Kay Springsteen (38 page)

****

With a ringing clatter, the gray slab joined its mates in the
heap
of discarded slate. It slid
across the pile
and finally came to rest about halfway down. Jon jumped from the low roof and landed with flexed knees within feet of the wizened old man watching him.

“
I
’
m sure I don
’
t know how to thank ye, my lord.
”
Cecil Houghton shook his head.
“
I
’
m not near as spry as I was when I was younger.
”

“
Happy to do it, Mr. Houghton.
”
Jon glanced up at the roof of the small stone cottage. Watery sun bounced off the pale slate shingles he
’
d just added to replace several that had cracked over the past century or so. In no time
,
the new ones would be as weathered and dark as the originals.
“
Those tiles should be in place for another hundred years now. That
’
ll keep the rain out.
”

Houghton sighed.
“
And a blessing that
’
ll be, I assure ye.
”

“
Have you anything else that needs seeing to?
”
asked Jon. It was barely midday, far too early to return to Blackmoor Hall, but he was running out of tenants who needed help with their homes. Only a
few
were infirm or elderly, and Nicholas had kept up on repairs for the most part.

Cyril Houghton leaned heavily on his gnarled wooden cane and squinted up into Jon
’
s face through milky blue eyes.
“
No, no. Got some ewes what
’
ll be in lamb soon, but that
’
s it.
”

“
Right.
”
Jon studied the pile of discarded slate.
“
I
’
ll carry this lot to the fence then and shore up any weakened places.
”

“
I
’
ll fetch ye the cart,
”
said Houghton, already hobbling off.

Jon let him go without offering assistance — not only would the offer have been rejected, it wouldn
’
t have been appreciated by the fiercely independent old man.

The sun beat down with the merciless intensity of Lucifer
’
s hammer. The muscles Jon had been using in hard labor over the past several days burned as though he
’
d been mining in the devil
’
s fiery pit. He
’
d long since shed hat, coat, and tie, needing the freedom to move about on Houghton
’
s roof. As rivulets of perspiration traveled down his neck and beneath his collar, Jon loosened his shirt buttons and fluffed the garment to move air across his overheated skin.

By the time the tenant returned with a pony cart, Jon had rested enough to begin again. Anything to avoid returning to Blackmoor. He could only take so much of Annabella
’
s presence before he found himself burning in a completely different way.

T
he sturdy brown pony rolled a baleful eye in Jon
’
s direction and stomped a foot, raising a tiny puff of dust. Jon kept an eye on those feet, fairly certain he wouldn
’
t survive the humiliation of finding himself kicked by a disagreeable pony.

He began pitching broken stones into the cart, welcoming the exertion and the reprieve of thoughts that constantly strayed toward his wife. Grasp,
lift
, swing his arms, release. One by one, stones landed on the cart amid clatters, thuds, and rattles. The repetitive motion was almost like dancing, though perhaps a bit less entertaining. The pony snorted as a particularly large stone landed on the cart with a thud. Jon turned to reach for another and slammed into a warm body.

Pale hair, gilded by the sun, fluttered around her face. She wore it partly up and mostly down again, in a state of
déshabille
that delighted and excited… and left him in an ind
elicate state, not fit for polite company. So much for keeping his mind off her. The confounded woman had somehow wandered into his sanctuary of self-banishment and invaded his sanity once again.

“
What in blazes are you doing
here
?
”
he asked, attempting to
school his features and drive away his scowl of mild annoyance.

Her lips pursed into a pretty pout and she tilted her head to the side, regarding him through thick, honey-colored eyelashes.
“
You wound me, sir.
”
The playful lilt in her voice as she mocked him with his own words fired lustful darts straight to his
center
.
“
Here I
’
ve come seeking the company of my husband and he greets me with such disdain, when all I wanted was to offer my assistance.
”
A slow smile spread over her lips and she thrust a small bit of slate into his hands.

Mystified, Jon looked down at the slice of gray stone. Odd, how he didn
’
t feel inclined to toss it into the cart with the rest.
“
You were looking for me?
”

Her pretty face clouded and she shifted her stance. The blue wrap slipped from her shoulders,
catching
on her elbows and drooping to her mid-back.
“
In truth, no. I was strolling by and chanced upon a nobleman who seemed in need of a dancing partner.
”
She spread her hands at the cart of rocks.
“
But alas, not only is the nobleman not in need of a dance partner, it seems he was not dancing after all.
”

But I want to be…
The words filled his head and he very nearly said them aloud. His heart had skipped beats just being near her. For a moment he had dared hope Annabella had deliber
ately sought him out, that perhaps she had missed him…

Her gaze drifted downward and Jon became conscious of his disordered state. Her face colored up like a soft pink rose and her tongue stole a fleeting touch of her upper lip.

“
I suppose I should quit my interruption of your work,
”
she said, her words floating on the breath of air between them. She cast a look at him
,
which he could almost mistake for… longing, and then she pulled her wrap closer and took a step backward, turning her head and glancing over her shoulder.
“
My escort and I shall take our leave.
”

Jon followed her gaze across the yard to where Ernest stood listening to one of Mr. Houghton
’
s stories.
“
The boy accompanied you on your walk?
”

A wry smile lifted her lips.
“
Apparently Mr. Franklin feared my loss in the woods should I wander about on my own.
”

“
And so he should have. Blackmoor is a vast estate. I
’
ve been remiss in not showing you around. Perhaps it would be best were you to take your fresh air in the gardens until I do.
”
Jon winced at the hint of censure he detected in his own voice and attempted to temper it with a smile.

She stiffened. Had her chin quivered? The movement had been so brief he couldn
’
t be certain, and then her face had gone carefully blank.

“
With that horrid cat statue?
”
Annabella shuddered.
“
I think not. However, as you apparently do not wish me to explore on my own, I shall have to content myself with reading in my room.
”

Jon sighed. He
’
d managed to stir the bee
’
s nest as usual.
“
Annie… I should love the opportunity to escort you around the grounds.
”
He caught his breath, waiting for her to correct her name.

Her lips lifted into a stunning smile.
“
Truly
, Jonnie
? May we go now? Or… I suppose you
’
ll have to finish your task. I can help…
”

He winced at the name even as heated tingles rippled through his veins. I
n that moment, with her staring at him wide-eyed and hopeful,
he didn
’
t care what she called him —
he
’
d have walked through a fiery pit without his boots at her behest. But she was correct. He did need to finish the task he
’
d promised.

Mr. Houghton
’
s raucous laugh rang through the yard along with Ernest
’
s high-pitched chuckle. Then again, perhaps the job might be accomplished another way
if the boy was willing to earn a few extra coins
.