“But that would’ve put him in conflict with his employer, wouldn’t it? If Lord Granville found out he wasn’t arresting every poacher.”

“It might’ve. If Granville found out. Turned out he didn’t.” He’d been more interested in other things, hadn’t he?

“I would’ve liked to have known your father,” she mused. He could’ve sworn he felt her fingers press against his leg.

He looked at her curiously. “Would you? A gamekeeper?”

“Yes. What else did you do when you were a boy?”

What did she want from him? Why all these questions, and why the hand against his leg? Her fingers felt as if they burned straight through his breeches to his skin beneath. “That’s about it, my lady. Roaming the land, checking traps, looking for birds’ eggs—”

“Birds’ eggs?”

“Aye.” He glanced at her, then down at her hand. “Used to collect them as a boy.”

She was frowning and didn’t seem to notice his gaze. “But where would you find them?”

“In the nest.” She still looked puzzled, so he explained. “You watch the birds in spring. See where they go. Sooner or later, they all go back to their nests. Jackdaws in chimneys, plovers on the heath, pigeons in the crook of trees, and thrushes in a nest like a cup in the branches of hedges. You wait and you watch, and if you’re patient, you see where the eggs are. Then you can take one.”

“Just one?”

He nodded. “Never more than one, for my da said ’twas a sin to steal all the eggs from a nest. I’d watch the bird and slowly, slowly creep close until I could take an egg. Most of the time I’d have to wait until the bird left the nest. But sometimes if I was careful, I could reach right under the bird—”

“No!” She laughed up at him, her blue eyes crinkled at the corners, and suddenly his heart seemed to contract. Maybe he didn’t really care why she asked her questions—just so long as she asked them. “You’re teasing me now.”

“It’s true.” He felt his lips curve. “I’d reach right under the bird, feel its little downy body beating and warm on my fingers, and steal an egg straight from the nest it was sitting on.”

“Really?”

“A fact.”

“You’re probably bamming me again, Mr. Pye, but for some reason I believe you.” She shook her head. “But what did you do with the eggs after that? Eat them?”

“Eat them? Never!” He widened his eyes in an exaggeratedly horrified look that seemed to amuse her. That pleased him and he was puzzled. This silly conversation was like no other he could remember. Men took him dead seriously. Women were a little in awe of him. No one giggled at his words or attempted—