“I must also confess a little secret.” She changed her voice, elevating its pitch and infusing the words with a breathy, conspiratorial tone. “I couldn’t resist coming closer to steal a glance at your flowers. They’re lovely. You possess quite a talent in the garden.”
She secretly swore at her use of the word “steal.” But the farmer’s mouth opened and closed like a fresh-caught trout on a riverbank.
Thank goodness for dimples.
She hoped that her flushed complexion would contribute to ademure impression. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand, praying it added to the effect. “But I am shy with strangers. I think it best that I now depart.” She allowed a slight quaver to enter her voice. With a small bob, she turned and resumed walking, fighting the overwhelming urge to bolt.
But the ruse worked. He didn’t give chase.
Tonight, curled under her bedclothes, she could ponder the frequency with which men underestimated women. So much so that one could slip away with stolen goods under their very nose, evading notice, all the while adorned with an inscrutable smile and employing a soft-spoken manner. However, in the present, there was no room for moral qualms. Descending the hill, retracing her steps toward the pond, she narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the surroundings. The tranquility appeared almost too flawless—two blackbirds flitting about, a frog croaking from the shadows. Was he still present? Her pace hastened, and she pursed her lips, emitting a low whistle.
It took effort to maintain her composure when Tuck emerged at the sound. The firm hold of his jaw eased a fraction, subtle relief relaxing his features before he intentionally masked the expression. The familiarity of his gesture caught her off guard, feeling oddly relatable. Concealing her genuine sentiments was a practice she engaged in so frequently that it had become habitual. It was discomfiting to see the gesture mimicked on another.
“You came back.” His deep voice, carrying the faint twang, resonated with a mix of gratitude and irritation.
Her throat grew tight, words sticking like honey. “Of course. I promised, didn’t I?”
“Good.” Gold ringed his pupils like a sunburst. “Good.” Before she could breathe, he was turning away. “What’s the game plan?”
“First”—she frowned—“this isn’t a game. Second, here.” She advanced, grimacing when her boot heel squelched into the mud. “You can change into these.”
He unrolled the clothing and went still, unreadable. “No.”
“No?” Confusion swiftly transformed into ire. “Nowhat, exactly?” Her already thin patience had reached its limit in the past hour. Was he about to act ungracious, even after she had freed chickens from a coop and dealt with the flirtatious farmer? Tucker Taylor, from his mud wallow, was going to tell her no?
Indeed not.
“Those aren’t even real pants,” he said. “They’re capris. I’ll look like a joke.”
She didn’t understand all his words, but red flashed behind her narrowed eyes.
“Allow me to be straightforward.” Her gaze flickered disapprovingly over his attire. “We can’t justify your current dress if we encounter anyone. I understand that these clothing choices lack style or sophistication, but the only joke here will be you if you’re caught in your current dress. We need to cross two fields and an entire stretch of woods to reach my cousin’s residence, all the while hoping that no one comes too close as it is. I don’t even have stockings for you.”
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of rain. She glanced over a shoulder and pinched the bridge of her nose. Dark clouds loomed. Just their luck.
Except...
Her gloomy thoughts vanished instantly—yes, rain clouds!
Itwasluck.
With the weather taking a turn for the worse, they’d be less likely to run into anyone else on a pleasure stroll or social call.
“Sir.” She turned around to face him, not as if he were a handsome stranger or a time traveler but rather a poorly behaved child. “If you want my continued support, I’m going to insist that you don’t waste my time or your air by telling me all the reasons you cannot wear the clothing, and in fact just get on with it. From the look of those clouds, it won’t take long until the rain starts in earnest. We can’t remain.”
“I am not sure how to put these things on,” he grumbled.
Her hands flew to her hips. He might be acting like a baby, but she was not his mother. “If you require coddling, Mr.Taylor, you’d better look elsewhere. I’m not setting a single foot into that swamp to dress you.”
“Tuck. Tucker.” He glanced up as if he’d surprised himself by the force of his words. “Please. Call me by my name.”
“I’ll call you by whatever name that you so desire if you are sorted within the next two minutes.” But she wouldn’t. Not really. She couldn’t imagine calling a stranger by their given name.
He blinked before narrowing his eyes slightly. “You don’t take any crap, do you?”
Crap?Her brows furrowed as she tried to recall the meaning of the word. “Like castoffs?” She nodded in dawning comprehension; the term wasn’t commonly used. “No, I won’t tolerate being treated as inconsequential or having my ideas casually dismissed. I do not wish to take suchcrapfrom anyone if I can help it. You are not a child.” She refused to let her gaze travel the span of his shoulders. Heavens, they seemed wider than the English Channel.
“No, I’m not.” He scrutinized her in a manner that was so unlike the farmer’s. No focusing on the bounce of her curls, or the turn of her nose, but trying to push deeper, see further.
