Kiss From A Rogue

Chapter 8-3

She made her way to the kitchen and picked up Macbeth, who was milling around Galen’s ankles, mewling for a tidbit.

“Just stop that whining now, because you ain’t getting none,” Galen muttered, waving her spoon for emphasis.

“Stop what?” She hadn’t even asked for a taste yet.

The housekeeper spun around. “Oh, my lady, I didn’t see you come in. That blasted cat’s been begging for an hour. Told him to go catch his own supper.”

“I’ll see what I can do to distract him.” Sylvia scooped up the cat and settled him in his favorite position, seated in the crook of her elbow with his front paws hugging her shoulder.

“Ready to eat in less than an hour,” Galen said, reaching for a knife and chopping board.

“I’ll go see what the men have been up to, then.” As soon as Galen had her back turned, Sylvia snagged a piece of fish off the platter and fed it to Macbeth on the way out. “Good thing I left my work apron on,” she whispered. The cat purred his appreciation. “Fish breath.” He washed his paws and face while Sylvia climbed the stairs, following the sound of loud thuds emanating from the gold salon.

She opened the salon door and stopped, her mouth agape.

The windows were flung wide open, a fire roaring in the grate, and Tony and Jimmy had stripped to their shirts, sleeves rolled up. Both were barely recognizable, covered in detritus, dust, and sweat, each with a kerchief covering the lower half of his face and a scarf tied around his head. Dust motes danced in the air.

The last of the furniture had been removed after the ceiling fell, but several pairs of chairs had been brought back in, along with planks of lumber. Tony stood on the makeshift scaffolding, holding a pry bar and swinging a hammer. Chunks of damp plaster fell with each powerful blow, landing on the curtains laid on the floor beneath.

Sweat glistened as it slid down his neck, and made his hair stand out in spikes at the edges of his scarf. Soaked with perspiration, Tony’s shirt clung to him, the white lawn rendered nearly sheer. It revealed a birthmark on the back of his broad shoulder and highlighted his impressive musculature. She’d already known he was strong, having felt along his limbs last night while he had been unconscious. But watching him in action, seeing his muscles bunch and shift as he worked… Her mouth suddenly went dry.

“Beg pardon, my lady.” Gerald suddenly stood behind her, trying to get into the room. He, too, was covered with dust.

Hoping none of her attraction was revealed on her face, she stepped aside to let him in with his burden, a tray with glasses and a pitcher, plus more cloths draped over one arm.

“Your timing is perfect, my good man.” Breathing heavily, Tony dropped his tools and sat down on the scaffold, his feet swinging free, and accepted a glass of water.

“As always,” Jimmy added between pants, reaching for a glass.

Sylvia stepped through the doorway. “You two have certainly been industrious.” Even Tony’s lashes were coated with white plaster dust.

He tugged the kerchief off so he could drink, and raised his glass to her in a toast. He tipped the glass back, his throat working as he swallowed the entire glassful in one go, his neck exposed because his cravat was gone and his top two shirt buttons undone. Her breath hitched at the sight. Seeing a man’s chest apparently had the same effect on her that a glimpse of a woman’s ankle had on men.

A glimpse of Tony’s chest, at any rate.

A little water escaped the side of his mouth and trailed down his jaw and throat, disappearing inside his collar.

Sylvia licked her lips. That sound had to be the cat purring, not her.

Jimmy tried to drink his entire glass down as well, and choked.

Tony thumped Jimmy on the back and winked at Sylvia.

She stiffened her spine. The man was a peacock, showing off for her.

Ah, but what a show. And when was the last time an attractive man, someone past adolescence but not yet into his dotage, had showed off for her? No reason she couldn’t enjoy it. She relaxed her posture – slightly – and stroked Macbeth’s silky fur. “I came up to warn you that dinner should be ready in an hour. Much as I appreciate what you’re doing, you can’t come to table like this.”

“Yes, my lady.” Grinning, Tony held out his glass so Gerald could refill it.

Sylvia glanced around the room again, definitely not watching Tony drink, or the rise and fall of his chest as he caught his breath. There were ladders and various tools scattered all over, in addition to the debris-strewn drapes that had once been gold velvet. Well, she’d planned to replace them anyway. Someday. “What is it you’re doing, by the way?”

