He bowed again.
“Welcome home, miss.”
His voice was beautiful. It held a deep, vibrant, intensely masculine sound. Not the voice of a servant.
Nor did he sound like a servant when he sent porters scurrying to collect Louisa’s luggage. He spoke with authority and was obeyed instantly.
Outside the station stood the carriage with the Hatton crest on the panels and two chestnut horses at the front. After letting down the step, Blake offered his hand first to Lady Hatton and then to Arabelle, as the guest.
Now it was Louisa’s turn. She placed her hand in the young man’s and felt his strong fingers clasp hers. Again she felt the sensation of power and authority, so puzzling in a servant, and looked up.
He was watching her. Two dark eyes gazed straight into hers. Then he looked quickly away
