Page 28 of The Pleasure in Persuasion

There was something gratifying in wielding an axe, using muscles he rarely had reason to exercise and watching the pile of wood grow because of his efforts. He liked the work and the feeling of accomplishment.

He’d grown more confident these last few days, no longer quite so wary of unfamiliar tasks, nor so certain he would embarrass himself while attempting them. When he awoke this morning, he’d actually smiled as he thought of the day ahead, and wondered what sort of work the Grayling women would have for him.

After those first two days in which he’d picked what felt like a thousand apples, he’d scrubbed the exterior of the inn until it fairly sparkled, and yesterday, Mrs. Grayling had even allowed him to milk Blythe—supervised, of course.

He hadn’t told his nieces and nephew yet, but his efforts had outdone theirs, far and above.

Chuckling to himself, he used his sleeve to mop his sweaty forehead before balancing another chunk of wood on the tree stump. Truth be told, he was having more fun working at the inn than he had in ages, and he would enjoy it while it lasted, however long that might be.

And the same goes for Lily’s company.

The thought flickered through his mind, dimming his smile as he brought the axe down hard, splitting the wood in two. He’d only known Lily for a matter of days, but the thought of leaving her tied his stomach in knots. He’d lived in London all his life and had never been tempted to live anywhere else. And yet, after less than a sennight, this place had begun to feel like home.

He liked it here. He liked the inn, and Little Bilberry.

And, most of all, he liked Lily.

He liked talking to her, and being with her, and he could sense that he was coming to care for her a great deal.

Of course, he was no angel. He desired her, too, and although their one kiss had been chaste and all-too-brief, he’d thought of it often. He’d thought of her lips, soft and sweet, and the expression on her face after it was over, so adorably befuddled, so gorgeously dazed.

He’d liked that, seeing her so discomposed, almost as much as he’d liked the kiss itself. And he’d liked that kiss a great deal.

He wanted another one, but next time—if there was a next time—he wanted a real kiss, a properly improper kiss, with no audience, no constraints, no thoughts of chores or unwanted suitors or what the future might hold.

But, as much as he wanted to kiss Lily again, he also knew it was a bad idea. He knew he should leave her be. Hell, he’d made Penelope a promise that he would do just that, and he’d intended to keep it.

The problem was, he didn’t want to leave her be. He didn’t even want to try.

“Lemonade, Frederick?”

His head came up and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of Lily walking toward him with a glass in each hand, her sage green skirts flitting about in the autumn breeze.

“How thoughtful,” he said, smiling at her as she handed him a glass.

He took a long drink of the deliciously cool lemonade, nearly finishing it off in one gulp, and then he gave a grateful sigh. “I needed that. Thank you, Lily.”

“Thank my grandmother,” she said, pursing her lips. “The lemonade was her idea.”

He had no clue what to make of that statement, or her rueful, exasperated tone of voice. “I…see.”

“No, you don’t.” Her nose scrunched and then she blew out a breath. “Gran is playing at matchmaking, I’m afraid. She thinks you have…” She grimaced. “She thinks you’ve developed a romantic interest in me.”

He took another drink of his lemonade, savoring it, as he savored the blush that had pinkened her cheeks, her freckled nose, her stubborn chin.

“Maybe I have,” he said lightly, smiling at her, though he and his racing heart both knew his words were no joke.

“It isn’t nice to tease,” she said, her gaze on her glass, and Frederick longed to touch her cheek, her hair, the graceful column of her throat.

“Maybe I’m not teasing, Lily.”

Her eyes flicked to his, surprised yet wary. “Maybe?”

He shook his head. “Definitely.”

Her smile was breathtaking, her eyes glowing with pleasure, and Frederick nearly kissed her then, so strong was the urge to show his regard; to illustrate with his lips and hands exactly how bloody interested he was in her.

“Freddy?”