swarmed through her stomach.

"You have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Drummond. We didn't know you were coming."

"Why would I have apprised you?"

"I am the estate agent now."

"You?"

"Yes, me."

His irreverent gaze slowly meandered down her torso, then he laughed.

"What's so funny?" she griped.

"A stiff wind would blow you over."

"What has that to do with anything? I don't require a massive male body to add and subtract numbers. My mental capacities are sufficient to the task."

"You're a woman."

"You noticed." She sarcastically batted her lashes, being far beyond the day when she would defend her ability to perform her job.

He leaned back in his chair-her chair-and studied her with disdain. "You're quite old to still be a miss. Why aren't you married with a dozen brats tugging at your skirt?"

His comment was so rude and so inappropriate that she sputtered her response. "Why aren't I...I...married?"

"Yes. What's wrong with you? Are you a shrew? Are you a harpy? You're pretty enough so it can't be your looks. Were you ruined at seventeen by a neighbor boy so no suitable gentleman will have you?"

A muscle ticked in her cheek.

She yearned to give him a scathing set-down that would put him in his place. She yearned to march around the desk and slap him silly. She yearned to tersely inform him of how insulting he'd been, but talking to him would be like talking to a log.

"First of all," she fumed, "I'm not that old."

"You're what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? In my book, that's courting spinster territory."

She ignored him and continued. "And second of all, I am not a harpy or a shrew. I haven't married because I never wanted to." Or had the chance to, but she didn't clarify that tidbit. "If you remember our conversation out on the road, I can't abide men. I believe you're all fools."

"So you said."

"I would never let a man boss me."

"Well then, I won't even try."

"I run this estate because I'm good at it. I love being in charge, and this is my home. I intend to protect it with every bone in my body. I repeat: What are you doing here, and how can I make you go away?"

"You can't."

"Why can't I?"

"I told you I own Kirkwood. It's mine. Perhaps we should start to discuss how I can make you go away."

The remark was so astounding that she felt as if he'd hit her. It had been so casually voiced too, as if he'd be particularly delighted to toss her out.

"I'm not going anywhere," she blustered, "not until you can prove to me that you have the right to be here. Even then, you'll have to persuade me you're in a position to order me about."

"It wouldn't be difficult to order you about, but I'm not about to fuss with you."

"Why is that?" she sneered.

"Because you're a female and I don't bother with females. I don't like women anymore than you like men."

"Aren't we a pair?" she mockingly crooned.

"But mostly, this is an issue between Miles and myself. It doesn't concern you at all so I won't waste my time explaining."

"With me being a woman, I'm certain it would be too, too complex for me to comprehend the details."

"Yes, I'm certain it would be."

His expression was so annoyingly smug that she was once again thinking about marching around the desk and slapping him.

They engaged in a staring match she could never win. She'd like to demand he produce documents to show what had transpired, but he'd just admitted he thought her a flighty nuisance, and since Miles was the actual owner of Kirkwood, she wasn't sure of her authority to intervene or make him depart.

Had she any authority? If so, how much and how was she to exercise it? She was positive he wouldn't budge unless he felt like it.

"It seems were at an impasse, Mr. Drummond."

He frowned. "No, we're not. This doesn't concern you. My men will be taking control of the property today. If you want to be helpful, you can apprise the servants of what's occurring so we have a smooth transition. I won't have them attempting to thwart or obstruct us."

"Heaven forbid someone obstruct you."

"Yes, heaven forbid. Is Augusta here?"

"Yes."

"You can speak to her for me as well. I'd rather not meet with the insulting witch if I don't have to."

"I'm not your clerk or secretary," she huffed. "Don't throw petty chores at me and expect me to handle them."

"So don't handle them. I couldn't care less if Augusta Marshall is notified of my plans or not. Tell her or don't. It matters not to me."

They engaged in a second staring match, and clearly he was much more obstinate than Miles. Considering Miles penchant for avarice and vice, his insistence that no one could rein in his worst tendencies, that was really saying something.

"Mr. Drummond! You can't just swoop in and take over."

"Miss Fogarty, I already have."

"You won't get away with this."