Page 18 of The Soldier
“As the tweeny no doubt believes in the requirement to rest on the Sabbath, you are welcome to entertain Winnie any way you like. She wanders though, so keep a close eye on her.”
“I have been trained by the best.” Douglas’s eyes warmed with humor. “But it is a nice day to wander.”
“I’m going to wander off to that stone wall behind the stables and see what progress I can make. I’ll see you at tea.”
Behind the stables, the earl—stripped to his waist and wrestling with sizeable rocks—was pleased Amery hadn’t wanted to join him. While it had been a pleasure to ride back from church with the man, and church had been a worthwhile sortie—despite the number of young ladies he’d seen casting him looks there—that much socializing created a need for solitude. Then, too, Douglas had the habit of somehow being a very quiet, undemanding guest, and yet hard as hell on the nerves anyway.
The earl had just heaved a rock to waist height, intending to position it at the top of the wall, when Miss Farnum came striding into sight around the end of the barn wall.
“My lands!”
So unexpected was the sight of the lady in a soft green walking dress, he barely managed to put the rock on the wall and not on his booted foot. Her hair was neatly gathered at her nape, and she looked in every way tidily turned out, but rough leather work gloves graced her hands.
“You’re not going to help me with this wall, are you?” The earl reached for his shirt, but slowly, knowing it was naughty of him in the extreme. He took his time deciding where the armholes went and figuring out just how a man managed to don such a piece of attire, all the while watching from the corner of his eye while Miss Farnum gazed at him wide-eyed.
“Ye gods. You need more meat on such a gloriously healthy frame, my lord.”
“I need more meat?” No coy pretenses from Miss Farnum. She stared at him shamelessly as he shrugged into his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned in deference to the… heat.
“You most assuredly do need a bit more 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 choosenowof 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.
