“Aye, lass?” It was a testament to how upset he was that Simon’s voice was more of a rumble than actual words.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the lads and begin cleaning the workshop. I’ll be there in a trice.”

Simon glowered. “I don’t like leavin’ ye with His Namby-Pamby Lordship. Ye need a chaperone.”

“Out here? In the middle of the clearing? What’s he going to do? Throw me to the ground and have his way with me in front of all of you and the house staff?”

“I wouldna put it past him, the bounder.”

“Simon, you’ve gone daft, you have. Now off with you. I’ll be there to help shortly.”

“But—”

“Please.”

Simon sighed. “Very well,” he mumbled. He slowly turned on his heel, glaring at Devon as he went.

Devon pulled Thunder to a halt as Simon walked by. It didn’t take a man of unusual discernment to read the message on Simon’s craggy face. Devon hoped that the fact that he returned the look without flinching sent a message back.

He reached Kat and dismounted. She looked especially lovely today, her hair a little tousled by the wind, her gown hugging those luxuriant curves.

It made all his efforts worthwhile. He thought he discerned the slightest bit of excitement in her green gaze, a hint of warm welcome that was quite different from the calm dismissal she’d last given him. Good. Though he’d wanted nothing more than to storm back to the clearing after their last meeting, he’d decided that Miss Kat needed some time to decide what she wanted. He’d hoped that being alone in the woods with her work—doing the same thing she always did, talking to the same people she always talked to—would make her yearn for something out of the ordinary. Something special. Like an Englishman with a ready smile.

He smiled down at her now, bowing a little. “Good morning.” Last night he and Malcolm had whiled away the evening playing billiards and drinking brandy. As soon as night fell, Devon excused himself and went to his room, where he began to formulate a plan, all the while feeling the onerous presence of the talisman ring. With the information he’d garnered from Malcolm, added to his own innate knowledge of women, and the little he knew about Katherine Anne Macdonald, Devon was fairly sure that by the end of the week, if he was not in her bed, he’d be close to it. She was a hot piece, and all he had to do was break through some of the barriers she’d erected around her heart.