She threw up her arms in disgust and stomped over to the stone wall, then stood dithering when she couldn’t find a toehold for her shoe. Strong hands grabbed her from behind, again just under her breasts. This time she did shriek.

Harry lifted her up and held her against his chest. “He’s not my brother,” he growled in her ear, sending all sorts of interesting thrills down her neck and elsewhere. Who knew the nerves in one’s neck were connected to—

He set her rather firmly on the wall.

She scrambled over it and marched to the gig. “Then what is his relationship to you?”

Instead of handing her into the carriage, Harry grasped her about the middle again. She might become accustomed to this.

“He was a boyhood playmate, my lady.” He placed her on the seat.

George mourned the loss of his hands.

“You played with Thomas and Bennet Granville when you were little?” She craned her neck to follow him as he circled the gig.

More drops of rain began to fall.

“Yes.” He climbed in and took up the reins. “I grew up on the estate, remember. Thomas is about my age and Bennet a few years younger.” He guided the horse onto the lane and set him to a trot.

“Yet you had not seen them since you left the Granville estate?”

“I was—am—the gamekeeper’s son.” A muscle bunched in his jaw. “There was no reason we should see each other.”

“Oh.” She mulled over that. “Were you great friends? I mean, did you like Bennet and Thomas?”

The rain increased. George hugged her cloak about her and hoped her frock wouldn’t be ruined.

Harry looked at her as if she’d asked something extremely silly. “We were boys growing up together. It didn’t much matter if we liked each other.” He watched the horse for a bit, then said almost grudgingly, “I daresay I got on better with Bennet even though Thomas was closer to my age. Thomas always seemed such a milksop. He didn’t like fishing or exploring or other things boys like to do for fear of getting his clothes dirty.”

“Is that why you don’t trust Thomas now?”

“Because he was a milksop when he was a boy? No, my lady. Give me more credit than that. He was always trying to get his father’s favor as a lad. I doubt he’s changed much, just because he’s a man now. And since Granville hates me . . .” He let his sentence trail away and shrugged.

His father’s favor. A firstborn son usually had that without question. How strange that Thomas Granville did not. But she was more curious about something else. “So you spent a lot of time in Bennet’s company when you two were boys?”