Smiling fondly at the five children who played nearby, Mary hung another pillowcase on the clothesline. It was a sunny autumn day with a brisk breeze, so the laundry would dry quickly.

Reaching inside the basket beside her, she pulled out a sheet, struggling a little when it billowed and flapped against her hold. Her life was so different now from what it had once been, before she'd fallen in love and allowed herself to dream. But dreams, as she'd learned, were fickle things easily torn apart.

Inhaling deeply she forced the sheet to comply by pinning it with a couple of pegs. She then grabbed the now-empty basket and marched toward the house.

“Come help me prepare the tea,” she called to Bridget, Daphne, Penelope, Peter, and Eliot whose scruffiness proved a fondness for the outdoors. Their laughter danced through the air as the kitten they played with toyed with a piece of string. His name was Raphael, and he’d been gifted to them by Mr. Townsend, a gentleman farmer whose interest in Mary had recently increased.

Daphne swept the kitten up into her arms and raced past Mary with the rest of the troop close on her heels.

“Remember to wipe your shoes,” Mary called.

The reminder caused quite the ruckus in the narrow doorway, and Mary could hear her friend Cassandra on the opposite side, issuing threats to anyone who dared bring dirt inside the newly swept kitchen.

“Do you ever have any regrets?” Mary asked when she reached Cassandra. She cleaned her own boots with a brush and entered the boisterous interior where cups and saucers clattered together as the girls helped each other prepare two trays. Eliot, the youngest of the boys, reached for the tin filled with biscuits, and Mary charged toward him. “Clean your hands before opening that, or you'll not have a single one.”

“Never,” Cassandra grinned, answering Mary's question. “This is where happiness lives. I would not trade it for anything else in the world.”

Agreeing, Mary filled the kettle with water from a jug and hung it over the fire. Despite the various challenges they'd faced over the years, they'd acquired their freedom in this tiny corner of the world. They could walk about as they pleased and keep the company they chose without causing a stir. Now that she and her friends had been labeled spinsters, nobody seemed to care what they did, which was, to be honest, rather liberating.

Reaching for the tin filled with tea, Mary spooned a little into a strainer and glanced across at where Peter was sitting. The twelve-year-old boy had moved in with them six weeks earlier after his parents had died. He'd kept to himself ever since, his eyes always downcast, his mood always somber.

No matter how hard they all tried, they'd failed to reach him so far, and while Mary knew he would need time to heal, she wished there was some way to help him.

“I've finished cleaning the grates and polishing the brass tools,” Emily told Mary and Cassandra as she came to join them. A wallflower whose fondness for sweets had been evident in her figure, Emily had never secured a dance and had eventually given up trying after enduring her third failed season.

It was a pity really, for the active lifestyle she now enjoyed had helped her shed enough weight to reveal a woman many would likely call pretty.

“Well done,” Cassandra said. “The weather is unusually pleasant for this time of year. It will likely turn sooner than we expect, and when it does, we'll need to be ready.”

“Which means we'll need firewood too,” Emily said. She glanced at Mary. “Do you suppose Mr. Townsend might be willing to offer his assistance with that?”

Mary glanced at Cassandra and then back at Emily. “I'm sure he'd be happy to oblige.” Especially if she invited him back to the house for tea after church on Sunday. She hesitated on that thought and bit her lip. “I just don't want to take advantage.”

“And you wouldn't be, as long as he's happy to oblige,” Cassandra told her.

Mary gave her a quelling look. “You know what I mean.” Mr. Townsend was a nice man, but it had also become alarmingly clear that he was in the market for a wife and that he favored Mary for this position. The only problem was she had no intention of ever marrying anyone. Because if her time as a debutant had taught her anything, it was that even the most honorable gentleman was not to be trusted.

“Perhaps we should set our minds to matching him with a lady who'd be more appreciative of his advances,” Emily suggested.

“Good heavens,” Mary protested. “No man would wish for three spinsters to involve themselves in his search for a bride. Not even a man as charismatic as Mr. Townsend.”

A knock at the front door interrupted their conversation. Cassandra frowned. “Who could possibly be calling at this hour?” She made her way toward the front of the house while Mary and Emily trailed behind.

“Perhaps it is Mr. Townsend who’s come to call on Mary,” Emily suggested. “How convenient would that be, considering we were just discussing the need for his help?”

Not bothering with a response, Mary rolled her eyes and followed Cassandra and Emily out into the front hallway. Another knock sounded and Cassandra opened the door to reveal a tall, broad shouldered man with dark, windswept hair and a shrewd gaze.

