Page 9

“No, Your Grace. And while it seems we hold similar suspicions, it is not something I would advise. The only thing you gain from such an inquiry—assuming it brings anything to light—is a mite of satisfaction at knowing who the culprit was. But you lose funds that, frankly, you do not possess. You recoup nothing unless, by some extraordinary chance, the individual proves wealthy enough to pay damages. Of course, if that is your wish, we will make it happen.”

Her brown gaze held nothing but confidence. She was direct. All-business. She was…very much like a steward would be. He couldn’t deny it put him off-balance, conversing with a woman like this. It was no surprise she garnered the respect she had. The look she directed at him dared him to tell her she was incorrect. Because she knew she wasn’t.

Rafe had the distinct impression that Miss Dawson dictated how the world viewed her, and she would accept nothing less.

“You can proceed as you have. I trust your judgment. You have yet to lead me astray.”

Surprise flashed across her features before she quickly schooled it. He scanned the progress. The sharp ring of hammers against pegs, grunts and low chatter from the workers, and the scrape of a saw against wood built into a buzz around them. He had the rather intriguing suspicion that acknowledging his faith in her abilities—and not charm or empty platitudes—would be the most effective way past her defenses. He noted that for future reference.

“Oy! Johnny, pass me that hammer.”

Rafe blinked out of his trance and glanced up at the workers on the roof. A younger man, clearly an apprentice, pulled a hammer from his belt and⁠—

“Don’t throw it, lad!”

Rafe stiffened. Too late for that. The man reached for it, but the hammer went wide. And straight at Rafe and Miss Dawson. He snaked an arm around her waist and hauled them both backward just as the hammer thumped to the floor right where they’d been standing.

Any frustration Rafe had at the foolishness of throwing a bloody hammer evaporated, replaced by heat and a bolt of lust. Every long-limbed inch of Miss Dawson pressed up against him.

And it. Was. Glorious.

Rafe was a big man. He’d never been with a partner as tall as Miss Dawson. But it was clear that was something he needed to rectify. Immediately. She fit. Her arse cradled in his hips. Her head against his shoulder, where he could easily pull her neck back by those plaits. Claim those lush lips.

His fingers flexed.

Miss Dawson sucked in a sharp breath.

He immediately let go and stepped away. “Are you well, Miss Dawson?”

She took a step back, dusting off the front of her trousers despite there being no reason to. But when her gaze lifted to his—oh, it was victory that Rafe saw. Beautiful, intoxicating victory.

Because those brown eyes were nearly black, scorched just like the earth beneath their feet.

“My apologies, Miss Dawson.” The man in the rafters popped his head over. “That was inexcusable.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Johnny, you’re done on the roof. You’re on ground duty now. Throwing hammers? You better thank your stars it didn’t take His Grace’s or Dawson’s head off.” He turned to Rafe and Miss Dawson, apologies tripping over themselves with how quickly they fell from him. The fear in his expression was impossible to miss. Impossible to miss that it was directed at Rafe.

“All’s well, Merritt,” Miss Dawson said. “Accidents happen. I think the lad learned his lesson. They’re apprentices for a reason.”

Rafe grunted, and Merritt’s face paled. Rafe didn’t realize part of the apprenticeship included learning not to throw tools.

Miss Dawson turned toward him, and the look she sent him had his eyebrows shooting up. Because it very much was one that told him to behave. Which, besides his grandmama, was not something Rafe was accustomed to.

“As we are on a worksite, we are aware of the dangers inherent in this sort of work,” she said pointedly. “Why don’t we move on to the field, Your Grace?”

Rafe nodded. “A sensible choice.”

“I am nothing if not sensible.”

They made their way out of the rear of the barn. “So, that’s a yes, then?”

She glanced at him, a frown puckering her slim brown eyebrows. “A yes?”

They were out of ears reach, but Rafe leaned toward her and lowered his voice anyway. “You’ll sleep with me.”

Indignation tightened her frown, and her jaw ticked as she rolled her shoulders back. She practically vibrated with her vexation. “How did you possibly come to that absurd conclusion?”

“It is the sensible choice, Miss Dawson. And you are nothing if not sensible.”

“I believe we have different definitions of sensible, Your Grace.”