guest.”
So the other party was interested, as well. Good. That would make things easier. “If you’d come in here a few moments earlier, I’d have been your half naked guest. Then whatever would we have done?”
“I…Yes, you’re right. I apologize.”
Finding a broom, he banged it against the wall a few times to remove the dust and cobwebs, then headed back outside to collect the heated bucket of tar and an armload of shingles. “No need. Just pointing out a fact.”
She cleared her throat. “Well, yes. But don’t pay any more of our bills, if you please.”
“I doubt I can,” he said, pausing as he absorbed that little bit of information. “So, there are more debts involved?”
“A…a few.”
He didn’t have to look at her to know how difficult that must have been for her to admit. “Miss Harrington, don’t begrudge me a loaf of bread or two. I eat more than the two of you combined, no doubt.”
“What about the candy, though? I suppose that was to bribe me?” she demanded, following him.
Rafe stopped and turned to face her. She nearly ran into him, and had to put a hand against his chest to keep from stumbling. Dropping the shingles, he caught her elbow and tugged her closer on the pretext of helping her find her balance.
She’d felt damned pleasant when he’d jumped on her yesterday, and however standoffish she pretended to be toward him, she also managed to touch him and converse with him whenever possible. He had no intention of discouraging that. “Bribe you into what? You already said I could stay,” he pointed out with a soft smile. “Is there something more I should be asking of you?”
Felicity pulled her arm free and smoothed at her skirt, blushing furiously. “Why did you make luncheon?” she demanded, ignoring his question.
“It was only sandwiches. Not all nobles are completely useless, you know.” If the morning’stoast was any indication of her cooking ability, he hadn’t wanted to risk being poisoned on top of his cracked head. “Besides, your schedule seems to be more than full without me adding to the mix.”
“Ah. But how does a nobleman like you learn to make sandwiches? By watching your cook, I suppose?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” He bent to retrieve the shingles. Felicity seemed so hungry to know about the way the landed gentry lived. Rafe wondered how long she’d had to scratch and scrape to get by at Forton, and how long it had been since someone had waited on her. He’d be more generous with information in his tales of London from now on. “Cook used to make splendid cucumber sandwiches. My brother and I would take them and glasses of lemonade out to go fishing.”
Felicity nodded. “Ah, yes, your brother. May mentioned him to me. The Marquis of Warefield, is he not?”
“Yes, he is.”
She looked at him curiously. “And I suppose you know the king, as well?”
Rafe grinned and resumed his way to the ladder. “Georgie? He’s a fat, witless toad with an absolute gift for planning soirees. My father and Quin—Warefield—are much better acquainted with him than I am, but I can tell you a tale or two, if you’d like.”
“Is there anyone in London you don’t know?”
He paused on the ladder’s second rung and looked down at her, wanting to know all about his so-called grand life when he only wanted to escape it. Dirt smudged across her nose and one cheek, and something odd and breath-stealing ran through his chest. “I don’t know you ,” he answered, stepping to the ground again. And abruptly he wantedto, with a strength that surprised him. He wanted to brush her soft, smooth skin with his fingers, and cover her tall, slender body with warm, slow kisses.
Looking flustered, she backed away a step. “I’ve never been to London.”
Rafe shook himself, trying to concentrate on the conversation. “Why not? Your brother’s a landowner. And forgive me, but you are over eighteen, and exceptionally attractive. What about your
So the other party was interested, as well. Good. That would make things easier. “If you’d come in here a few moments earlier, I’d have been your half naked guest. Then whatever would we have done?”
“I…Yes, you’re right. I apologize.”
Finding a broom, he banged it against the wall a few times to remove the dust and cobwebs, then headed back outside to collect the heated bucket of tar and an armload of shingles. “No need. Just pointing out a fact.”
She cleared her throat. “Well, yes. But don’t pay any more of our bills, if you please.”
“I doubt I can,” he said, pausing as he absorbed that little bit of information. “So, there are more debts involved?”
“A…a few.”
He didn’t have to look at her to know how difficult that must have been for her to admit. “Miss Harrington, don’t begrudge me a loaf of bread or two. I eat more than the two of you combined, no doubt.”
“What about the candy, though? I suppose that was to bribe me?” she demanded, following him.
Rafe stopped and turned to face her. She nearly ran into him, and had to put a hand against his chest to keep from stumbling. Dropping the shingles, he caught her elbow and tugged her closer on the pretext of helping her find her balance.
She’d felt damned pleasant when he’d jumped on her yesterday, and however standoffish she pretended to be toward him, she also managed to touch him and converse with him whenever possible. He had no intention of discouraging that. “Bribe you into what? You already said I could stay,” he pointed out with a soft smile. “Is there something more I should be asking of you?”
Felicity pulled her arm free and smoothed at her skirt, blushing furiously. “Why did you make luncheon?” she demanded, ignoring his question.
“It was only sandwiches. Not all nobles are completely useless, you know.” If the morning’stoast was any indication of her cooking ability, he hadn’t wanted to risk being poisoned on top of his cracked head. “Besides, your schedule seems to be more than full without me adding to the mix.”
“Ah. But how does a nobleman like you learn to make sandwiches? By watching your cook, I suppose?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” He bent to retrieve the shingles. Felicity seemed so hungry to know about the way the landed gentry lived. Rafe wondered how long she’d had to scratch and scrape to get by at Forton, and how long it had been since someone had waited on her. He’d be more generous with information in his tales of London from now on. “Cook used to make splendid cucumber sandwiches. My brother and I would take them and glasses of lemonade out to go fishing.”
Felicity nodded. “Ah, yes, your brother. May mentioned him to me. The Marquis of Warefield, is he not?”
“Yes, he is.”
She looked at him curiously. “And I suppose you know the king, as well?”
Rafe grinned and resumed his way to the ladder. “Georgie? He’s a fat, witless toad with an absolute gift for planning soirees. My father and Quin—Warefield—are much better acquainted with him than I am, but I can tell you a tale or two, if you’d like.”
“Is there anyone in London you don’t know?”
He paused on the ladder’s second rung and looked down at her, wanting to know all about his so-called grand life when he only wanted to escape it. Dirt smudged across her nose and one cheek, and something odd and breath-stealing ran through his chest. “I don’t know you ,” he answered, stepping to the ground again. And abruptly he wantedto, with a strength that surprised him. He wanted to brush her soft, smooth skin with his fingers, and cover her tall, slender body with warm, slow kisses.
Looking flustered, she backed away a step. “I’ve never been to London.”
Rafe shook himself, trying to concentrate on the conversation. “Why not? Your brother’s a landowner. And forgive me, but you are over eighteen, and exceptionally attractive. What about your
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