“I’m sorry, Molly.” William placed a hand over hers and felt the now familiar tingle of heat at even that simple touch.
“Not as sorry as I.” She sighed deeply, then lifted the cup to her lips and drank. “Oh, this is lovely. I was in need of it this very moment.”
“Then I’m happy to oblige.” He watched as she struggled to relax. “Now about payment for those chores.” He saw her frown return and lifted a hand before she could protest. “There are many things Duncan was able to teach me. But one thing we haven’t been able to manage is making proper repairs to our clothes.” He unrolled his sleeve to show her a frayed cuff. “This was my favorite shirt, but it’s now relegated to something I can only wear in the comfort of my own home.”
When she remained silent he said, “I thought we might barter services, Molly. You have need of new thatch for your roof, and a bit of pruning in your gardens. Duncan and Tyler and I have need of decent repairs to our clothes. It would be mutually beneficial if we could—” he cleared his throat, hoping she wouldn’t be offended by the implication “—see to each other’s needs.”
Her smile was slow in coming. But when it did, he felt himself begin to relax.
“That’s very kind of you, William.”
Had she actually spoken his name? He wanted to ask her to say it again, but he didn’t want to call attention in case it had been a mere slip of the tongue. To his ear it had sounded so noble, so manly when she’d said it.
“Then you agree?” He offered his hand.
She stared at it a moment before nodding. Then she placed her hand in his. “I do.”
For the space of several moments they stared into each other’s eyes as they shook hands. Then William surprised her by lifting her palm to his lips where he pressed a kiss to the center, then kissed each of her fingers as well.
Heat spiraled through her veins and centered deep inside, where it seemed to pulse and tighten. How could it be that the mere touch of him had the power to do this to her?
She pulled her hand away and got to her feet. “I really must go. I haven’t a thing ready for my supper.”
“You could stay and share our roast goose. I brought two fine geese home today, and Duncan has already set them to cooking.”
“Roast goose.” She spoke the words on a sigh.
“Aye. And I must admit, Duncan can do things to make a goose taste better than anything. If you’re going to stay and sup, you’d best do it when it’s Duncan who is cooking. What passes for food when Tyler and I take our turns is often unfit for man or beast.”
“You all take turns?”
“It’s only fair. For we all do our share of the work. “
What a puzzle he was. If the rumors she’d heard were true, William Colton was the son of a titled nobleman. And yet here he was, wearing frayed shirts and sharing household chores with a man and boy he’d rescued from a hay barn.
Molly paused at the door. “I thank you for your generous offer to share your meal, but I really need to get back.” After stepping outside she turned. “If you’ll bundle together the clothes that need mending, I’ll start on them as quickly as possible.”
He lifted a hand to a stray curl that kissed her cheek. Again she was forced to endure that rush of heat and that quick flutter of her heartbeat.
“There’s no rush, Molly. We’ve waited this long. We can wait until you finish what you’ve started for others.”
He watched her lift her skirts and start across the field, and realized he’d managed to diffuse that amazing temper of hers.
But what was he going to do about this fickle heart of his? Whenever she got too close, he forgot all those fine promises he’d made himself, about avoiding romantic entanglements.
This was strictly a business arrangement, he reminded himself. The more he earned her trust, the more willing she would be to consider selling him her land.
Now if he could just avoid looking into those green eyes. Or touching those silken tresses. Or getting too close to the very bewitching Molly Warner.
Chapter 6
The sound of a carriage had Wolf rising from his spot in front of the fire and issuing a low growl of warning.
William hurried to the door and greeted the man who stepped down. The two stood in the doorway talking, before William reached into his pocket and paid the man. The two shook hands. Minutes later the man took his leave, and the team and carriage rumbled into the darkness.
William glanced toward Molly’s cottage and saw the light in the window. Despite the lateness of the hour, she was still up. Working, he had no doubt.
“Come, Wolf,” he called.
The dog slipped outside and began to race across the field, with the man following at a more leisurely pace.
When he reached Molly’s door, he knocked and listened to the sound of her footsteps as she approached. The door opened, spilling light into the darkness. He studied the way she looked framed in the doorway. Despite the lateness of the hour she was still dressed. Her hair had tumbled free of its neat knot, with little tendrils spilling around her forehead and cheeks. Her eyes showed the hint of fatigue.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” He kept his tone light.
“I could ask you the same thing.” She peered beyond him into the darkness. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.” He motioned. “May I come inside?” Seeing her hesitation, he added, “Just for a moment.”
She opened the door wider and stepped aside.
He brushed past her, aware of the way his body responded to hers. Sometimes, especially late at night when his defenses were weak, he found himself aching for her. An ache that had been costing him a great deal of sleep lately.
He glanced around the tidy room. “How is the gown for Mistress Cannon coming along?”
‘‘Very nicely.” She pointed to the length of fabric tossed over the end of the chaise. “It’s almost done. Just a few more seams.” She sighed. “But I fear the shawl will be a disappointment to her.”
“Perhaps this will help.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a skein of pale-peach yarn.
