The fact that no raised bits were apparent in the grass and no part of the foundation had been spared indicated no attempt had been made to salvage the cottage all those years ago. Judging by what he’d seen of the rest of the grounds of Hawthorne House, the stones had probably been repurposed into other buildings, like the glasshouse he’d been shown on his tour of the estate a few days before.
Time slipped through Art’s fingers as he photographed the site, then jotted a few notes in his electronic tablet. Undernormal circumstances, he would have had a team working with him that would help him remove the grass and turf that covered the site, but until the university approved his proposal, he was doing this for fun.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been cutting away small squares of turf and setting them aside to uncover the area of the excavation before he heard footsteps and looked up to see Ryan striding toward him across the grass.
“I thought you could use a snack,” Ryan said, gesturing to the silver tray he carried.
Art laughed as he stood, brushing dirt from his hands onto his khakis. “You’re the snack, I assume,” he said in full-throttle flirt. Ryan could handle it. He had the aura of a man who was desperate for a fuck but holding himself back for some reason.
Ryan chuckled along with him. “Mum insisted on tea and biscuits,” he said, lifting the tray slightly before bending to set it down on the grass.
Art wished he was on Ryan’s other side so he could get a good look at the man’s arse. Even from the front, he could tell Ryan filled those jeans out well. Especially from the front.
“Care to join me?” he asked, gesturing to the ground like it was a table in a three-star restaurant.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Ryan said with a wide smile, flirting right back.
The two of them sat, and like the perfect aristocratic host he probably was not, Ryan poured two cups of tea from the clearly hand-thrown pot on the tray.
“Did your brother make that?” Art asked, nodding to the teapot as he took the offered glass.
Ryan hummed and nodded. “We sell them at the Medieval festival every year. And Nick made the tray,” he said, looking down at the exquisite, silver tray. “Come to think of it, Rafe made the glass plate the cookies are on, too,” he laughed.
“You’re a family of many talents,” Art said. He took a drink of tea, then added, “I can’t wait to discover all your skills,” with a cheeky wink.
Ryan smirked tantalizingly and took a biscuit from the plate. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said, then bit into the treat while staring straight at Art.
Pure, giddy lust shot through Art. This was exactly what he’d been hoping for when he’d given up his summer to dig in the dirt of Hawthorne House. Graeme was one sort of diversion, one he would absolutely enjoy, but Ryan was a different sort entirely. He didn’t have to play nice with Ryan, he could go straight for what he wanted.
“I would definitely like to know,” he said in a purr, reaching over to stroke Ryan’s leg. “And I think you would enjoy getting to know all about my skills, too.”
Ryan’s expression contorted through half a dozen emotions. He was interested, but hesitating.
Art made an educated guess about why.
“Our adorable gardener friend is on our team, by the way,” he said, returning to a casual tone as he plucked a biscuit from the plate on the tray.
“Graeme?” Ryan asked, quickly glancing over his shoulder to the archway leading to the kitchen garden. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I definitely think so,” Art said, then bit into his biscuit. After he swallowed, he said, “We had a little chat this morning.”
“And he told you he was gay?” Ryan asked, whipping back to him, but keeping his voice as low as possible.
Art beamed at how coy Ryan was being. He guessed he wasn’t the only one who noticed how delicious Graeme was.
“He didn’t tell me in so many words,” he said, “but I ambushed him with a few adjacent questions, and I was able to extrapolate the truth based on that evidence.”
Ryan stared flatly at him. “Think you could say that in English instead of professor speak?”
Art laughed. “He admitted to being divorced, said his wife didn’t cheat on him, but turned extra defensive when he said he didn’t cheat on her.”
“You asked him those things outright?” Ryan seemed shocked and maybe a little embarrassed. Possibly because he might have wanted to ask the same questions.
“The best way to get the answers you want is to ask direct questions,” Art said. “Most people are afraid of asking for what they want, though. Are you?” He swept his hand up Ryan’s leg again and curled his fingers in toward his crotch.
Ryan flinched, but he didn’t bat Art’s hand away.
“See?” Art said. “That little dialog between us told us both more than any long and rambling conversation ever could.”
