But he was not so inclined. He looped his arm through hers and gently tugged her closer. “I have lived my entire life at Maycliffe. When I gaze out this window, I see the tree I first climbed when I was seven. And the spot where my mother always wanted a hedgerow maze.”

A wistful expression came over his face, and Iris had to look away. It felt almost intrusive to watch him.

“I cannot see Maycliffe through a newcomer’s eyes,” she heard him say. “Perhaps you would do me the favor of enlightening me.”

His voice was smooth and velvety, flowing through her like warm chocolate. She kept her eyes forward, but she knew that he had turned toward her. His breath tickled her cheek, warming the air between them.

“What do you see, Iris?”

She swallowed. “I see . . . grass. And trees.”

Richard made a funny noise, like he was swallowing his surprise.

“Bit of a hill,” she added.

“You’re not very poetic, are you?”

“Not at all,” she admitted. “Are you?” She turned, forgetting that she had intended not to, and she was startled by his nearness.

“I can be,” he said softly.

“When it suits you?”

He smiled slowly. “When it suits me.”

Iris gave a nervous smile and looked back out the window. She felt terribly jumpy, her feet wiggling about in her slippers as if someone were sparking tiny fires beneath her. “I’d rather hear what you see,” she said. “I need to learn about Maycliffe. I want to be a good mistress of the estate.”

His eyes flared, but other than that, his expression remained inscrutable.

“Please,” she said.

For a moment he seemed lost in thought, but then he straightened his shoulders and regarded the view through the window with renewed purpose. “Right there,” he said, motioning with his chin, “in that field, just beyond the trees. We hold a harvest festival there each year.”

“We do?” Iris echoed. “Oh, that’s lovely. I should like to be involved in the planning.”

“I’m sure you will be.”

“Is it in the autumn?”

“Yes, November usually. I always—” He stiffened, and then his head jerked a little, almost as if he were dislodging a thought from his head. “There’s a path over there, too,” he said, quite clearly changing the subject. “It leads to Mill Farm.”

Iris wanted to learn more about the harvest festival, but it was clear he wasn’t going to say more, so instead she politely asked, “Mill Farm?”

“One of my tenant farms,” he explained. “The largest of them, actually. The son recently took over from his father. I hope he makes a good go of it. The father never did.”

“Oh.” Iris didn’t really have anything to add to that.