An Heir Unraveled (The Rockliffe Dynasty #5)

Chapter 1

Benedict Prescott tried to endure whatever misfortunes came his way with a steady countenance. However, doing so proved considerably easier when he wasn’t up to his ankles in sheep shite.

His top boots sank into the spongy ground with each step he took, progressively undoing his early morning efforts of shining them to a glossy black.

But what difference did that make now? He would bemoan his defiled footwear, and the unfortunate odor his boots emitted, once he was seated before a blazing hearth at Aldercombe Grange with a steaming mug in hand.

At present, his only concern should be seeking cover from the steadily increasing rainfall.

Fortunately, a shepherd’s hut stood in the field up ahead, and although the wooden structure appeared somewhat rickety, it would serve his purpose as he waited out the rain. And determined where in hell he was.

He plodded along at a half-run, grimacing at the pungent aroma of the air surrounding him. Grimacing even harder at his own inanity.

He’d always liked to think of himself as a man of some intelligence, having taken several firsts at Cambridge prior to his expulsion.

He’d spent the entirety of his carriage ride from London reminding himself of this fact, assuring himself that if he could excel with his studies, he could surely succeed with estate management, too.

Therefore, when one of the horses had thrown a shoe just as they’d passed through the final village before arriving at Aldercombe, he’d opted to get out and walk the remaining distance rather than wait at the blacksmith’s.

After all, it was a fine day, and going the last few miles on foot would allow him to better survey the land under his domain.

Yet the clouds had rolled in quickly, and in advising him that he’d arrive at the grange if he simply kept heading north, the coachman had neglected to mention the fork in the road and whether it was necessary to veer left or right.

Ben had chosen left, which was looking increasingly like the wrong selection. He’d passed nothing but a cottage or two and then fields, and had spotted no creatures besides some sheep far in the distance.

The rain took the last of his precarious confidence and dissolved it like salt. Yes, he was good with books and exams, but what did that have to do with rural life? Nothing.

Perhaps this was a sign that in complying with his uncle’s request that he travel to the Wiltshire estate, he’d chosen wrong. A sign he wasn’t meant to reside here. Had betrayed what mattered most.

He gave his head a brisk shake to push the thoughts—and the subsequent stab of guilt—away, abandoning all efforts to choose his foot placement carefully and sprinting the remaining distance to the hut.

The place had a look of desertion, but just in case, he gave the door a sound knock before bounding up the two steps, flicking the latch, and pushing his way inside—

Where he came face-to-face with a woman, her breath shooting out as a gasp as she startled backward, her eyes becoming huge. Bewildered.

They stayed that way only for a moment, though, before she narrowed them, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “You cannot be here.”

He blinked, fighting to adjust to the hut’s dim interior. The floorboards were worn and dusty, the furniture sparse and basic. But this woman …

This woman stood in contrast to all of it.

Her gown was the pearly pink of an iced confection, adorned with cheerful yellow flowers embroidered across the bodice and hem.

Her slippers, which had fared far better than his boots, were each decorated with a floppy mint green bow, the same shade as the ribbons dangling from her wide-brimmed bonnet.

Her eyes were blue, the curls framing her face a sunny blonde.

For everything drab in the hut, she offered color; for everything crude, she was elegance and refinement.

The incongruity of her presence threw him off balance and made his body tense with surprise. What other reason could he possess for saying, more sharply than he intended, “And who are you to make that judgment? You do not look like a shepherdess.”

She arched a golden brow. “I’m no shepherdess, but …” Her indignant speech stopped short, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth, her face flickering as if she were in deep contemplation.

He knew that look. It was the same one his brother Alexander had worn as a child when he misbehaved and pondered how best to avoid getting scolded.

But unlike Alex, the woman accompanied her expression by the continued worrying of her lip, nudging the plump, rosy flesh back and forth in a manner most distracting.

“I don’t plan to stay long,” he said brusquely, turning his attention to his damp coat and giving it a few tugs to smooth it. “Only until the rain stops.”

“Oh, is it raining?” Her voice sounded unnaturally light, tinged with a hint of disingenuous laughter. “Surely, not more than a sprinkle. You shouldn’t let it hinder you.”

