Cedric's smile never faltered. He had won the first skirmish. She had given her promise to remain a month. He did not doubt she would remain faithful to that vow.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you will fall in love with Kent and never wish to leave."

Surprisingly her eyes darkened at his teasing words. "No."

His brows rose at the odd edge in her tone. "How can you be so certain? Unless you can read the future like Mrs. Borelli?"

"If I could read the future, I would never have gotten into the coach with a drunken groom," she pointed out in tart tones.

Cedric chuckled at her sharp wit. There was an intelligence behind those pretty features.

"No, I daresay you would not have," he agreed. "Poor James feels quite wretched. He wished to seek you out and apologize, but I convinced him to wait until you were not so eager to throttle him."

"I have no intention of throttling him," she denied.

"No, your weapon of choice is that wicked tongue of yours," he retorted softly. "And a most potent weapon it is."

"Are you ever serious, my lord?" she demanded with a shake of her head.

Cedric pondered her words a moment. It was true that he preferred a good laugh over a glass of ale to poring through musty tomes of the philosophers. And while other landowners might form a committee to discuss the heavy burden of the poor or the local politics, he preferred to stand beside his tenants as they repaired the roof to their cottage or hauled their wares to the market.

That did not mean he did not care for others. He merely possessed his own means of expressing that concern.

"At times," he at last conceded, "but life is too short not to enjoy. If I die tomorrow I wish it to be with the knowledge I appreciated every moment." He regarded her with a curious expression. "What of you?"

She was caught off guard as he neatly turned the tables on her.

"What do you mean?"

"Is there nothing you enjoy?"

"Of course. I enjoy reading and needlework and . . ."

He gave an impatient click of his tongue. He would not be satisfied with the vague platitudes that she offered to the rest of the world. He wanted to know what she thought, what she felt, and most important, what she was hiding from.

"I do not mean what you do to pass the time. What makes you happy?"

"Many things."

"Such as what?" he demanded, keeping her gaze locked with his own. "Walking in the rain? Watching a child play? Seeing the sunrise? Being close to someone you love?"

He could visibly see her retreat from his probing.

"I am not here to enjoy myself, my lord. I am here to work."

Cedric was unimpressed by her fierce words. It might be an admirable sentiment, but he suspected it was merely an excuse.

"You surely have deduced that you will never be treated as a servant at Mayford? My aunt considers all here as her friends."

Her lips thinned. "I am determined not to take advantage of her kindness."

"A wasted effort, my dear," he drawled. "Why not simply enjoy your time in Kent? As you have so firmly determined to seek another position, you will soon enough be among those who regard you as another piece of property."

Just for a moment he thought he had actually struck a nerve, then she was giving a faint shake of her head.

"I cannot accept your money without performing some duties, my lord."

Cedric heaved a sigh. His aunt had always assured him that the things most difficult to achieve were always the most worthwhile.

Miss Emma Cresswell must be worthwhile, indeed.

"Very well, my stubborn wood nymph."

"Please do not call me that," she muttered in low tones.

"Why?" He leaned close enough to smell the soap clinging to her porcelain skin. It was a scent that was oddly enticing. Far more enticing than heavy perfume and oils. "It is how I think of you."

Her eyes widened. "You should not be thinking of me at all."

The sheer absurdity of her prim words made Cedric give a disbelieving laugh.

"You might as well request the sun not to rise tomorrow. Or the stars not to twinkle in a midnight sky. It is an impossible task."

She threw up her hands at his deliberately trite words, but he did not miss the revealing twitch of her lips.

"You are impossible."

"And you almost smiled," he said gently.

The long lashes fluttered. "I-" Her flustered words were abruptly cut off as a shrill scream echoed through the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of running footsteps. "What is that?"

As confused as Miss Cresswell, Cedric rose to his feet. At the same moment the door to the parlor was thrown open and a thin gentleman attired in black rushed into the room. With obvious agitation the intruder slammed the door shut behind him and leaned against it as he struggled to regain his breath.

"My lord, you must save me," he panted.

Cedric's astonishment faded to annoyance as he studied the familiar features and thatch of brown hair that was currently standing on end.

Good gads, it was bad enough to have his delightful interlude with Miss Cresswell interrupted. To have it interrupted by a pompous, self-absorbed vicar made his teeth clench.

"What the devil do you mean, bursting into a room unannounced, Mr. Allensway?" he demanded in cold tones.

"That . . . witch was chasing me with a carving knife. You must do something about her."

The pieces fell into place as Cedric realized the vicar must have crossed paths with his aunt's volatile cook. Although there were many in the neighborhood who would gladly throttle the irritating gentleman, Mrs. Borelli was the only one who had actually threatened to slice him open.

"I suppose you are referring to Mrs. Borelli?"

"Of course I am," Mr. Allensway sputtered, a dark flush marring his pointed features. "The woman should be locked away."

Cedric crossed his arms over his chest as he peered down his long nose.

"Do not be daft. She creates the most divine trout in cream sauce."

Mr. Allensway's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

"She attempted to kill me with a carving knife."

"Fah." Cedric was supremely indifferent to the vicar's hysteria. "Had she intended to kill you, she would most certainly have chosen a cleaver."

