Kate swung the buckets beside her, glad of the freedom of her trousers as she followed the edge of the woods up to where the blackberries encroached upon the old pasture.The air seemed especially fresh and clean after the stifling hours spent with Mrs.Leeds.
All that poking and prodding had served to remind her of another existence, a lifetime ago, that no longer was within reach.Oh, some of the materials had been as smooth and delicate as a butterfly’s wings, but what use would they have in her world?There were no balls or social calls on her calendar, only work that needed to be done.
Lucy clung tenaciously to the past and had been ecstatic over the fittings, so Kate had gone along, unwilling to spoil her sister’s happiness.And Meg’s daughter had been kind, carrying on over the sisters as though they were still heiresses, not impoverished spinsters.But Kate knew the truth, and no amount of dressing up could change it.They were hanging on, just barely, and needed another hog to butcher far more than fine gowns.
But she had not bothered to argue with the arrogant marquess, for if their clothing was too shabby or inappropriate for his taste, he could pay for different garments.The Courtlands certainly could not.And since he claimed he had no interest in Lucy, she no longer worried about him exacting a toll from her sister.The man was not the sort to lie to her face, whatever his shortcomings.
And he had a few.The qualities Kate found compelling had become less so as he seemed to take over the household she had struggled so hard to maintain.And the mastery she admired was all well and good, as long as it didn’t extend to mastery overher.
She flushed as she remembered his untoward behavior yesterday and her wanton reaction.And she could only come to one conclusion: the marquess was no gentleman.The night she had come across him in his bath had been bad enough.But that had been an accident, and though he had taunted her about joining him, he made no move.And when he was injured and ill...She discounted that entirely.
But yesterday he had acted deliberately, putting her in a compromising position where anyone could have seen them.He claimed to be proving his point concerning Lucy, but Kate did not appreciate the lesson.
And she refused to believe that such a handsome, powerful nobleman could be interested in a grubby girl dressed as a boy.She had melted in his embrace, so bereft of her good sense as to lie back shamelessly on the table like a serving of dessert, while he had appeared unaffected.
As if to prove it, Grayson had conversed with Badcock as though nothing unusual had occurred.The thought made Kate swallow hard, for she realized that the experience that had been so momentous, if disastrous, for her had meant little to him.She took the last few steps at a run in an effort to distance herself from the knowledge.
She tried to concentrate on her task, but her hand shook as she reached for the ripest fruit, Her life was difficult enough, without the added problems posed by her visitor.And what would happen when the man left—and took his cook, his food, and his mastery away with him?
Calm, capable Kate, who never dared complain or feel anything at all, was filled with embarrassment, anger, and something else she could not name.
The silence was broken by the sound of movement, and Kate turned, unsure who or what would seek her out in this secluded spot.Her anger flared at the sight that met her eyes, for climbing up the slope was Grayson, impeccably dressed from the tops of his shiny boots to his elegant coat.
Despite the warmth of the day, he looked perfectly composed, without even a drop of sweat across his brow to mark his exertions.Kate felt like knocking him down the hill, dirtying his superbly cut clothes, and somehow making him feel as miserable and confused as she did.
But that would never happen, for not even a bullet and a fever affected the man’s perfect composure.Turning her back to him, she continued picking berries, yanking on the stems hard enough to test her gloves.
“Kate.”His voice weaved its way under her skin, all warm and compelling, but she refused to acknowledge it.
“I’ve come about Lucy,” he said, a trace of amusement in his tone that set Kate’s teeth on edge.Had he no intention of begging her pardon for his behavior yesterday, or had it meant so little to him that he had forgotten it already?The thought made her squish a ripe berry between her fingers, and she looked down, surprised at the mangled fruit.
“Careful now.You don’t want to get pricked,” Grayson warned, and Kate glanced over at him, annoyed to see the slight curve of his lips.Was he toying with her again?Refusing to rise to his bait, she gave him a cold look and returned to her task.
“I’ve begun my search for the imposter,” he said.“Meg and Tom gathered some gossip in the village today, and we have a few promising leads.But I do not want Lucy to know what we are about.”
Kate turned toward him, surprised at how quickly he had progressed and at the wealth of information in his simple statement.But she could not argue with his decision.“You’re afraid she might interfere.”
He nodded, his dark hair touched by the breeze.
“Very well.I won’t tell her,” Kate said, trying to maintain some semblance of the control that had marked her life for the past few years.
“Good.I think it will be best at least until I can discover what sort of man he is,” Grayson said, and then he stepped closer.“Here, let me help you.”
Kate shot a swift glance at him, dismayed to see him reach for the edges of his claret superfine.“No, that isn’t necessary,” she protested, unable to tear her gaze away.Please don’t take off your coat.
Although the words screamed in Kate’s head, Grayson did not hear them.He shrugged out of the elegant material to stand before her in his shirt and waistcoat, and while she watched, he rolled up his sleeves, exposing a dark dusting of hair.
Kate had seen him in far less, but the sight of his bare forearms in the sunlight made her feel warm and weak and wanting.As if oblivious to her stare, Grayson picked up the other bucket and moved toward the bushes.
He wore no gloves, but reached for the fruit with his well-formed, well-groomed hands.When his long, masculine fingers caught a berry and rolled it gently from its perch, her breath caught.
Kate looked away, her cheeks flaming, her blood pounding.“You will stain your skin,” she said when she could speak.
“No matter.”
She should have known.For all his elegance, Grayson seemed at ease anywhere, anytime.She could easily imagine him as a great Norman knight or a Viking warrior, strong and bold and…
Clearing her suddenly tight throat, Kate tried to ignore him, concentrating instead on filling her bucket as quickly as possible, so as to escape his heady presence.For a moment, all was quiet, except for the sounds of rustling branches and calling birds, and she thought to regain her composure at last.Then he spoke.
