Harry sat at the table and spooned some of the stew onto a plate. Lady Georgina came and looked curiously at his supper and then moved to the fireplace.
He watched her as he ate.
She examined the animal carvings lining his mantel. “Did you make all these?” She gestured to a squirrel with a nut between its paws and glanced back at him.
“Yes.”
“That’s how Lord Granville knew you’d made the hedgehog. He’d seen your work before.”
“Yes.”
“But he hadn’t seen you, at least not for a very long time.” She pivoted fully to look at him.
A lifetime. Harry served himself some more stew. “No.”
“So he hadn’t seen your figurines for a very long time, either? In fact, not since you were a boy.” She frowned, fingering the squirrel. “Because I don’t care what Lord Granville says, twelve years old is still just a boy.”
“Maybe.” The kettle started steaming. Harry got up, took down the brown teapot from his cupboard, and put in four spoonfuls of tea. He grabbed a cloth to lift the kettle from the fire. Lady Georgina moved aside and watched as he poured the boiling water.
“Maybe what?” She knit her brow. “Which question were you really answering?”
Harry set the teapot on the table and looked over his shoulder at her. “Which were you really asking?” He sat down again. “My lady.”
She blinked and seemed to consider. Then she replaced the squirrel and crossed to the shelves. She picked up the two cups and a packet of sugar and brought them back to the table. She sat down across from him and poured the tea.
Harry stilled.
Lady Georgina was fixing him his tea, in his own house, at his own table, just like a country woman would, tending to her man after he’d had a hard day of work. It didn’t feel at all like this morning in her sitting room. Right now it felt wifely. Which was a daft thought because she was the daughter of an earl. Only she didn’t look like a lady at the moment. Not when she was adding sugar to his cup and stirring it in for him. All she looked like was a woman—a very desirable woman.
Damn. Harry tried to will his cock back down, but that part of his body had never listened to reason. He tasted the tea and grimaced. Did other men get cockstands over a cup of tea?
“Too much sugar?” She looked worriedly at his cup.
The tea was rather sweet for his taste, but he wasn’t about to say that. “It’s fine, my lady. Thank you for pouring.”
“You’re welcome.” She took a sip of her own tea. “Now, as to what I’m really asking. How exactly did you know Lord Granville in the past?”
Harry closed his eyes. He was too weary for this. “Does it matter, my lady? You’ll be letting me go soon enough, anyway.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Lady Georgina frowned. Then she caught his look. “You don’t think that I believe you murdered those sheep, do you?” Her eyes widened. “You do.”
She put her cup back on the table with a sharp click. Some of the tea sloshed over the edge. “I know that I don’t always seem very serious, but please acquit me of being a complete nincompoop.” She scowled at him as she stood, arms akimbo like a red-haired Boadicea. All she needed was a sword and chariot.
“Harry Pye, you no more poisoned those sheep than I did!”
Chapter Four
As grand gestures went, it rather flopped.
Mr. Pye quirked a single eyebrow upward. “Since it boggles the mind,” he said in that awful, dry tone, “that you, my lady, would ever poison livestock, I must be innocent.”
“Humph.” Gathering her dignity about her, George marched to the fireplace and pretended interest in the figurines again. “You haven’t yet answered my question. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
Normally this would be the point where she’d say something flippant and silly, but somehow she just couldn’t with him. It was hard to put away the mask, but she didn’t want to play the ninny with him. She wanted him to think better of her.
He looked so tired; the lines around his mouth had deepened and his hair was windblown. What had he been doing all afternoon to make him so exhausted? She hadn’t missed the way he’d entered the cottage, suddenly and in a crouch, his green eyes defiant. He’d reminded her of a cornered feral cat. But then he’d straightened and shoved something in his boot and was once again her phlegmatic steward. She might have imagined the violence she’d seen in his eyes, but she didn’t think so.
Harry Pye sighed and pushed away his plate. “My father’s name was John Pye. He was Silas Granville’s gamekeeper when I was a boy. We lived on Granville land, and I grew up there.”
“Really?” George turned to him. “How did you go from being a gamekeeper’s son to a land steward?”
He stiffened. “You have my references, my lady. I assure you—”
“No, no.” She shook her head impatiently. “I wasn’t maligning your credentials. I’m just curious. You must admit it’s a bit of a leap. How did you do it?”
“Hard work, my lady.” His shoulders were still bunched.
George raised her eyebrows and waited.
“I got work as a gamekeeper on a big estate when I was sixteen. The land steward there discovered I could read and write and do sums. He took me on as sort of an apprentice. When a position on a smaller, neighboring estate became open, he recommended me.” He shrugged. “From there I worked my way up.”
She tapped her fingers against the mantelpiece. There had to be more to the story than that. Few men of Mr. Pye’s age managed estates as large as hers, and how had he gotten an education, anyway? But that matter could wait until later. She had more pressing questions at the moment. She picked up a rabbit and rubbed its smooth back.
“What happened when you were twelve?”
“My father had a falling out with Granville,” Mr. Pye said.
“A falling out?” George replaced the rabbit and chose an otter. Dozens of the little wood carvings crowded the mantelpiece, each in exquisite detail. Most were of wild animals, although she spied a shepherd’s dog. They fascinated her. What kind of a man would carve such things? “Lord Granville said your father tried to kill him. That sounds like much more than a falling out.”
“Da struck him. Merely that.” He spoke slowly, as if choosing his words with care. “I sincerely doubt he meant to kill Granville.”