Cedric heard a choked sound from the woman still seated on the settee. He suspected that it might have been a laugh, although it was swiftly hidden behind a cough. Mr. Allensway, on the other hand, clearly found nothing humorous about his smooth dismissal. Pushing away from the door, he gave a loud sniff.

"Surely you do not find this amusing, my lord?" he accused in sharp tones. "That fiend should be handed over to the magistrate."

Cedric's eyes narrowed in a dangerous manner. "That fiend is a perfectly lovely woman who simply dislikes being branded a witch. As would anyone."

Thoroughly unrepentant at the knowledge he had deliberately attempted to destroy a harmless woman, he pursed his thin lips.

"She practices barbarian rituals that are an affront to God."

"And did God personally tell you he was affronted? Or did you simply presume that he should be?"

The sniff came again, only louder. "I am merely doing my duty."

Cedric longed to tell the man he hoped he choked on his vindictive devotion to duty, but realizing it would be nothing more than a waste of breath, he instead attempted to rid himself of his aggravating presence.

"Did you possess a purpose in coming to Mayford other than insulting my aunt's cook?"

As if on cue, the thin features abruptly shifted from a petulant frown to a forced smile. Cedric knew that smile. He was quite certain that his sunny disposition was about to be strained to the very limit.

"Of course, my lord." Mr. Allensway reached up to pat his rumpled cravat. "I have received a missive from the bishop that I am to expect a guest within the next fortnight."

"Indeed?"

Ignoring Cedric's less than encouraging tone, the vicar gave another pat to his cravat. "Well, to be honest, I have been expecting such a development for some months. After all, the bishop is bound to have heard of my many charitable efforts throughout the neighborhood and, of course, my determination to put an end to the archaic beliefs that the lower class is so prone to cling to. It was only a matter of time before I was considered for a more respectable position."

It was a testament to his aunt's training that Cedric did not double over in laughter. The closest the man had come to charitable efforts was to accidentally drop a bread crumb while consuming his dinner. And as for putting an end to archaic beliefs . . . well, if shrilly accusing good people of performing works of the devil and driving them from the church was putting an end to archaic beliefs, then he was indeed a resounding success.

Certainly, no respectable bishop would consider this gentleman as anything more than a buffoon.

"And this visitor is coming to offer you such a position?" he asked in disbelief.

"The bishop, of course, is not so crude as to do more than hint at the truth. He says that Mr. Winchell is a close friend and that I should introduce him to the neighborhood. One must read between the lines to discern the full meaning."

"You must be very adept at reading between the lines," Cedric retorted in dry tones.

The vicar preened in a smug manner. "As you know, my lord, gentlemen in our positions are naturally gifted with such talents."

Gentlemen in their position? Cedric shuddered.

"What is it that you want from my aunt?"

"Ah ... yes." Mr. Allensway cleared his throat. "It is clearly of the utmost importance that Mr. Winchell receive a favorable impression of my efforts. Particularly among those of superior social standing."

Cedric grimaced. "And you desire me to sing your praises?"

"Well, I would not be averse to a kindly placed word, of course," the vicar readily encouraged. "However, my reason for coming concerns Lady Hartshore and Mr. Carson."

Cedric felt his muscles stiffen. This man had condemned his aunt as a lunatic and Bart as a danger to the neighborhood. It was only because he hid behind his position as a man of God that Cedric had not already bloodied his nose.

"I see," he said, his voice a quiet threat.

Impervious to the danger in the air, Mr. Allensway smiled in a patronizing manner.

"Although I am, of course, very fond of Lady Hartshore and her brother, their odd behavior is bound to shock any God-fearing gentleman. I hope you will encourage them to behave in a circumspect manner when in the company of Mr. Winchell."

Cedric thought he heard a faint gasp from behind him, but his attention remained firmly centered upon the vicar.

"Circumspect?"

Mr. Allensway gave a lift of his hands. "In a manner more fitted to their position."

Sheer fury flared through Cedric. Why, the vain, annoying little twit!

"I suggest, Mr. Allensway, that you take leave of Mayford with all possible speed," he said in clipped tones.

"But, my lord . . ."

"Now."

"If you would just mention it to Lady Hartshore."

"You have to the count of ten to be out of my sight, Mr. Allensway."

"But . . ."

"One, two, three . . ."

This time not even the supremely dense vicar could miss the danger lying thick in the air.

Hastily pulling open the door, he gave a jerky bow. "As you wish, my lord."

Still bent over, he backed into the hall and hurriedly closed the door, nearly catching his pointed nose in the process. Clearly his fear of the murderous cook had suddenly been overcome by an even more potent fear.

Glaring at the closed door, Cedric resisted the urge to follow the man and physically toss him from the estate.

"One day I shall take great delight in throttling that puffed-up fool," he muttered, then, realizing he had allowed his anger to overcome his good manners, he slowly turned to regard the silent Miss Cresswell with a wry smile. If she wasn't certain that she had landed in Bedlam before, this morning should have convinced her.

It wasn't every household that possessed a cook who chased vicars through the halls with a carving knife. Nor a lord who threatened to throttle his guests.