“Allow me.”
Her cheeks burned. “No. I have to put on my stockings. Would you turn your back again, please?”
“What gentleman would refuse?” He turned away.
Harriet was securing her blue satin garter around her stocking when he swiveled to face her. She hastily pulled down her dress. “You agreed not to look.”
He grinned. “I didn’t say I was a gentleman. May I assist with your shoes?”
“No, I—”
“Nonsense. We are cousins after all.”
In truth, their connection was distant at best, he being the only son of Cousin Harrison’s brother. Very aware of that fact she leaned back against the oak’s trunk, and gazed down at his dark head, as he crouched at her feet. Harriett stiffened when he grasped her ankle. Her senses swam at the gentle touch of his fingers. He eased her foot into her half boot and fastened it. She almost lost her balance and had to resort to holding onto his shoulder which felt broad and strong. She quickly let go.
Seemingly less affected than she, he tackled the other.
He tied the laces with nimble fingers. When he’d finished, Harriett released the breath she’d held. After he rose, his touch on her ankle seemed to linger. She picked up her bonnet and donned it. “I’m not sure I should thank you. Touching my ankle was quite disreputable.”
His blue eyes beneath dark brows gazed into hers. “But you didn’t stop me.”
She frowned. “We should return to the house. It’s a long way, I’ll be missed.” Harriett tied her bonnet ribbons firmly and strode out along the path. She remembered when she was fifteen, and he twenty-two, he had appeared rakish and incredibly grown up. Somehow, six years later, she seemed to have caught up to him.
He grasped her arm. “Why rush away? I want to talk to you. We haven’t seen each other for years.” He fingered an auburn lock which had freed itself during her exertions. “I remember your hair, how it glowed like fire in the sun and fell past your waist, always untidy.”
“You used to pull my braids.” She stared up into his deep blue eyes, which held a hint of amusement.
“I’m itching to do it again.” He gave the lock a gentle tug.
There was a pause. Harriett’s breath quickened. “Were you digging in the shrubbery?” she asked, to steady herself. “Surely Harrison can afford gardeners.”
“Indeed he can.”
She waited for an explanation, but apparently, she wasn’t going to get one. He continued toward the house. “Let’s have afternoon tea, I’m parched.”
She followed him as he strode across the lawn; his long legs encased in leather breeches and scuffed riding boots that she doubted a valet had ever laid a hand on. A brown cloth coat hugged his slim waist. He looked very much what he was, a farmer. But he was also a peer of the realm, who apparently chose not to come often to London. She wondered if he took his seat in the House of Lords.
“I rode over from Foxworth,” he said. “Often do. To keep the old chap company.”
“That’s good of you.”
He gave her a level look. “I’m not after his money. He won’t leave me a penny. The old family feud. Told me so often enough.”
“People with money wield such power, don’t you think?” Harriett said thoughtfully. “They have everyone dancing attendance on them, and then when they finally die, they are not remembered with fondness.”
“Perhaps Harrison doesn’t allow anyone to get close enough to know him.”
Harriett doubted Harrison had hidden depths of kindness, but one could never be sure.
“You are not yet betrothed, Harry.” It wasn’t a question, as she wore no ring. and no one in the family married or departed this earth without a great deal of notice.
“I haven’t found anyone I like well enough to spend the rest of my life with,” she said as they mounted the steps.
“Nor have I,” he said, removing his hat.
She crossed to the front door studying the dark curls on the back of his neck, suddenly reluctant to share him with the family. It was disturbing how Gerard made her pulse race in a way Mr. Ducksworth had failed to do.
“What is it you look for in a wife?”
