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“And how old are you?”
“Nine,” she replied, as if that made all the difference in the world.
“Jane,” Elizabeth said from over at the hearth, where she was putting water on for tea, “may I speak with you for a moment?”
Jane politely excused herself and moved to her sister’s side. James pretended not to watch as Elizabeth leaned down and whispered something in her sister’s ear. Jane nodded and ran off.
“What was that all about?” he had to ask.
“I thought she might do with a washing up as well, but I didn’t want to embarrass her by asking in front of you.”
He cocked his head. “Do you really think she would have been embarrassed by that?”
“James, she’s a nine-year-old girl who thinks she’s fifteen. You’re a handsome man. Of course she’d be embarrassed.”
“Well, you would know better than I,” he replied, trying not to let his pleasure show at her having complimented his looks.
Elizabeth motioned to the plate of biscuits. “Aren’t you going to try one?”
He took one and bit into it. “Delicious.”
“Aren’t they? I don’t know what Susan does with them. I’ve never managed to make mine come out as nice.” She took one and bit into it.
James stared up at her, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of her nibbling away. Her tongue darted out to catch an errant crumb, and—
“I’m back!”
He sighed. One of life’s most unexpected erotic moments, interrupted by an eight-year-old boy.
Lucas grinned up at him. “Do you like to fish?”
“It’s one of my favorite sports.”
“I should like to hunt, but Elizabeth won’t let me.”
“Your sister is a very wise woman. A boy your age should not handle a gun without the proper supervision.”
Lucas pulled a face. “I know, but that’s not why she doesn’t let me do it. It’s because she’s too softhearted.”
“If not wanting to watch you mangle a poor, innocent rabbit,” Elizabeth cut in, “means that I am too softhearted, then—”
“But you eat rabbit,” Lucas argued. “I’ve seen you.”
Elizabeth crossed her arms and grumbled, “It’s different when it has ears.”
James laughed. “You sound like young Jane with her aversion to fish eyes.”
“No, no, no,” Elizabeth insisted, “it’s entirely different. If you recall, I am the one who always cuts off the fish heads. So clearly I am not squeamish.”
“Then what’s the difference?” he prodded.
“Yes,” Lucas said, crossing his arms and cocking his head in a perfect imitation of James, “what’s the difference?”
“I don’t have to answer this!”
James turned to Lucas and said behind his hand, “She knows she hasn’t a leg to stand on.”
“I heard that!”
