And yet still, she nodded. “Tomorrow then.”
With a wave, he made his own way out of the small house on the edge of her father’s property.
Later that night, as he laid on the small mattress provided for him in the hunter’s cottage at Ashton Acres, he considered the opinions she’d stated about Mary Shelly’s book.
And then an icy cold seemed to flow through his veins.
Was Stanton’s mine to become his very own Frankenstein? He hoped not. Gabriel was already making enough of a mess here in Misty Brooke.
Chapter 11
AHole in the Hill
“I’d liketo see the mine,” Olivia surprised Gabriel by saying after climbing up and settling herself onto the high-perched bench of the shiny red vehicle he’d borrowed once again for the afternoon.
Ah, the cursed mine!
Another leak had broken through the back end, and they’d had to evacuate for the afternoon. They’d managed to stem the flow, but the water needed to drain off.
“Now?” He’d offered to take her before, and she’d declined.
“I… want to be able to see it. Perhaps then I can think of it as simply a mine and not…” He waited but she didn’t finish her statement.
Had she been going to call it a curse? He supposed this afternoon would be as good a time as any, especially with the workers having all been sent home early.
Good Lord but Crawford had been vexed when he’d heard of yet another delay.
“Unless you had somewhere else in mind. Not swimming,” she added.
He grimaced. “Your wish is my command.” He flicked the ribbons and then turned the horses in the opposite direction. He explained about the leaks, the postponements, and the frayed tempers. “But it should be relatively quiet now.”
She held herself stiffly. And whereas before she’d grasped his arm for security, today she held tightly to the edge of the bench.
Perhaps for the best.
And this was another day he could satisfy himself that Smith would not be issuing her a formal proposal. “You are still not considering marrying him, are you?” He needn’t explain who he referred to. It was possible she understood him as well as he understood her. Most of the time anyhow. There were all those other things about her that he couldn’t quite comprehend.
Like what she was thinking when that faraway look came into her eyes.
Her genuine feelings about living alone on the edge of her father’s property.
And how she could ever imagine she’d be happy married to a man who would likely keep her large with child and worn down from the care of them—all the while with no assistance in feeding and cleaning and meeting her husband’s other needs…
He could hardly bear such a thought.
Everything within him protested at the idea of her turning out like the first Mrs. Smith.
“I haven’t had reason to contemplate it much lately.” And then she turned to stare at him in that curious way she did. “Do you think Mr. Smith will give up on the idea?
He glanced sideways, skimming his gaze from the top of her head, past her delicate features, not to even mention her brilliant eyes, to her chest, the inward curve of her waist and then back to her face again.
“Most doubtful, Miss Redfield,” he said, which drew a sullen frown. “Did you think you could merely absent yourself a few days and he’d set his heart on somebody else?”
“This has nothing to do with his heart,” she inserted.
Assaulted by the memory of her body pressed against his, he gave her an honest answer. “You are likely correct on that point.”
He did not glance over this time but assumed she was either blushing profusely or rolling her eyes at him.
