Sleepless at Midnight (27 page)

’Taking the shovel, she forced the voice aside and concentrated on the task at hand. They worked with a minimum of conversation, the sounds of their shovels digging into the dirt accompanied by the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves in the warm breeze. Sarah quickly established a steady rhythm, aided by softly humming to herself, as was her habit when she worked in her own garden. Danforth found himself a shady spot nearby, much as her beloved Desdemona always did. The thought of her pet brought a wave of nostalgia for home, although between the beautiful gardens and Danforth, this place felt nearly as comfortable as her own home. She’d just finished filling in another six foot trench that had yielded no results when Lord Langston asked, “Would you like to stop for something to eat and drink?”

Sarah dug her shovel tip into the ground, and wiping her damp forehead with the back of her glove, turned toward him. And stilled. While she had no doubt that she looked like something that had been dragged behind a carriage for several hundred miles, he looked utterly perfect. And completely, unfairly so. After two hours of hoisting dirt in the hot sun, he should look like she felt overheated, grimy, sweaty, and disheveled. And while he was clearly grimy, sweaty, and disheveled, on him it somehow looked masculine and delicious. And utterly perfect. Because she’d at first so fastidiously kept her errant eyeballs on her work rather than on him and had eventually lost herself in her task, she hadn’t noticed that he’d removed his waistcoat and cravat. But there was no missing it now.

He’d pulled his handkerchief from his face and held it wadded in one hand. He’d rolled back his sleeves to his elbows, baring muscular forearms browned by the sun. His snowy shirt which wasn’t quite so snowy any longer was open at the throat, and she spied the shadow of his dark chest hair in the V-shape opening before the linen thwarted her view. The material was limp and wrinkled from his exertions and clung to his form in a way that brought a feminine sigh of appreciation to her lips.

Raising one hand, he combed his fingers through his dark hair, which, like his skin, glistened from his exertions. He then settled his hands on his hips, drawing Sarah’s avid gaze downward. His spread fingers rested on dirt-streaked fawn breeches, as if pointing to his fascinating groin. Heat that had nothing to do with the sun scorched her as she vividly recalled what he looked like without his breeches. And the wickedly delicious sensation of his hard flesh pressing against the apex of her thighs.

He sneezed, then asked, “Does that meet with your approval, Sarah?”

Approval? Her gaze snapped up to his. His blank expression made it impossible to tell if she’d been caught staring, but she strongly suspected she had been. Good lord, she could feel the hot blotches of embarrassment creeping up her neck. She had no idea what he was asking that met with her approval, but since everything she could see looked fine, she said, “Yes, that’s…perfect.”

With a nod, he set down his shovel then snatched up the knapsack. “There’s a lake on the property lots of trees and shade.” He sneezed again. “And no roses. It’s only about a ten minute walk. Would you like to eat there?”

Food. Of course. “That sounds lovely.”

“Excellent.” He let loose with another pair of sneezes, then indicated with his hand a path heading away from the rose garden.

With Danforth leading the way, he fell into step beside her, and in less than a minute he exhaled an audible sigh of relief. “Much better.” She felt the weight of his stare but resolutely kept her gaze fixed on Danforth and the path ahead. If she were to look at him, she feared she’d lose her concentration. No doubt walk into a tree and render herself unconscious.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Botheration, she must look even worse than she thought. “Yes, I’m fine. And you?”

“Fine, although a bit warm. The shade here along the path is most welcome.”

It was indeed. She’d felt as if she were melting when she looked at him, although that had nothing to do with the bright sunshine. “I’m sorry our search wasn’t successful,” she said.

“As am I.” He was silent for several seconds then said, “Thank you for your help. I enjoyed your company.”

“I wasn’t much company. We barely spoke.”

“Conversation wasn’t necessary. It was just nice not to be out there alone.”

An image of him as she’d seen him that first night, returning in the rain with his shovel, flashed through her brain. With her mind filled with the story of Frankenstein at the time, she thought he looked guilty. But now, upon reflection, she realized he’d looked…dejected. Lonely. She knew all too well what lonely felt like.