Ben gave a pointed glance at the window, where thick raindrops streaked the murky glass. She’d made her message explicitly clear: she wanted him to leave, now, regardless of what the elements and the pasture covered in sheep excrement had in store for him.

Yet why should he? While the location of Aldercombe Grange remained a mystery to him, he was reasonably certain this field was Rockliffe land. His land. At least, it could be if he wanted it. Why should he begin his tenure upon it by taking orders from a stranger and trespasser?

He planted his boots more firmly against the floorboards—ignoring the way her nose scrunched up when he moved his feet—and mimicked her position, crossing his arms over his chest. “Let me ask a question of you first, Miss …” He paused to give her the opportunity to supply her name, but when none was provided, he continued anyway. “What, pray, are you doing here?”

Her face flickered again, although she neglected her lip this time, fortunately. “Some friends and I were picnicking on Skylark Ridge,” she said with sudden nonchalance. “I care little for archery, so when they began a competition, I decided to take a walk.”

Ben’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t grown so ignorant that he failed to notice when he was being lied to. “To the scenic environs of a musty hut?”

She gave a tiny sniff, her cheeks coloring to a similar shade as her dress. “Perhaps I … wanted to explore.”

“Alone?”

She hesitated for a beat too long. “Yes.”

Ah. Suddenly, so many unknowns of the situation became clear.

Miss—Miss Nameless, with her honey-gold curls, fine shoes, and jaunty dress that highlighted generous curves, was planning an assignation.

A clandestine one, certainly, for why else would she remain in the hut while so adamantly insisting he leave?

For some reason, the thought created a knot in his stomach.

“I regret to inform you, Miss”—again, he waited for her name, and again, none was forthcoming—“that since the time you departed the picnic, the weather likely put an end to it.”

“No, no, the rain won’t be a problem.” She shook her hand dismissively, her words accompanied by the steady patter of droplets upon the roof. “We brought along a canopy.”

He paused, his jaw tightening. He hadn’t intended to allude solely to the picnic, but to …

but to … there was no delicate turn of phrase to be had, so he may as well just come out and say it.

“Regardless, the person you planned to meet here, far beyond the shelter of the canopy, is likely to have judged the rain a deterrent.”

Understanding deepened the pink in her cheeks, and the abrupt flash in her eyes told him he hadn’t erred in his assumption.

“Very well, you’ve discerned the truth.” She dipped her chin in concession, although the gesture lasted only an instant before she squared her shoulders, her gaze boring into his without compunction.

“But in one thing, sir, you’re mistaken.

George may be a little late, but I know he wouldn’t let a small shower stop him.

It’s only your presence, I fear, that will prove a hindrance. ”

He bit back the impolite noise that rose in his throat, grinding his teeth as he spun from the astute blue gaze and looked for guidance amidst the endless fields beyond the window.

He could lecture her on the folly of such an undertaking, but it was hardly his concern.

If Miss Nameless derived pleasure from rendezvous in dank, malodorous spaces and had found a gentleman who shared her predilections, why should he stand between them?

Already, the angry downpour had eased, the sky once more showing traces of muted sunrays through the clouds.

Why shouldn’t he depart and pretend this whole encounter had never happened?

There was simply one problem.

“If I’m to leave …” He cleared his throat, which grew dry as sand as his focus came back to his own predicament. His own folly. “I wonder if you might point me in the direction of Aldercombe Grange.”

“Of course,” she said, motioning eagerly toward the door.

“There’s a shortcut from here. Simply walk all the way to the northwest edge of this pasture, where the fence ends and the trees begin, and turn left.

There’s a little path that leads through the wood and straight to Aldercombe’s back garden. ”

“Thank you.” He straightened his wet top hat and bowed stiffly, then pivoted to reach for the door.

“Aldercombe Grange hasn’t been occupied for years.” Her voice did the very thing she didn’t seem to want and caused him to halt in his tracks. “Is that to change?”

“Yes.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, and perhaps he would have left it at that and been on his way if not for the fact she was biting her lip again. A simple action that somehow had the power to transfix him.