I stood there gaping like a fish, trying to decide what to say. All the time I had berated him both in my mind and through that stupid game we’d played tormenting each other, Graham had been struggling to support his family?
“Graham, I had no idea.”
He reached out, pointed to a smaller wooden pole at my feet, and I quickly lifted it, tilting it toward him. Before turning back, he stopped and looked me straight on. “You didn’t know?”
Brows raised in shock, I puffed out a breath and shook my head. “Forgive me. I suppose I made assumptions based on ... Well, I thought your father had died. I assumed you’d inherited a house. Land. A living.”
He watched me carefully for a moment, holding fast to the wooden pole and axe. “I thought you knew. I was sure your father had told you, and that was why—” He stopped himself, heaved a great sigh, then turned and placed the log beside the other. “You should go back inside. Dress properly.”
“You thought that was whywhat?” I took a step toward him. My mind warred with my heart. I had not necessarily felt bad for tormenting him because he’d tormented me right back. His circumstances did not change the fact that he’d invaded our home and stolen Papa’s attention. Except, apparently, he’d done it out of dire need.
Ignoring me, he swung the flat side of the axe several times, until he was satisfied that the wooden fence was secure. He leaned his weight against it, testing its hold.
I waited, unmoving, until he faced me, more confidentand sure of himself than he’d been all morning. “I thought that was why you hate me so much.”
I scoffed. “I don’t hate you.”
His gaze moved to just above my shoulder. “You treat me rather poorly. And I seem to remember you saying just yesterday—”
“Well, I hadnoidea of your circumstances yesterday.”
“You would have felt pity for me, if you had?” He smirked. “Don’t, please. I’ve managed just fine on my own. It was all for the better. Stop looking at me with those sad eyes. Please, do go back to hating me again.”
“Idon’thate you,” I repeated, but my feelings were starting to blur. Hatred felt an awful lot like compassion of late.
“Say something genuine, Anna. I dare you.” He mimicked me from yesterday. The nerve!
But he was right. I could be honest about how I felt without being cruel. He’d spoken honestly with me yesterday, and with how vulnerable he was now, I owed him that respect, however small. “I just think you’re ...”
He stood there, without turning away, and crossed his arms in a show of patience.
“You’re a little too ... put together.”
“And what, pray tell, does that mean?”
“Oh, come now, Graham. You’re always with your perfect manners in London, perfect smile, all amiable and easy to please.”
His lips twitched into a smile, eyebrows raised in a show of surprise, and he ducked his chin. “AndI’mthe one with a book of poetry?”
I frowned. “On second thought, I take it all back. I do hate you.”
He laughed outright, and I tried desperately not to join him. “I think we both know how to play our hands well when we need to,” he said, and the way his eyes trailed over my face made my skin come alive.
Who was this man? I shook my head. “And why wereyoumilking your cow?”
He shrugged. “My staff is overworked this week, and I was awake. I learned how to milk her back when I first bought her. It calms me.”
I crossed my arms despite the lightening mood between us. I felt eighteen again, thinking back to when Graham and I had first met. How harshly I’d judged him and his scuffed boots. How he’d aimed to charm us. And how I’d thrown it all right back in his face. Of course he’d hated me right back, how could he not? I rubbed my burning cheeks. What a mess I’d made—first with Mr. Lennox, and now with Graham. I was the very worst judge of character.
He seemed to read my mind, like he knew how it felt to be standing there, stripped of any illusions, unbearably honest in front of another person. He shifted, leaning back against the now sturdy fence at his waist, elbows resting on the wood, still watching me. Then he said, simply, “I like your hair down like that.”
My hand immediately touched the curls over my shoulder. “It’s a mess.”
“That you would come outside so unkempt. I like that about you too. You don’t care about the opinions of others. Not to say you are not normally, otherwise, perfect in every way. But you do it so effortlessly.”
What was he playing at? There had to be an underlying meaning to his words. But these compliments did not feellike his usual flattery. These felt real. An uncomfortable lump raised up in my throat, and I did not know how to respond to Graham’s kindness.
Kindness I so clearly did not deserve.
