Emily Greenwood by A Little Night Mischief Page B

back at the trees. “Apple canker. I was too busy last year and was never able to get back this far. The canker took over, and heavy weeds settled in. It was too much to tackle on my own, so I left it.”
    “You did all the orchard work?” he asked incredulously.
    She shrugged. “Most of it. Once in a while, if my uncle hadn’t overspent too badly, we’d hire a laborer to help.”
    “That must have been a lot of work,” he said, remembering the calluses on her small hands, so unusual for a gentlewoman. That they were capable, skilled hands had fascinated him in a faintly sexual way, as if they knew what they were about.
    “I did what was needed, and I didn’t mind. And you needn’t worry that I won’t do my part now. I don’t want to see the orchard go to ruin. But I don’t have to like that it is, for the moment, yours.”
    “For the moment, eh?” He chuckled.
    Her eyes flashed. “You find this a lark, don’t you? That someone else’s estate has fallen into your hands by a roll of the dice. You’re like a child with a new toy.”
    “I hardly consider this estate a toy, Felicity.”
    “Miss Wilcox,” she corrected.
    He arched an eyebrow at her, a reminder that he knew her in ways that she didn’t want to admit. “And I am very serious about restoring the orchard and the house to excellent condition.”
    “Fine,” she said in a small voice. She began again, her voice bolder. “And you need have no doubt that I will do my utmost to fulfill our bargain about the orchard. We’ll need at least a half-dozen workers for pruning and clearing.”
    “Good. Fulton has already arranged for some laborers to come tomorrow. You can instruct them as to what needs doing.” He looked at her for a moment. “You know,” he said, “I do want what’s best for the estate.” He had a strong urge to reassure her that this place she loved would be cared for, even though it would never be hers, no matter how much she hoped. He didn’t want her to see him as a threat to the estate. And it irked him that she wouldn’t allow that he might be an honorable man.
    She fairly glared at him.
    “You have to admit,” he said, “that I’ve made nothing but improvements since I arrived.”
    “I grant you I’ve noticed that,” she said grudgingly. “You are perhaps not as much of a wastrel as I had thought.”
    “Hah, a fulsome compliment from Miss Felicity Wilcox.”
    Her lips twitched in answering mirth, and she turned her horse along the back edge of the orchard. He followed her and they picked their way along the path to the western part of the orchard.
    He was struck with the thought of how young she must be, perhaps twenty to his twenty-eight, and yet she’d known great responsibilities. She would make a very capable overseer, he thought as he watched her ride ahead of him, her head bobbing about as she inspected the trees and land. The thought that he was concealing his plans for selling Tethering from her gave him a twinge of conscience, but he ignored it. He couldn’t afford to have a conscience about it, and anyway, there was nothing reprehensible in what he was doing. The estate was his, and he was paying her a generous amount to oversee the orchard.
    The day was warm and it was past noon by the time they were done with their inspection. Leaving the rows of trees, they came upon the stream that ran along the property and stopped to let their horses drink. Doubtless the same stream on whose banks they had sat that first day, though here its banks were almost flat.
    As they sat in silence while the horses drank, he dug into his coat pocket and pulled out two apples he had brought with him and reached over to offer one to Felicity. Her navy gown had seen better decades, but still he noticed how it hugged her curves. The ride had brought a pretty blush to her cheeks and loosened some of her hair—one piece waved artlessly along her cheekbone, and his fingers drummed against each other, wishing to push it behind