“Hmm,” she grunted.
“Is my pace too aggressive?”
Nell would’ve thought she had more pride than to say, “Aye.” But it turned out she hadn’t.
Blessedly, he slowed his step so she could draw abreast of him and catch breath that hitherto had refused to be caught. She flicked him a quick glance. “And this is your idea of a nice holiday?”
“I don’t mind it,” he said on a shrug. “Besides—”
“Yes?”
“You’ll see.”
A frustrated grunt sounded through her nose. “The right amount of trouble, my sweet arse,” she muttered beneath her breath.
“Pardon?”
She was too winded to feel sheepish. “Oh, sometimes the Cockney in me needs letting out. Don’t mind her.”
He darted a surprised glance her direction and laughed. “I’ll take that as a promising sign that I haven’t entirely botched the day by bringing you up here.”
“I wouldn’t get ahead of myself, if I were you.” Even as she spoke the words, she could feel a smile wanting out.
“In my defense,” he said, “the hill is considerably steeper than I remember from my youth. It’s just that—” He hesitated. “I thought you might enjoy what I want to show you up there.”
And like that, Nell’s pique fell away. It was impossible to remain irritated with the man when he was being so… sweet.
Even if he was marching her up a mountain.
She wasn’t sure she’d perspired so much in all her life.
Soon, the trees and shrubberies fell behind them, leaving only low-lying grasses and exposed rock. They’d topped the hill. “Oh, my,” fell from Nell’s mouth. She turned and turned and kept turning. “There’s no end to this view, is there?”
Below them, the countryside stretched for miles in all directions with its verdant rolling hills, dales, and valleys, a river winding like a lazy snake through the landscape here, and a church steeple straining up to meet the heavens there. A thousand feet below stretched England in miniature.
“This must be how kings and queens feel all the time,” she said, wonder in her voice.
“How?”
“Like the world is at their feet.”
Mr. Kendall chuckled, the sound a warm, deep rumble in his chest. Nell felt the strongest urge to reach for his hand, which must be resisted. Instead, she stepped farther away from him and pointed toward the river Derwent and the broad mass of stone that had inspired such awe in her only a few days ago.
He moved to stand by her side, but, thankfully, made no offer of his arm. “That is the High Tor. It’s over three hundred and fifty feet high.”
“Lawks,” Nell whispered. “All ofthis”—she gave her arm a wide sweep—“it’s all nearly too much, isn’t it? Folks in London—in the East End, where I come from—they haven’t the foggiest aboutthis. If they did…” She wasn’t quite sure where her words were leading her.
“They would what?”
She tore her gaze away from the view and looked at Mr. Kendall, a man who, though he was a servant, had never wanted for anything in his privileged life. “They might make a fuss about having a holiday every so often. Because this place—” Again, she swept her arm about in the sort of grand gesture made by others, but never by her. She’d simply never been the sort of person who needed to prove a point. But today,now, she was. “It belongs to every English man and woman, doesn’t it?” A beat. “Not just the nobs. If a person can get here, they can partake of it.”
As Mr. Kendall’s gaze remained locked onto hers, she detected agreement, and something else, too.Appreciation.It sent a novel feeling soaring through her. This man, whom she hardly knew, listened to her—sawher. Few did, or cared to. She was simply Nell—little mouse—to all the world.
Except him.
I don’t see you that way.
How seductive those six little words.
