Gemma let herself in by the rusty garden gate, grateful for the shade of the wide-brimmed straw hat perched on her upswept curls.The days were growing warmer as they neared May Day, and she couldn’t afford to become complacent about her complexion.
It would never do for the Countess of Stonehaven to have freckles.
Or for her skin to be toasted to a warm golden tan, as Hal’s face, neck, and exposed forearms were.The collar of his shirt gaped open, exposing a wide V of sun-burnished flesh that made Gemma’s mouth tingle oddly to see it.She wondered if he would be as hot to her lips as he was to her eyes.
He hadn’t noticed her yet, absorbed as he was in his work, and Gemma took the opportunity to stare at him longer than she would normally allow herself.
She did not know how many more chances she would have to drink him in.With his sweat-dampened hair curling at the nape of his neck and his muscles bunching under the thin muslin of his shirt as he moved, Gemma couldn’t take her eyes off him.Not if a hundred earls were to go on bended knee and propose.
She stared and struggled with what she’d come there to say while the birds twittered in the hedgerows and the clouds rolled by overhead, and for a moment, time stopped.
Time started up again when Hal stood to his full height, the lines of his strong, work-hardened body stark against the sky.He glanced down and caught sight of Gemma, raising a hand in a scarred leather glove to tip his nonexistent hat.
Gemma cleared her throat and stepped smartly forward to rap on the door of the cottage.
“He’s not there,” Hal called down.“Mr.Prince is away to market, and Mr.Woodhill went to the blacksmith for more crooks to hold the bundles of reeds steady.”
A prickle of awareness sent a shiver down Gemma’s arms.She stepped back to look up at Hal.“Will he be returning soon?”
“Reckon so.Is that a hamper from Bess?Come up here, share it with me.”
“Up there?”
He grinned and held out a hand.“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.”
“That’s not what concerns me,” Gemma muttered, eyeing the roof.
It was a small cottage, only two stories, but there was quite a steep slope to the roof.At the very peak of the slope, where Hal was perched, there was a narrow, flat surface that ran the length of the roof.So there was a safe enough place to sit.
On the other hand, being alone in the fresh, clear air with a warm, sweaty Hal sounded exceedingly perilous to her good intentions.
Reminding herself that on the roof they were fully in view of anyone who came round, and that the owner of the house would be back at any moment,andthat she really did need to speak with Hal fairly urgently, Gemma reluctantly handed the basket up to Hal before setting her kid boots to the ladder leaning against the side wall.
Her dove gray-striped muslin skirts caught on the exposed edges of the bundles of cut reeds making up the roof’s thatching.But once she reached the top of the ladder, she was surprised to find the thatching to be extremely smooth and even.An intricately braided runner of reeds covered the flat peak of the roof, the scalloped edges dipping down over the thatching like a lace doily resting on the back of a settee.
Hal reached out a hand to help her navigate her way from the ladder to the rooftop, and the shock of heat when he touched her, even through her gray kid gloves, made Gemma shiver.
She pulled away as quickly as she could without risking tumbling off the roof, and managed to seat herself decorously enough next to the picnic hamper.
Swinging around her as nimbly as an acrobat, Hal let one leg dangle precariously down the side of the roof and brought the other knee up to rest his arm on it.He studied her for a moment, a sweaty lock of hair falling over his forehead.Gemma absolutely did not want to tuck it back.
“Awfully kind of you to bring me lunch, your ladyship,” he finally rumbled, that low, gravelly voice tinged with dark humor.“May I offer you a cheese and pickle sandwich?”
“I’m not here to eat,” Gemma said loftily.“And you should save those for Mr.Woodhill, I’m certain Bess meant most of that hamper for him.”
“I think she meant some of it for you,” Hal countered, holding up a small plate piled with the cucumber sandwiches Gemma loved best.Spread with butter Bess had flavored with spring garlic, white wine, and chives, the little triangles of bread stuffed with thinly sliced rounds of crunchy cucumber and bitter watercress tempted Gemma unmercifully.
“Fine,” she said, taking the plate with more haste than grace.“Thank you.”
They ate in a surprisingly companionable silence for a few minutes.The warmth of the sun felt wonderful, tempered by a light breeze that smelled of wildflowers and fresh-cut hay.
Gemma finished the last bite of her sandwich and leaned gingerly on a pile of bundled rushes.It was surprisingly comfortable.
“Is there no end to your talents?”she asked, gesturing to the partially thatched roof.“Tell me there’s at least one farming technique that is alien to you.’
“There are quite a few, unfortunately.Times are changing quickly, advances being made.There’s talk of a new wheeled plough that can sow seeds up to ten times as fast as a single farmer can do by hand, which is what we’d need if we were to implement the sort of crop rotation the Dutch use.”The passionate light faded from his eyes, and he sighed.“But all of those changes require capital.Lots of it.”
“Maybe when your friend, the Duke of Havilocke, returns,” Gemma said, thinking aloud.“I daresay it’s his responsibility to administer his lands properly and take care of his tenants.”
