Setting herself to industry as a means to fending off her inappropriate attraction, she set out a full dozen eggs to go into the bowl, then after a moment's thought, set out a half dozen more. Eggs were plentiful and her guest had not eaten in at least a day. She was able to smile calmly at him in welcome. "You may sit at the kitchen table with us, unless you'd rather eat in your room?"

He didn't quite flinch when she spoke to him but it was a near thing. Nevertheless, she could hear his stomach growling from where she was. She reached down her whisk from its hook on the wall and awkwardly carried over her big earthenware bowl. Oh dear. Whisking left-handed was going to be difficult. "Your horse has arrived safely," she went on. "He seems in good spirits."

The gentleman's gaze shot up to the back door. Goodness, he was eager to be on his way! Unfortunately, she could not allow that. He was strung as tightly as a wire and just as close to snapping. By taking him in, she'd made herself responsible for him. If she turned him loose on the world, she was quite certain that someone would come to harm, most probably him.

"You can't ride him out directly. He's exhausted and he's thrown a shoe. That hoof has gone a bit lame, I fear. Mr. Bing is giving him a rubdown and a hot porridge breakfast. Icarus is young and strong but he's had a very tiring few days." She gave him a stern glance and he relaxed his fixation on the back door. Gemma nodded toward the table again. "Sit down and keep me company while I cook."

She turned to her task and promptly fumbled the first egg onto the floor attempting to crack it with her left hand. Oh drat.

Suddenly, the dark form of her guest loomed at her side. He took the damp cloth from next to her pump and swiped the mess from the floor. Gemma bit back an objection to abusing one of her good tea towels for a job more suited to a rag. She was too fascinated to see what he would do next.

He took the bowl and whisk from her and began breaking the eggs with decent ease.

He was not solely accustomed to life in the upper classes, then. Of course, not every gentleman lived his life in fear of visiting the kitchen, especially those who'd had to fend for themselves in wartime. Edmund had been good with a knife and would sometimes chop the vegetables for her. Gemma thought twice about offering the same chore to her guest. Perhaps no knives, not quite yet.

Into the fray, then. "Did you enjoy your walk last night?"

He gave her a startled glance then looked away. She pressed on. "The dale is lovely by moonlight, is it not?"