Molly’s eyes widened. She clapped her hands over her mouth and simply stared. When she could find her voice, she managed to whisper, “Wherever did you find that?”
“When I learned that one of Lord Kent’s solicitors had to travel up to London, I asked him to buy this for me.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “But how could he have possibly known the exact color?”
“I gave him the strand you’d left on my table.”
“The strand...?” To her utter astonishment, tears filled her eyes and she was helpless to stop them as they spilled over and trailed down her cheeks.
Mortified, she turned away to hide them. But it was too late. William had seen. He was so touched, he reached for her and turned her into his arms.
“Oh, William.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt a sob catch in her throat. “No one has ever shown me such a kindness before.”
“Then I’m doubly pleased. Pleased that I could be the first and pleased that I had the opportunity to make up for my dog’s despicable behavior.”
“So now he’s your dog?”
“It would seem so.” He could feel the dampness of her tears against the front of his shirt, could feel the little tremors she was struggling to hide. With his lips to her temple he murmured, “Does this mean that Wolf and I are forgiven?”
“More than forgiven.” She lifted her head and smiled through her tears. “ I am in your debt, William. I don’t know how I’ll repay you.”
He framed her face with his hands, wiping her tears with his thumbs. “You already have, Molly. Just seeing your smile is all the payment I’ll ever need.”
For the space of a heartbeat he stared down into her eyes, feeling such a welling of tenderness, his heart seemed too big for his chest. He was afraid to breathe. Afraid to speak, for fear of spoiling the moment.
Instead of words,
he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. Just the merest touch of lips to lips. As gentle as a raindrop falling on a flower petal. But he could feel her heart thudding, as wildly as his own. And for some unexplained reason, he felt wildly ecstatic. Oh, he wanted to shout. To swing her around and around until they were both dizzy. And he wanted, more than anything, to kiss her again. And then again.
It occurred to him that in her overwrought state, it might be an easy matter to take this further. But he knew he had no right to take advantage of her vulnerability.
Instead he drew a little away and lifted her chin with his thumb and finger. “Promise me something, Molly.”
“What?”
His voice was unusually gruff. “Promise me that you’ll put aside your worries now and take yourself off to bed. There’s time enough tomorrow to deal with Camilla Cannon’s shawl.”
Her smile came through, quick and bright, warming his heart as nothing else could. “Aye. I promise. Thanks to you, William, my sleep will be undisturbed by fears of what might have been.”
“That’s my girl.” He brushed his mouth over hers, and felt himself actually tremble before forcing himself to walk to the door. The sooner he was out in the fresh night air, the safer they would both be.
“Good night, Molly.”
She stayed where she was, as if sensing that they were walking a fine line that could still be crossed at any moment. “Good night, William.”
He pulled the door firmly shut. All the way back to his cottage he cursed and called himself every kind of fool. He could have had what he most wanted, without any effort. For years now he’d prided himself on taking what he wanted. But this was different. Though the ache for her was stronger than ever, he knew he’d done the honorable thing. He didn’t want her to confuse gratitude with something entirely different.
Love? he wondered.
What utter nonsense. The need building inside him was nothing more than lust. A perfectly reasonable emotion, considering his situation. He’d been a long time without a woman.
Perhaps it would be better for both of them if he took himself off to the tavern tomorrow night. The women there had no illusions about their emotions. The only thing they lusted over was gold.
But as he drew near his own cottage, he knew he could never be satisfied with a tavern wench now that he’d tasted the sweetness of the beautiful widow Warner. It was Molly he wanted. No one else could come close.
* * *
“Good afternoon, Duncan. Tyler.” Molly carried a tray to the garden bench and uncovered it to reveal thin slices of tender beef and a plate of biscuits, as well as a dish of jam and a pot of tea.
Almost at once the two lay down their tools and hurried over.
It had become a ritual. Whenever they found time to work at her place, she would insist that they stop at midday to eat. The man and boy, accustomed to simple fare, had begun raving to William about the widow Warner’s fine cooking. Nobody, it seemed, made biscuits as light as hers. And nobody in all of England had ever cooked beef to such perfection. The simplest tea and jam drew such compliments, William had finally lifted his hands in exasperation.
“Soon,” he’d cried, “you’ll tell me even her water is heaven-sent.”
“That could be,” Duncan had replied with a grin. “For it tastes cooler when she serves it on that pretty little tray out in her garden.”
They’d brought home more than compliments and a basket of freshly mended clothes. Gradually they’d learned, over those midday lunches, from bits and pieces of things she’d let slip, that her husband had been a wastrel. That he’d died far too young, leaving his young widow destitute. That she had returned to Surrey to nurse her father through a long, painful illness, and that he’d left her nothing of value except his land and small cottage.
“Do you think she’d be willing to sell it, Duncan?”
The old man glanced across the table and frowned. “If she did, where would she go?”
William shrugged. “Is there no family?”
“None that she’s spoken of.”
“Perhaps you could ask the next time you’re having one of your lovely tea parties.”
