And he would be feeling a great deal better than he was. Sexual indulgence was the only distraction capable of taking the violent edge from his temper, capable of dulling it, dampening it, draining it.

Given his temper was so restlessly aroused, and desperately seeking an outlet, he wasn’t surprised it had immediately fixed on the first attractive woman to cross his path, transmuting in a heartbeat to a driving lustful passion. What he was surprised by was the intensity, the incredible clarity with which his every sense, every fiber of his being, had locked on her.

Possessively and absolutely.

His arrogance knew few bounds, yet all the ladies who’d ever caught his eye…he’d always caught theirs first. That he wanted Minerva while she didn’t want him had thrown him off-balance.

Unfortunately, her disinterest and his consequent unsettled state hadn’t dampened his desire for her in the least.

He’d simply have to grin and bear it-continue to rein his temper in, denying it the release it sought, while putting as great a distance between him and her as possible. She might be his chatelaine, but once he learned who his steward, his agent, and the various others who were responsible for overseeing his interests were, he would be able to curtail his contact with her.

He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Forty minutes had passed. Time to go to the study and settle in before she arrived to speak with him. He would need a few minutes to grow accustomed to occupying the chair behind his father’s desk.

Walking into the sitting room, he looked up-and saw his armillary spheres lined up along the mantelpiece opposite, the mirror behind creating the perfect showcase. The sight drew him across the room. Scanning the collection, fingers idly stroking long-forgotten friends, he halted before one, his fingers stilling on a gold-plated curve as memories of his father presenting it to him on his eighteenth birthday slid through his mind.