“New book today, right?” He wiped his face with a cloth tied to his belt.
“Yes.” She found it difficult to meet his dark gaze. “I didn’t mean to rush you. Maybe we can start later if you’re busy.”
“No, we were just fooling around, but I’m sweaty. I should clean up.”
“Don’t!” she nearly shouted.
He came to a stop, his eyebrows reaching his hairline.
“I mean, it doesn’t matter,” she said. “It’s such a fine day that we can study outside. No need for ceremonies. I put a picnic blanket under the sycamore. I brought a basket as well. Oat biscuits and ham and cheese sandwiches.”
He beamed so widely that a pair of dimples appeared on his cheeks. “It sounds perfect.”
She smiled, too, but in triumph. The man ate like a couple of starving horses. The cook kept feeding him, having taken him under her wing, and Keith took full advantage of that. So did she.All is fair in love and war. But she wasn’t in love. No sir.
He adjusted his shirt until the fabric stretched nicely over his broad chest. “What are we going to read today?”
“Wuthering Heights.”
“The Brontë sisters again.”
“Yes. I thought about trying the newspaper, but goodness. Only bad news.” She shook her head, wishing she hadn’t read the gruesome details of the latest terrorist attack. “London is being riddled with bombs by the anarchists. Two days ago, the Fenians bombed the Palace of Whitehall, also hitting Scotland Yard itself. The police fear an underground station would be the next target.”
“Bloody hell. Pardon me.” He rubbed his forehead. “The Fenians are becoming more active. Your father was in London two days ago.”
“Yes. It’s scary. Thank goodness nothing happened to him.”
“Thank goodness.” A strained note snuck into his voice.
“The Fenians are desperate. Papa says they have nothing to lose because the government pushes them to a corner and refuses to acknowledge their rights for an independent Irish republic and for equal treatment of every social class.”
“Their cause might be noble. Their methods are not.”
She nodded. “I don’t want to read about the Fenians.”
“I agree,” he said after a long pause.
“You’re going to loveWuthering Heights.”
It took a moment for him to smile. “I’m sure I will.”
The breeze carried his hearty scent to her. It was a combination of sweat, leather, and the citrus soap he used. She sat next to him on the blanket, wondering for how long her papa would let her enjoy being in Keith’s company unchaperoned. They didn’t stand on ceremonies at Sharpe Manor, but Papa had talked about her having a Season in London. Bad sign. He wanted to find her a husband, which wasn’t necessarily a horrible thing. She loved dancing and meeting new friends, and Papa would never force her to marry someone she didn’t like, but London had to be overwhelming in addition to dangerous.
Her gaze drifted towards Keith of its own accord. The problem with having a Season was that it implied a chaperone, rules, restrictions, and well, staying in London away from her forest, green hills, and too close to the Fenians. And too far from Keith.
He plonked down onto the blanket and crossed his thick legs at the ankles with a sigh.
“Book or sandwich first?” She opened the basket, already knowing the answer.
“Sandwich, please. I’m famished.” He eyed the basket with pure hunger. It wasn’t a bad stare. Intense and focused.
She chuckled. “As usual.”
She handed him a sandwich, and their fingers brushed. It wasn’t the first time. Months ago, before he turned serious and detached, they’d hold hands during long walks on the hills. When they played cricket, they grabbed each other’s arms and sometimes they hugged—it depended if they played in the same team or not. Touches happened constantly. Or they’d happened. He’d grown more careful with their closeness as of late. And today...today her skin tingled at the contact with the rough padsof his fingers. The sensation spread from her hand and crawled along her arm to sit comfortably in her heart.
He withdrew his hand quickly, avoiding her gaze. That was another thing that often happened, him putting distance between them. He obviously didn’t feel the same way she did, and there was safety in that. Her heart wouldn’t break if he was honest with her. Besides, she wasn’t sure what her feelings entailed. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps everything.
By the time she finished her sandwich, he’d devoured three of them with a few big morsels and washed them down with tea. He worked so hard his hunger was understandable. He performed all sorts of jobs in the stables, fields, and even in the kitchen. He cleaned the gymnasium as well, making sure the floor was polished and fresh towels were stacked in the cabinets. Papa had to tell him—no,orderhim to rest.