At his tone of sarcasm he saw the old man’s head come up. Both Duncan and Tyler had become extremely protective toward the widow Warner. In fact, like Wolf, who had taken to lying at her feet, begging for the touch of her hand on his head, or a scratch of her fingers behind his ears, they all seemed to have become almost territorial where Molly Warner was concerned.
“Perhaps you’d like to ask her yourself, William.”
“And when would I have time to do that?”
“Tomorrow. We’re putting new thatch on her roof. We could use another hand.”
William shrugged. “I’ll give it some thought. I suppose I could miss a few hours at Lord Kent’s estate.”
The old man smiled as he walked away.
* * *
In the morning the three trudged across the field to the neighboring cottage to begin the task of removing the old thatch and replacing it with new. They surprised Molly, who was just returning from the field with a basket of blueberries.
She looked so bright and pretty, it took William a full minute to find his voice. While Duncan and Tyler carried on a running conversation like old friends, he merely stood and stared. The breeze tugged at her hair and caught her skirts, flattening them against her legs. Her eyes fairly sparkled in the morning sunlight. And her face. How was it possible, he wondered, for one little female to look so fresh, so lovely, without any effort at all?
What had happened to make her so beautiful in his eyes? Her frock was the same shabby one she wore every day, though it probably required washing every night, since it was always spotless. Her shoes were dull and worn. Her apron was little more than a few remnants of fabric cleverly stitched together to form several deep pockets. But there was nothing dull or worn about her smile. It rivaled the sun.
“Good morning, William.” She turned that smile on him now as she made ready to step through the doorway. “How is it that you’re here today, instead of overseeing Lord Kent’s estate?”
“I thought I’d give Duncan and Tyler a hand. It’s time I learned a thing or two about thatch.”
“And no one better to teach you, I’d wager.” She turned that brilliant smile on the old man. “Duncan constantly amazes me with all the things he can do.”
“Aye,” Tyler called as he began catching the old rushes which Duncan was already tossing from the roof. “There’s no finer tutor in all of England than my grandfather.”
William tore himself away from Molly to join the old man. Under Duncan’s tutelage he began removing the old thatch and tossing it to the ground, where Tyler gathered it up to be bundled for burning in Molly’s fireplace over the long winter.
When the roof was bare of old thatch, the two men climbed down and began tying the fresh rushes into bundles, and hauling them to the roof. This was a much more difficult task, and one which required a great deal of patience, for the rushes had to be secured against wind and rain and all manner of rough weather.
While they worked, they were aware of the most tantalizing fragrances wafting from inside the cottage. By the time the church bells sounded the midday Angelus, the door opened and Molly carried a linen-covered tray to the bench in the garden.
“I hope you’re hungry,” she called, “for I’ve made...” Her voice trailed off when she caught sight of William up on the roof.
In the heat of the day he’d removed his shirt. Muscles rippled across wide shoulders and a broad back that was slick with sweat. When he jumped down from the roof and turned to face her, she saw a mat of dark hair on his chest that trailed his fiat stomach and disappeared beneath the narrow waist of his pants. The sight of him stole her breath away. She’d never seen a more perfect body.
He flashed her a smile. “What’s this?”
“I’ve...brought a basin of cool water for washing.”
“Ah.” He bent t
o it, soaping his arms, then splashing water over his face and head. Not wanting to soil the clean linen she’d set beside the basin, he picked up his shirt and mopped himself dry before slipping it on. “Something smells wonderful.”
“Pot pies.” She couldn’t seem to look away. She stared, fascinated, as he buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his waist. The damp fabric clung to his chest, clearly revealing the outline of muscles. “One for each of you, for I saw the way you were working, and knew you’d all three be ravenous.”
“Bless you, miss.” Duncan, who’d been watching her as she stared at his young friend, washed, then stepped aside so that his grandson could follow suit. “I’m sure I speak for the lad when I say we’ve come to look forward to your meals.”
“Not nearly as much as I’ve come to look forward to all the help you’ve given me, Duncan.” She indicated the steaming pies, each one big enough to be a complete meal.
While the men dug in, she poured water from a pitcher and handed around three goblets.
“Oh, miss.” Duncan closed his eyes as he bit into the pastry filled with beef and summer vegetables in a thick gravy. “How will I ever be able to enjoy heaven one day unless the angels can top this?”
Molly’s laughter rang on the air. “Why, Duncan Biddle, I do believe you’re trying to charm me.”
“Nay, miss. I speak the truth. This may be the finest meat pie I’ve ever tasted.” He turned to bis grandson. “What say you, lad?”
The boy was so busy shoveling food into his mouth, he couldn’t speak. When he’d finally managed to swallow, he nodded. “Aye, Grandfather. I’ve never tasted anything so fine. If I finish all this, I’ll be as fat as Mistress Sloan’s sow.”
Molly laughed again. “Then I suppose it would be foolish of me to bring out slices of that blueberry pie I baked.”
The boy’s eyes went wide. “Truly? A blueberry pie?”
She nodded. “Do you think you could manage a tiny sliver, Tyler?”
“Aye, miss. I believe I could.”
The lad watched as she returned to her cottage and came back carrying a tray with three of the biggest slices of pie he’d ever seen, as well as a pot of tea.
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