Didn’t she feel what he felt?Maybe she wasn’t ready for a grown-up relationship, after all. Or maybe she’d decided a servant’s son was not her destiny.
*
Eleanor dashed awayfrom the man who was making her heart pound and the rest of her body feel strangely as if it were on fire. Half a dozen times, she’d caught her breath while resting in his arms. And she was sure he could hear her heart thundering. She wanted to press farther back against him and rub her cheek on his clothing like a cat.
When they’d started climbing down, parts of him were touching parts of her. She had prattled on about whatever came into her head to keep from saying something stupid, like “kiss me, please” or “I believe I love you.”
Then, she’d dropped to the ground nearly into his arms and had to run away before he saw her feelings plainly on her face. She’d never been good at prevaricating. In fact, she loathed those who could lie well. Her father had lied to her mother about something as mundane as their finances and, ultimately, left them all in grave peril. Lying, especially to someone you professed to care about, was evil.
“Wait, Eleanor,” he called out behind her.
After a few exhilarating yards, she stopped and waited for him. Just hearing him freely use her given name was a thrill.
“Yes?” she asked him politely.
Would he say something endearing again, about how wonderful she was?
“Your dress. You ought to tidy yourself up and untuck it before we get closer. Anyone looking out the back windows might see you.”
Glancing down, she realized she probably didn’t look all that enticing. Most ladies didn’t wear Wellies for a start, and there was bark stuck in her hosiery, and by the feel at the back of her, she’d torn them as well.
Tugging her hem out of her waistband, she let her skirts loose to fall in a hopelessly wrinkled mess around her legs.
“Oh, dear! Do you think anyone will notice?”
When he laughed, heat crept up her face.
“Turn around, all the way, let me take a look,” he insisted.
She twirled in a slow circle so he could see all of her.
“The back of your gown is rather soggy and dirty, I’m afraid.”
Feeling crestfallen, Eleanor considered her options.If Lady Angsley saw her in such a state, might she think less of her? Doubtful.Her ladyship was used to loud and messy children, except for Beryl, who was extremely ladylike.
More worrisome was the appearance she would make if she entered with Grayson with her skirt in a rumpled mess. The entire household might think the worst—that he’d compromised her, and she’d let him.
“Don’t worry,” he said, reading her thoughts upon her face. “We’ll go visit my mother. She was a seamstress after all. Surely, she can make your dress look presentable.”
“Whatever willshethink?” Eleanor asked while already having changed direction toward the old granary lodge.
“She’ll think you’re an adventurous lass who does more than sit indoors and do needlepoint.”
“True,” she agreed. “I’ve never really been good at that, but I can sit for hours sketching or with a book.”
“I know. I’ve seen you. You’re a very good artist.”
Her entire body suffused with warmth, and this time, not from embarrassment. Grayson thought her a good artist.Very good.
She decided she would reward him with a drawing of something he liked.What did he like?
“You’re very fond of your horse, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Why?” he asked as they strolled along.
“The one you rode here?”
“Actually, my favorite horse is back at Turvey House. I’d ridden him from London, so I left him to rest and rode another.”