“Sylvia, isn’t this great? Tony says he knows how we can fix the roof, and the ceiling, and the walls. We just have to get all the wet stuff out of the way and dry out the wood.” Jimmy swung his feet, in perfect rhythm with Tony’s.

“It appears the dry rot isn’t extensive yet.” Tony set his empty glass on the tray. “You’ll need to replace the missing and damaged roof tiles, and buy a few other supplies. Will that be a problem?”

So much for buying fabric for new dresses, even though her year of mourning had ended a month ago. How long could one wear nothing but gray or lavender and retain one’s sanity? But the house was more important than her wardrobe. “No, of course not. Monroe is going to West Lulworth tomorrow, to make deliveries and pick up supplies. We’ll ask if he has room in his wagon.”

“I’ll prepare a list, then.”

Sylvia left after they promised to wash up in time for dinner. Sounds of hammering, and the thumps of plaster falling, followed her down the stairs.

Within an hour they were all seated around the table, Jimmy freshly scrubbed. Tony was too, and Sylvia was surprised to recognize his fine coat, waistcoat, and breeches, all perfectly clean.

“Earlier I took the liberty of borrowing work clothes from your husband’s wardrobe,” he said, accepting a filled plate from Gerald. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Caught staring at him, she felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Not at all. In fact, use whatever you want of his. Hubert won’t mind.”

Tony smiled. “I’ll take you at your word.”

Was it just her imagination, or did his words carry other meaning? What rakish interpretation could he have given her innocent offer? And his eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief. Perhaps it was just the candlelight playing tricks.

They ate in near silence for several minutes. If Sylvia had worked up an appetite in the stillroom, Jimmy and Tony must be nearly starving after their exertions. She waited until Gerald served the third, and final, course before voicing a question she had wondered since her visit to the salon.

“How is it that you know about dry rot, plaster, and such?”

Tony cracked a walnut in half, offered it to her, and cracked another. “When we were in school, Alistair, Nick and I would often go to one another’s homes for holiday. One winter, a big storm damaged part of Nick’s house. We made such a nuisance of ourselves asking the workmen questions, they put us to work.”

“Nick’s parents allowed this?” Sylvia nibbled on the walnut half.

“Nick’s father was delighted. Believed hard work was essential to build character.”

“Liked the free labor, more like.” Jimmy stuck his walnut halves onto a hunk of cheese and ate the whole thing in one huge bite.

Sylvia frowned at him. Really, sometimes he behaved as if he were six instead of sixteen.

“Wha’?” he mumbled, his mouth still full.

“So, I may not be a journeyman roofer or plasterer, but I think I can help young Lord Montgomery here get the house weatherproof again. And if we work quickly, perhaps we can even do so before the next so’westerly undoes all our efforts.”

“Capital!” Jimmy reached for another wedge of cheese, but this time, after a quick glance at Sylvia, he cut it into pieces and ate them with his fork.

“Yes, capital, indeed.” She should sound more enthusiastic, but she worried what Tony might ask for as payment in exchange. Even with the profit from last night’s shipment, there was still so little money, so many expenses.

“Since I’ve agreed to stay, I might as well keep busy while we wait for the next cargo.” Tony drained his wineglass, which had been filled with water. “As you said, a property this size has more tasks than workers.”

Sylvia could have kissed him, right then and there. Except for the niggling concern about what compensation he’d expect. He’d probably want more than a simple kiss.

“Of course, you’re welcome to come watch.” He’d lowered his chin, looking at her through his lashes.

“Why would she want to watch us get all dirty and sweaty?” Oblivious to Sylvia’s sudden intake of breath, Jimmy scooted his chair back from the table. “I’m still hungry. I’m going to see if Galen baked any tarts. Coming?” He looked at Tony.

“No, I think I’ll stay here. But do bring one back if there are any to spare.”

Sylvia wiped her mouth with her napkin as Jimmy dashed from the room.

“Now that the cub’s gone…” Tony slid his hand across the table and tapped Sylvia’s fingers. “I believe you owe me something.”

“Beg pardon?” She hoped he hadn’t noticed the squeak in her voice.

Tony slowly traced a figure on the back of her hand. “Part of our bargain.” His voice had dropped, low and soft and slow, almost as much of a caress as his hand, which was still stroking hers. “You promised something if I wanted it, and I find I do want it.”