“Look, Mama,” Oliver grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the table, interrupting the awkward tableau. “See, this one uses a different type of spring, and this one—”

She’d spent a bewildering hour being lectured about the internal workings of toys. Since then, she’d seen him every evening, as he came to supervise Oliver’s work as it progressed.

And of course she saw him at dinner, where McElroy dominated the conversation and made sure Serena was aware of his continued observation and investigation into her background.

Mr. Lockheart also came out to the work site every day, looking and observing, but rarely making any comments. And once, he’d wandered into the stall she used in the stables, and then quickly excused himself when he’s seen she was working. Naturally that had been the end of her efforts for that day.

She stopped not far from the breakfast room to check her hastily dressed hair in a large hallway mirror. Strands had escaped and were curling in the extreme humidity, but it was not an embarrassing wreck. Yet. She straightened the lace fichu she wore tucked into her old green morning dress and smoothed down her skirt. She would do.

Mr. Lockheart rose when she entered the room. “Good morning, Mrs. Lombard.”

“Good morning, Mr. Lockheart.” She smiled at Raymond, who was already heading toward the door in anticipation of her order. “Jessup is bringing me coffee, Raymond.” She turned back to the other man. “Please, do keep eating.”

Serena absently piled food on her plate, imagining his eyes burning into her back. But when she turned, he was looking at a newspaper laid out beside his plate.

When she sat, he folded the sheet and pushed it aside.

“Thank you for having the foresight to spread the tarps.”

“I wish I had thought of it last night.”

Serena buttered a hot roll. “I didn’t realize it was raining until three or four o’clock.” She heaped preserves onto her bread, marveling at the insipid conversation when all she could think about was how luscious his body had felt. She swallowed, alarmed by the way she was salivating, like a jungle predator eyeing a tasty morsel. Oh, she was revolting.

“This is showing no signs of letting up,” he said, clearly unaware of the turmoil taking place inside her.

“No, it is a dark sky. I daresay it will be some days before it dries out enough. Obviously the moving of the rock will need to be postponed. Will you stay?” She couldn’t decide what she wanted his answer to be. Her body rejoiced when he was near but her mind—as willful as it was—alternated between celebration and terror.

“There will be no traveling in this weather, at least none that I care to do.” He nodded to Jessup, who’d entered with a fresh pot of coffee. “I have plenty to occupy me indoors.”