He shook his head. “Thank you, no. But you should eat.”
I slipped my hand under the cloth, forgetting what was there besides scones. I muttered a curse—out loud this time—and drew back my hand. Blood dribbled down my finger, and my host sucked in a breath, his chair digging hard against the wood floor as he slid farther back from the table.
“It’s not deep,” I said quickly, grabbing the cloth and pressing it against the cut. “I forgot I’d put a knife in the basket.”
“Do you need the surgeon, Miss Penrose?”
Hearing strain in his voice, I looked up. He’d gone very pale.
“Is it the blood?” I asked. “I know it bothers some people.”
For a moment he looked shocked to his core; the intensity of it frightened me. But just as quickly his features loosened. “Yes, the blood,” he said. “I’m sorry I cannot assist you.”
Things began to make more sense now. The way he’d kept his distance until I’d cleaned the wound on my head. How he’d sat back from the table. I was relieved to learn it hadn’t been something aboutme.
“Heavens,” I said, moving my injured hand beneath the table. “I must be your worst nightmare.”
His dry laugh caught me by surprise. Slowly he moved to his chair, scooting it back to the table. “You’re very considerate. I’m all right now.”
Near the window, a vase containing a bouquet of goldenrod rested on the table, and he reached to adjust it slightly. “The knife is a wise precaution,” he said. “Though still I wonder at your going out on the heath alone after what happened. You’re either very brave ...”
“Or very foolish. Yes.” I waited until he met my gaze and continued, “I know I had no right to be on your land, Mr. Tregarrick. I’ve caused a great deal of bother, and I’m truly sorry.”
“It’s not the first time.” My stomach twisted, but then I caught a glint of mischief in his eyes. “That you’ve been on the estate.”
“No, sir, it’s not. But I promise not to do it again.” The idea of giving up the heath caused a pang, but trespassing on the estate now that I knew him and had been a guest in his home, now that I’d gotten in over my head and needed rescuing ... it was no longer possible.
“Under normal circumstances,” he replied, “I don’t mind you on the estate any more than I mind the boys who snare rabbits in the birchwood.” Smiling, he added, “Yes, I know about them,” and I thought I must have looked alarmed. “They might as well eat them, since I don’t.”
“That’s very kind of you, sir.”
He reached for the pot and filled our cups again. Rain continued tapping against the sill, and cool air ribboned through the narrow opening. He seemed to have gotten over his uneasiness about the blood, though I wouldn’t have gone so far as to say he looked comfortable.
I couldn’t help wondering what his story was. Something awful in his past, maybe, that had left him alone and unwilling to seek out the company of his fellow creatures. It made me sad for him, and grateful for Jack and Mrs. Moyle. Jack and I had hit a rough patch of road, but we’d been together all our lives. If I lost him, I’d never be the same.
Sipping the smoky tea for courage, I said, “Do you truly live here all alone, Mr. Tregarrick?”
His eyes lifting to mine brought a rush of warmth. “I do,” he said.
“How do you manage with no servants?”
“Very likely the same wayyoumanage with no servants.”
I frowned. “Forgive me for saying so, sir, but I don’t think itisthe same. I wasn’t born on an estate such as this. My brother and I were raised to do everything for ourselves because there was never going to be anyone else to do it for us.”
He gave a slow nod. “You make a fair point. Yet what I said was no more than the truth.”
Still struggling to believe him, I said, “You do all your own cooking?”
“I have simple tastes.”
Simple.Glancing around the room again, I thought about what very different worlds we’d been born into.
“Until yesterday,” I said, “I’d never seen you in the village or the market. Where do you shop?”
“Ah, you have me there. I’ve an agent in the village who sees to things that need seeing to, and I suppose that’s a kind of servant. He buys supplies as I need them and handles things like my correspondences. And of course I have—had—a solicitor for estate matters.”
My heart gave a heavy thump. “Poor Mr. Roscoe,” I said softly.
