“Oh.” She seemed to accept that without trouble, as she had accepted everything about this adventure, with many questions but without distress. Except at one moment, the moment in his bedchamber that stilled his heart to recall.
“I’d like to get it right,” she said.
“You are tenacious.”
Her mouth tilted into an uncertain smile, the dimples reluctant.
“But I think both of us already knew that,” he added, and handed her the cigar once more. She made another attempt. Eventually she conquered it, as she conquered all she wished to conquer, including him. He gazed upon her face gently marked with the mementos of her youth, a naturally lovely face made lovelier by the spirit that shone from within. He had traveled thousands of miles, trekked through jungles and drawing rooms, monsoons and secret chambers, since the age of fifteen rarely pausing for a moment in any one place, and through all of this the road had never troubled him. Yet now within sight of his own house, looking into a pair of blue eyes, he was, quite possibly, lost.
“Congratulations, Miss Lucas.” His voice was unsteady. “You may now apply for membership at any one of the gentlemen’s clubs of London.”
“Splendid.” She returned the cigar to him, brushing her fingers against his, and moved away. “At times I have wished fervently to be a gentleman, you know. They have all sorts of adventures—obviously.” She gestured to him as she set her foot on the lowest branch of a tree and reached up. “And some gentlemen can even be counted upon to rescue a damsel in distress.”
He followed to the base of the tree, the unsteadiness becoming complete, like the tremors that had seized him days ago. But this was new. This was not suffering. “Yet, despite all they have seen of such damsels, some gentlemen are nevertheless somewhat astounded when said damsels take to the sudden climbing of trees.”
“Oh, an ordinary gentleman might be. But a hero is never surprised by unexpected turns.” She pulled herself onto a thick branch and climbed to the next, providing him a delectable view of the calves he wished to caress. “Especially when the damsel is merely seeking a treasure in said tree.” She pointed toward a bird’s nest tucked in the crook of a branch, stretching to peer over its edge. “See?”
“I do. Now that you have found your treasure, will you come down before I am obliged to watch you fall and break your neck?”
“I don’t suppose you would like it if I died such an undramatic death, after all the trouble I have put you through.”
“Especially not given that, it’s true.”
“Do you think the parents are far?”
“Why? Do you hope to steal the eggs and fetch them up to Mrs. Polley to cook for dinner?”
“No!” Her head cocked to the side. “I think you are speaking from experience.”
“You are probably right about that.”
She twisted her lips. “How old were you?”
“Young enough to be considered blameless for the misdeed.” Blameless for his misdeed. His breaths came short. “Now will you come down before I climb up there and retrieve you?”
She dimpled. “You wouldn’t.”
He moved toward the trunk.
She scrambled down. As she came to the last branch he offered his hand, then his other. Any young lady who could climb a tree with such alacrity could get herself down from it. But he wanted to hold her. He grasped her waist and she allowed him to draw her to the ground.
He knew why he had done this. A sennight ago she would have taken this opportunity to invite him to touch her further. But now her lashes only flickered, her breasts rising on a quick breath, and with a small smile she slipped out of his grasp. He let her go. She knew now of what he was capable, and she would not make the mistake of putting herself in his hands again. Her swift departure from the corridor that morning proved it.
She glanced back up at the nest. “Then, I am to understand you have been a thief since your boyhood, like Owen?”
“No.”
She lifted a skeptical brow.
He smiled. “Not continuously, that is. Now, come. Mrs. Polley will have dinner waiting, and there is a cow to be milked.”
“Eggs and bread again. And apples. I will be very glad for a change in menu soon. Will we truly leave tomorrow?”
“Truly.” Or he would go mad. Kitty and Leam would have arrived already if they were in London. He may have to take her there himself. But he knew now that she was too clever to deceive. When they reached England he would tell her their destination. She might balk, but he didn’t believe she would. She had learned the true nature of men, and she was wary now.
“For a London gentleman, Wyn, you certainly seem very comfortable in a barn.”
“This is a stable, Diantha, and I have told you that I am not from London.” He drew a stool close to the side of the big brownish red and white cow.
“Not from London.” She dangled the empty bucket against the knee of her pin-striped skirt. The stained muslin was more suited to farm tasks than the blue gown from the attic, and it didn’t smell like camphor. “But you spend a great deal of time there, don’t you?”
“There and elsewhere.” He took the bucket from her.
“Where elsewhere?”
“I believe this is an occasion when if you persist in prying I may rely upon evasion.” He sat on the low stool and placed the bucket beneath the cow’s heavy udder, and Diantha stared quite unashamedly. It did not feel wrong to look at him overlong. It felt right.
She licked her lips. “Do you believe in Destiny?”
“No.” He drew off his coat and deposited it on a bench, his white shirt stretching tight across his shoulders. “But I have absolutely no doubt that you do.”
“Why?”
“A Grand Plan . . .” He unbuttoned his cuffs and folded the linen up his forearms.
“Oh.” It was difficult to manage more words. If God had invented a sight to set her entire body aquiver, Wyn Yale removing his clothes was it. She gripped the stall door for steadiness. “But I suspect destiny would tend to disturb any plans a person made,” she mumbled, “so it is complicated.”
“I daresay.”
She moved closer to him. He drew her like this, from that first day. It might have something to do with the way his shirt pulled at his shoulders, or the strength in his arms revealed by the cuffed sleeves. She could not breathe properly. Not to be wondered at. He’d put his hands on the cow’s teats and they were strong and sinewy too, and although it was perfectly ridiculous and a little peculiar she could not help remembering them on her teats. And then for the hundredth time she thought about his mouth there and how he had touched her and what he’d said to her.
“What about Reincarnation? Do you believe in that?”
“Probably not.” The muscles in his hands and arms flexed, and jets of milk squirted into the bucket with tinny clangs. “Are we to engage in a discussion of world philosophies today, Miss Lucas?” he said with a slight smile.
She believed in Reincarnation. At this moment she was certain she had been here before, with him. Not milking a cow, of course. But together like this doing mundane tasks. Alone together. Her heart felt it, and it was incredibly disconcerting because she didn’t believe in any of that heart nonsense. But Reincarnation seemed another thing altogether.
“I’ve been reading a lot these past few days,” she managed. “I always thought my stepfather’s collection of archeological journals and scholarly what-have-you peculiar enough. But the library here is very curious. A remarkable selection for a lady, really.”
“Perhaps the lady did not live here alone.”
“You may be right. Yesterday I came across a book on the religions of the East Indies.”
“Thus Reincarnation.”