Several minutes later the path ended at a clearing, in the center of which a large oval lake glistened, its dark blue surface glass smooth except for a pair of regal white swans floating near the shore. Danforth took one look at the swans and bounded toward the water as if he were shot from a catapult. Sarah couldn’t help but laugh at the dog’s enthusiastic splashing and barking as he dashed into the lake. With disdainful squawks of protest, the swans flapped their white wings, skimming the surface to resettle on the far end of water. Clearly satisfied that he’d rousted the intruders, Danforth left the water and trotted back toward them.

“I should warn you,” Lord Langston said, “that Danforth will ”

His words were cut off when Danforth gave his large body a vigorous, all-over doggie shake. When he finished, Sarah turned toward Lord Langston and struggled not to laugh at the drips of water dotting his face.

“Danforth will shower us with lake water?” she provided in her most helpful fashion. He wiped his wet face with his wet arm and glared at his wet dog. “Yes.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

He turned back toward her. “Does your dog do that?”

Sarah couldn’t help but laugh. “Every chance she gets. Get Sarah Wet is Desdemona’s favorite game.” She leaned down and ruffled Danforth’s scruff, much to the dog’s delight. “Oh, you think you’re very funny, don’t you?” she asked him.

For an answer, Danforth barked twice, then streaked back toward the lake. Lord Langston shook his head. “You realize he took that as encouragement and we’re going to be on the receiving end of another dousing.”

Sarah grinned. “I don’t mind. Indeed, the cool water feels good after the hot sun.”

“You wore your bonnet today,” he said. “I thought you preferred to garden without it.”

She lifted one hand to touch the wide brim she’d chosen specifically to help shield him from her view. “Normally I do, but for once I thought I’d heed my mother’s admonishments. Bad enough that I’m dirty and smelly and now doused with doggie lake water. If I also had a sunburned face, Danforth would try to bury me in the woods.”

“Doubtful.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’d merely attempt to drown you with…what did you call it? Doggie lake water. Brace yourself. Here he comes.”

Seconds later Danforth skidded to a halt in front of them and once again gave himself a mighty shake.

“Can dogs chortle?” Lord Langston asked in a dark voice, once again mopping his face while glaring at Danforth’s retreating rear end as the dog dashed back toward the water. “Because I believe I heard that beast chortle. With evil glee.”

“Actually, I think it was more of a snicker than a chortle.”

He heaved an exaggerated sigh, and Sarah had to press her lips together to keep from laughing. “I used to swim in this lake as a boy, you know.”

“And now look at you. You don’t even need to jump in. Danforth brings the lake to you.”

“Ah, yes. I am a lucky man.”

After Danforth treated them to a third dousing then raced back toward the lake, Sarah asked,

“Does he ever get tired?”

“Oh, yes. Around midnight usually.” He held out a wet, non-too-clean, rumpled square of linen. “May I offer you my handkerchief?”

She extracted a wet, non-too-clean, rumpled bit of lace-trimmed cotton from the pocket of her gown and held it out to him and grinned. “May I offer you mine?”

He arranged his features into an exaggerated stern frown. “Why Miss Moorehouse, are you insinuating that I’m not looking my best?”

She raised her chin and gave an injured sniff. “Why Lord Langston, are you insinuating I don’t look

”

Her words were cut off by another spray of lake water courtesy of Danforth. After he stopped shaking, he turned in a circle, barked twice, then dashed off toward a nearby copse of trees.

“He just told us he’s off to chase some wildlife,” Lord Langston said. “He won’t expect us to wait lunch for him, but he’ll be highly insulted if we don’t save him some.” He inclined his head toward the lake. “Would you care to join me for a bit of hand washing?”

“Absolutely, although I’m afraid more than my hands require washing after this outing.”

“Not at all. You look fresh as a daisy.”

She burst out laughing. “Yes, a daisy that’s been trod upon, doused with water, and speckled with dirt.”

Crouching at the edge of the water, she dipped her handkerchief and used it to refresh herself as best she could, noting from the corner of her eyes that Lord Langston simply cupped his hands and splashed water onto his arms, face, and neck. When he stood, she arose, then stilled as he reached up and pushed back his damp hair with his hands, in just the same way he had when he’d risen from his bath.

