Page 19 of The Soldier
“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 less than an inch from her skin.
“It’s level in relation to the ground,” she decided. “Which means it slopes away from the building as the land does, which is what you want it to do.”
“It does,” the earl said, frowning. She was tall for a female, but the top of her head would still fit nicely under his chin were she to turn around and wrap her arms around his waist.
“It will be very handsome when you have it repaired.” She did turn then but stepped away, as well, flashing that warmhearted smile at him. “Herodotus will be pleased you take the appearance of his quarters so seriously.”
The earl found himself smiling back, if for no other reason than the slight throbbing in his groin. “You’ll introduce me to this fine specimen?”
“Come along.” She gestured with a gloved hand, then seemed to notice for the first time her hand wasn’t bare. “My lord, the next time a woman comes calling wearing work gloves, will you bring her attention to the matter before she embarrasses herself?”
Except Miss Farnum wasn’t embarrassed; she was amused as she pulled off the gloves and preceded him into the stables.
“This fine gentleman is my partner, Herodotus. Herodotus, may I make known to you the Earl of Rosecroft?” Long fuzzy ears, long yellow teeth, long whiskers, and a long, slow perusal met the earl’s gaze.
“Herodotus, my pleasure.”
“You aren’t going to laugh at my mule? He’s a very good mule, a gift from the old earl when I moved to the cottage.”
St. Just reached out a hand toward the animal. “Mules are hardier than horses, footwise, but they also survive on the worst rations and can make do with far less water. They are canny about danger and brave when it comes to a fight. Pound for pound, most are stronger than horses and have greater endurance, though most are not quite as fleet. I am pleased to make Herodotus’s acquaintance. He will give my juvenile miscreants someone to look up to.”
“These are your stock?” Miss Farnum asked, moving to stand by Wulf’s stall. The gelding roused himself from his doze along the back wall and came to investigate. She waited patiently for the initial sniffing-over to be completed then found a spot under the horse’s chin that wanted scratching. “Oh, you are a love, aren’t you? And so handsome, and such eyes you have. Won’t you tell me your name?”
The horse was making the kind of faces the earl might have made were Miss Farnum to be running her hands over him with such enthusiasm.
“That shameless tramp is Beowulf,” the earl informed her. “His cohorts in crime are Ethelred, whom you’ve met, and Caesar, who bestirred himself to take me to services today. Which reminds me, why weren’t you there this morning?”
She moved to Red’s stall and obliged the horse with an ear-scratching in silence. Her companion waited, content to enjoy the sight of his horses flirting with her. She fit in here, somehow, fit in in a way the earl wasn’t sure he himself did.
“I do not attend. I never have, down here. In Scotland, it was a different matter, of course. I am on good terms with Mr. Bothwell, as he is a very amiable gentleman, but I never got in the habit, even when my aunt was alive.”
The earl came to stand beside her but faced out, hooking his elbows on the top of Red’s open half door. “You mean you are not welcome?”
“I don’t know, and it hasn’t been important to find out. I am content the good folk hereabouts will buy my breads and pies. Asking them to sit in church with me could jeopardize my livelihood.”
“Why should they hold you in such low esteem? You cannot help your familial circumstances any more than I can help mine.”
“My aunt might have been tolerated for the sake of the old earl and his countess, but her dealings with Helmsley were not kept private, so I am tarred with the same brush. You should know this before you put Winnie in my care even temporarily.”
He settled his hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him, then waited until she met his gaze. This topic had routed his wayward inclinations quite thoroughly.
“I do not give that”—he snapped his fingers in her face—“for the opinion of the dames and squires who show up at church merely to be seen. Winnie cares for you; that is all that matters for the present.”
“I see.”
Catching himself and realizing his temper was threatening to flare again, the earl retreated a step. “I do not mean to state my position with such emphasis,” he said, busying his fingers closing the buttons of his shirt. “I am intolerant of intolerance, if that makes sense.”
Her gaze was glued to his chest as he took the narrow strip of flesh from her view. He’d been arguably indecent to allow her to see even that much, but she wasn’t turning up missish on him, thank the gods.
“I’d guess your men listened when you gave an order.”
“All good soldiers obey orders. I was not as good at command as my brother, but I became adequate.” He turned away to stuff his shirt into his waistband, though he knew that presented her with damp material covering his sweaty back.
“I did not know you served with a sibling,” she said, moving to give some attention to Caesar. “Was that better or worse?”
“Excellent question,” the earl replied, watching as Caesar fell under her spell. “It was better while Bart was alive, and worse—much worse—when he died. After we broke the sieges he’d seek me out, and to see him—just to see him—steadied me.” He fell silent, wondering when the conversation had gotten so… pointless. Cuidad Rodrigo had been years ago and as recent as his last nightmare, but it was not a fit topic of conversation with a lady.
