Read Online The Soldier by Grace Burrowes - Free Book Online Page B

flesh. Perhaps I can remedy the situation while I am in your kitchen.”
    “Sit with me?” The earl gestured to the stone wall, knowing it was a graceless offer. Ladies did not sit on rocks with half-naked, sweaty men, title be damned. Miss Farnum, however, plopped down on the wide, flat surface of the wall the earl had finished putting to rights.
    “Have you and Cook parlayed regarding your shared territory?” the earl asked, noting again the work gloves on Miss Farnum’s hands. They were so incongruous with the graceful, smiling rest of her, but they somehow made her look… dear.
    “Cook is not pleased with the state of your household, my lord. You lack a housekeeper, and so Cook is constantly having to intervene with the maids, and with Steen, and among other domestics outside the kitchen.”
    “Would she rather be a housekeeper? Or something like it?” He appropriated the place beside her, sitting closely enough that their thighs touched. His entire attention wanted to focus on the sensation of her leg brushing against his, while she seemed unaware of the contact.
    Miss Farnum frowned. “Cook might be receptive to such a notion. A cook is an authority only in the kitchen itself, whereas the housekeeper’s authority is much broader. She would probably consider it a promotion.”
    “Were I at all impressed with her culinary efforts, I would hesitate to propose any changes, but as a cook, she is pedestrian at best.” He picked up a skin of water and frowned at it. “I am compelled by manners to offer you a drink, but I have only the one skin.”
    “A drink?” she asked, her gaze raking his face and no doubt taking in the results of his exertions. And as she watched, St. Just tilted his head back and held the skin out at arm’s length, aiming a cool, clear stream of water directly into his open mouth.
    “I’ve never seen such a thing! Did you come across this while on the Peninsula?”
    “I did. Would you like to try it?” Oh, yes, he was feeling naughty indeed, and worse still, he was enjoying himself.
    She looked intrigued but dubious. “What if I miss?”
    “I’ll do the aiming. Open your mouth.”
    “This isn’t dignified,” she muttered but obediently tilted her head back and opened her mouth. He held the skin out to arm’s length again and shot a stream of water directly on target.
    “My goodness!” Miss Farnum laughed, looking pleased with herself and just, perhaps, with him. “I’ve done something new today. My thanks, my lord.”
    “You are welcome.” He casually took another drink, trying to blot from his mind the picture of Emmaline Farnum, mouth open, eyes laughing as she gazed at him expectantly. Other very erotic contexts in which she might have assumed that same pose had come instantly into his mind’s eye, and his system had begun to hum with the possibilities. Emmie Farnum, naked and laughing up at him; Emmie peeking at him as her mouth…
    And why did his imagination choose now of all times to recover its prurient inclinations?
    “What brings you to my stables on this lovely Sunday afternoon?” the earl asked, inhaling a pleasant nose full of roses and well-scrubbed female.
    “Not a what.” Miss Farnum shifted on her rock. “A who. If I’m to be here tomorrow morning, then it made sense to bring Herodotus over. My baking days are Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and I deliver on Tuesday and Friday.”
    “You have that much custom?” the earl asked, hopping off his rock and turning to squint at the line of the stone wall. “Does this look level to you?”
    Miss Farnum obliged the second question by hopping down from her seat, as well, and standing directly in front of him, her back to him so she could survey the same portion of wall.
    “You mean the part you’ve done out from the building?”
    “From there”—he raised an arm over her shoulder—“to there.” He moved his arm so his linen-clad bicep nearly brushed her ear, and angled his neck so his mouth was