An image of him gloriously naked and wet slammed into her mind, heating her to the point where she felt certain steam must be rising from her moist clothes. Her handkerchief fell from her fingers, landing in a wet plot on the toe of her boot.

They both bent at the same time and bumped heads.

“Ouch,” they said in unison, both rising, both holding a hand to their foreheads.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Are you all right?”

No. And it’s entirely your fault. “Yes, thank you. Are you?”

“I’m fine.” He held out her handkerchief. “Your handkerchief, however, has seen better days.”

Taking extra care not to touch him, she reached for the wet cotton square and murmured, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “You’ve been a remarkably good sport about all this. You haven’t uttered even one complaint.”

“That is only because you’ve promised to feed me, and I don’t want to jeopardize my chances of a meal. After I’ve eaten, I’ll complain all you like.”

“And I’ll nod sympathetically and pretend to listen, as a perfect host should. Shall we?” He extended his arm with a flourish, his eyes dancing with mischief. She hadn’t planned on touching him, but given the obvious playfulness of the gesture, she felt churlish to refuse. Resting her hand lightly on his forearm, she pretended she was touching a piece of wood. There. See? She could do this. Spend time with him in a strictly platonic way. Enjoy his company, his conversation, the way ordinary friends did. Even touch his arm. Everything was going perfectly. They picked up her satchel and his knapsack and set up their casual picnic underneath a huge willow, on top of a blanket he pulled from the top of the knapsack.

“Let’s see,” he said, pulling the wrappings off each bundle as he removed them. “We have hardboiled eggs, ham, cheese, chicken legs, meat pies, asparagus, bread, cider, and strawberry tarts.”

“That’s good for me,” Sarah said with an approving nod that sent her glasses sliding downward.

“What did your cook pack for you?”

“A woman with a hearty appetite, I see.”

“Most assuredly. Especially after two hours of digging and a doggie lake bath.”

He shot her a mock reproachful look. “I thought you weren’t going to complain until after you ate.”

“Sorry. I forgot myself. As for the food, a bit of everything sounds perfect. Would you like me to serve?”

“Will I end up with anything on my plate?”

“Probably. Maybe.”

He waggled his brows. “Hmmm. Methinks you merely want to get your hands on my chicken legs.”

She smothered a laugh and gave an injured sniff. “Certainly not. It’s your strawberry tarts I’m after.”

While he poured the cider, Sarah prepared two heaping plates. After handing him his serving, she sat next to him so they both faced the lake, making certain to keep a respectable distance between them. There. See? She could do this. Sit next to him and watch the water and enjoy a meal.

They ate in silence for several minutes, both looking at the lake, and she simply enjoyed the beautiful day and the lovely setting. Birds trilled and ribbons of sunlight winked through the rustling leaves, glittering on the calm water.

“Do you come to this lake often?” she asked, keeping her gaze steadfastly on the glasslike surface.

“Nearly every day. I either walk here or ride. It’s my favorite spot on the estate. I find the water very peaceful.”

“I can see why. It’s…perfect. What do you do out here every day?”

“Sometimes I swim, sometimes I skip rocks, sometimes just sit under this tree. The trunk of this willow has a flat part that is quite comfortable. Some days I bring a book, other days I only bring my thoughts.” From the corner of her eye she saw him turn toward her. “Do you have a lake at your home?”

“No. If I did, I’d be torn as to where to spend my time at the lake or in the garden.”

“You could always plant a garden near the lake.”

She allowed herself to turn toward him. Alternating ribbons of golden sunlight and dusky shadows trickled between the willow’s slender leaves, painting him with an intriguing palate her artistic eye immediately longed to capture. His hazel eyes rested on her, looking more green than blue, most likely due to the verdant foliage surrounding him. Dear God, she wasn’t certain if the word beautiful should be used to describe a man, but it certainly summed up this man. Although her breath hitched under the impact of his regard, she was quite proud that she didn’t drop the piece of cheese she held. There. See? She could do this. Look into his eyes and remain coherent and not drop her cheese.