Donald rubbed his neck. The things he had to do for Miss Kat. Still, he was not about to give this hot young miss a ride for nothing. He wasn’t one who liked his women ordering things about as if they thought they was better than he.

He eyed her up and down as boldly as she had him. “We don’t need a shed.”

“We don’t?” She glanced around, finding the small knot of giggling women on the other side of the garden, watching them with knowing glances.

“We don’t need a shed or any other place. Here will do just fine.” He reached down and undid his belt. Several of the maids began to giggle, whispering furiously to one another.

Jane caught his wrist, casting a furiously red-faced glance at her friends. “Whist now! Not here!”

“No? But—”

“The woodshed,” she hissed. She caught his gaze and must have realized he was teasing, for a smile broke over her features. “The woodshed?”

He didn’t move.

She added softly, “Please.”

There it was. He reached down and patted her bottom in a way that pleased her very much. “Very well, ye little strumpet. To the woodshed wid ye. But don’t go getting’ any ideas. This is fer Miss Kat and no one else.”

Face pink with pleasure, Jane sniffed, then sashayed off, nose in the air, wiggling her hips as she went.

Following behind, Donald noted that not only was she pleasantly brass, but she had a lovely sway to her cart, too. And he was a man who appreciated swaying carts.

Feeling rather pleased with himself, Donald closed the shed door behind him. It was amazin’ the things he had to do fer the mistress.

Chapter 14

Ah, ma chère. You are wrong when you say this is not the time for love. Love makes its own time. It always has.

Madame Bennoit’s assistant, Pierre, to Sabrina, Lady Birlington’s kitchen maid

Life, Devon decided, was a complex proposition. Just when you thought you had everything figured out, something would occur to prove you wrong—again.

Wet and bedraggled, he found the library, where he knew a fire would be waiting. He was right; a merry blaze met him as soon as he opened the door. To his relief, the room was also empty.

He made his way inside, found a chair, and pulled it close to the flames, then dropped into it and stretched his booted feet before him.

His mind was so full of the day that it raced. He was aflame with Katherine Macdonald. Tomorrow was much, much too far away, and the knowledge was torturous.

Devon reached over and retrieved the three-week-old edition of the Morning Post. He would read and get his mind off such things as Kat’s luminous green eyes or the curve of her hips as she rode Lady through the fields.