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CHAPTER11
Pippa clutched the basket of pear tarts close to her side and did her best not to look too eager to be in William’s presence. Could he tell how immensely difficult it was for her to stand still and appear unaffected?
“Did you suffer many losses when your basket fell?” he asked, clasping his hands behind his back and standing on wide, steady legs. He clearly did not struggle with the same difficulty to remain calm and unaffected in her presence that she did in his, for he looked quite naturally at ease.
It made her want to ruffle his composure.
Pippa wedged her basket into the open space she’d created on the table and took a tart. “Only two. But they will make a good treat for the birds tomorrow.”
“You and those birds,” William said, mocking utter awe. “It is incredible how you look out for their well-being.”
“Someone needs to,” Pippa said.
“Do they, though?”
She grinned, unable to dampen her amusement. “Of course they do, and I am the perfect person for the position.”
“I would have to agree on that final score, at least.”
Pippa chuckled, sinking her teeth into a delicious pear tart. She’d lost track of how many she’d eaten thus far. Perhaps she ought to be in charge of the rolls next time, for they were far less easy to overindulge in.
William seemed to be moving closer, though Pippa couldn’t tell if it was a trick of her eye or reality. He wore only his shirtsleeves and a waistcoat, and she forced her gaze not to linger anywhere other than his face. Drat. That was far too easy to get lost in, as well.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice too low and throaty for a conversation tucked in the middle of such a large gathering. “What do you—”
“You tell me,” she countered, afraid of what he’d been about to ask. “How is Lily?”
She’d caught him by surprise. His eyes widened, his thick, dark eyebrows crawling together. “She is a better cook than the woman we hired in Dorset.”
Pippa hadn’t asked about Lily’s cooking. She’d asked about Lily and hoped to learn whether or not William felt anything for her. Evidently, William was going to make this harder than she’d hoped. “Yes, I imagine she is. Lily is a talented cook.” Pippa popped the remainder of her pear tart in her mouth and chewed, discerning the best way to phrase this information-gathering question.
“That looks delicious,” William said, staring at her lips.
She immediately quit chewing, the tart congealing and drying her mouth. With great effort, Pippa swallowed the remainder of her tart and looked about for something to drink. William had other ideas. He stepped closer and lifted his thumb to brush something from her bottom lip.
Pippa froze. Her skin sizzled where he’d touched her and her breath caught, then suspended completely. She wanted to step back, but she was afraid the motion would draw attention to them. Was William completely reckless, or merely a fool?
“The entire town is here,” she said, rubbing her gloved fingers over her lip where he’d seared her. His gloves were decidedly absent, which she found unfair.
“I noticed.”
Ah, so he was completely reckless then. Pippa looked about for Lily to see if she’d noticed William’s gesture, but she was nowhere near. In fact, it didn’t appear that anyone was paying them any mind. Lucky, that.
William continued, unperturbed. “I owe your brother-in-law an enormous debt. If Mac hadn’t organized the men of Collacott to clear and plow my fields, I would still be clearing them come April.”
He’d missed the point completely. He wasn’t reckless then, merely a fool. “It would be difficult to harvest if you haven’t planted anything.”
“Indeed, I wouldn’t have been able to without all this help.” Dipping his head slightly, he held her gaze. “I need your help to discern a suitable way to thank Mac.”
“You might start by not ruining his sister-in-law’s reputation.”
“I hardly think clearing crumbs from your chin will ruin you, Pippa.”
She swallowed both a gasp and the temptation to swat his arm. So he did know what he’d been doing when he’d slid a finger over her lip. The cad. Chin? He hadn’t even brushed her chin.
She tapped a finger thoughtfully against her lips. “You wiped away crumbs that I did not even feel, Mr. Blakemore. Hmmm. Curious, that. How do I know they were truly there at all? How can I be certain you were not merely looking for an excuse to ...”
“Yes?” he asked, tilting his head to the side in feigned confusion. The sparkle in his eye belied his pretended bewilderment about what she could possibly have meant to say.
