“Every need.” He stroked his hand up her spine then back down. Entirely unnecessary, scandalous, riveting… Then he set her firmly away from him.
Why had she not moved away first? She shook out her skirts, releasing some of her irritation into the movement and set off once more to the village.
He kept pace. “The girl you brought with you from London, the?—”
“The first rule of Hawthorne House, Mr. Keats, is that we do not speak of Hawthorne House. Do you understand?”
He mimicked putting a lock between his lips, turning it, and pocketing it.
“Excellent. Give no one the key. You should not speak of what happens at the house. Not to anyone. Ever. I assume your uncle has told you what we do here.”
He hesitated then nodded.
“That is for your information only. The village thinks we are an educational facility, training young women to be governesses, maids, seamstresses, cooks, and the like.”
“You live there? In the village?”
“Sometimes. With my brother. He is a doctor.”
“Where do you live at other times?”
“That is not for you to know.” She glanced at him. “What happened to that key, Mr. Keats?”
“Dropped right out of my pocket. There’s a hole. What else should I know to work here?”
“Mr. Sacks or Mr. Geddings will know your duties in the stables better than I. But… I can tell you… if you see any strange men lurking about, you must inform Mr. Beckett right away. The footmen we employ are former boxers and army men. They either know how to throw a punch or hit a target.”
He tugged at his neckcloth. “And what happens to strange men found lurking about?”
“They find out which sort of footman has caught them lurking.”
“The boxing sort or the shooting sort.”
She nodded. Far off in the trees, a bird burst into song, and it seemed to be the final thing to break the fog’s hold on the morning. The sun’s gold scattered over everything with the bird’s music, and with this stable hand cutting his long strides short to remain by her side as they crossed the field, her loneliness went the way of the fog. Mr. Keats knew the knack of annoying a body, but he was a treat to look at, and… perhaps… his conversation at times tended more toward the amusing than the annoying. Her soul expanded into airy thinness, and she smiled. If she was going to marry for a practical reason, she could enjoy a few stolen moments with a handsome man before she sealed her future. Surely.
“God, you’re beautiful.”
She stumbled again, then stopped to face him, her hood falling down her back.
He seemed to waver, as if his legs might give way. “I want to drop to my knees before you. I shouldn’t. I don’t know you, but… maybe the body knows what to do better than the mind sometimes.”
“I… well… donotkneel, Mr. Keats.” But… wouldn’t he just look delicious on his knees before her? Her stomach twisted into knots, and a place a bit lower seemed to shiver, ache.
“And why not? You deserve it.”
She ripped her gaze away from his and walked faster than before. “You do not know that.”
He caught up quickly. “Are you one of these women? The Hawthorne House women I shouldn’t talk about?”
“No. I’m something different. The doctor’s sister. A spinster.”
He snorted. “A goddess like you?”
“You must not flirt.”
“Another rule?”
“The most important one. If Mr. Beckett discovers any sort of flirtations, he’ll let you go right quick. These women don’t need the inconvenience of a vapid man who thinks more of himself than he should.”