“Lady Cassandra?” he inquired. His eyes searched each of their faces, and Mary instinctively retreated a step. “Viscount Aldridge’s sister?”

Cassandra raised her chin. “I am she. And you are...?”

Again his gaze drifted from one to the other, this time with a hint of expectation, as if he waited for them to guess his name. When none of them added anything further, he said, “Mr. Crawford, at your service. Your brother sent me to inspect your home and to make any necessary repairs.”

Mary drew a sharp breath, because just as he said that, their eyes locked. Not for too long, but for long enough to unsettle her. Unwittingly, she assessed his age, which had to be close to her own though perhaps slightly older, the perfect shape of his mouth with its broad lower lip, his angular jaw line and aquiline nose. All combined to create the most handsome face she'd ever seen. It also provided a sharp reminder of a similar pair of eyes a few shades lighter. Those eyes had gazed upon her as if she'd been special—as if she'd mattered. Except she hadn't. At least not enough.

“I'll fetch the tea,” she said and turned away, deliberately breaking eye contact. “Just in case you decide to invite Mr. Crawford inside.”

Returning to the kitchen, Mary took comfort in the peace that had settled over the children because of the biscuits they’d all procured from the tin. They halted in the process of chewing the moment they saw her, their anxious eyes waiting to see if she’d scold them for starting on their snacks before they’d been invited to do so.

“We have a guest,” she told them, ignoring the issue as she went to fetch the kettle. The water was already boiling, so she grabbed a dishrag, pulled the kettle off the hook above the flames, and poured the water through the strainer into the teapot. Steam rose in thick swirls, filling the air with hot humidity. Glancing over her shoulder, she narrowed her gaze just enough to remind the children of who was in charge. “I hope there are still a few biscuits left for him.”

“There’s three,” Cassandra’s daughter, Penelope, said before wiping her hands on her skirt. “One for you, Emily, and Mama.” The little blonde girl stared back at Mary with big round eyes. “We didn’t think to save one for a guest.”

Mary bowed her head to hide her smile and nodded. “Very well then. No biscuits it is.” She picked up the tray and started for the door. “But this will cost you when the tickle monster hears what you’ve done.” And then she swept out into the hallway with a grin while squeals erupted behind her.

She could still feel her lips twitching with mirth when she walked into the parlor. Cassandra and Emily were both seated on the only sofa the room had to offer while Mr. Crawford filled out one of the armchairs. His bright blue gaze latched on to Mary with intense interest, and in spite of her conviction that she’d never respond to any man ever again, her stomach tightened and her hands began to tremble.

A slight dimple puckered the edge of Mr. Crawford’s mouth, affording him a humorous expression. Mary’s pulse quickened and she hastened forward to set the tray down, eager to be rid of it before she dropped it.

“—so with that in mind,” he continued, returning his attention to Cassandra and Emily, “it could take anywhere from a week to a month before the roof is completely intact.”

His voice…

Mary placed the tray on the low table between the sofa and the armchair and tried to ignore the rich cadence of it. Swallowing, she sat in the remaining chair before pouring tea for each of them.

“Milk and” –she cleared her throat which had suddenly gone quite squeaky—”sugar?”

Mr. Crawford turned his gaze toward her, and all of her strength seeped out of her limbs as they instantly turned to jelly. Determined not to let it show, she stared back at him and did her best not to blink. But his eyes were like azure blue lakes on a hot summer’s day, and for some inexplicable reason, she found herself leaning toward him.

A grin tugged at his lips. “Neither.”

Mary took a sharp breath and leaned back. Averting her gaze, she set Mr. Crawford’s cup before him and then offered tea to her friends, who both watched her with curious expressions. No. She would not let this handsome stranger addle her brain. This was a path she’d been down before, and it had broken her heart and denied her the chance of marriage.

On that sobering thought, she returned the teapot to the tray and took a sip from her own cup. Mr. Crawford was a laborer, a man sent by Cassandra’s brother to patch up the roof. She didn’t care how handsome he was or how well he looked in those beige colored breeches that hugged his thighs. Sighing, she slumped back in her seat and almost spilled her tea in the process. Of course she’d noticed. She’d have had to be dead not to.

“We cannot offer much in the way of accommodation,” Cassandra said. “To stay with us in the house would be inappropriate, and even if it weren’t, I’m afraid all the rooms are occupied.”

“I understand.” The deep timbre of his voice stroked its way along Mary’s nerves as he spoke. She shuddered slightly and reminded herself once again to take control of her senses. “But your brother mentioned a caretaker’s cottage. Is that still available?”

“It is,” Cassandra said. “In fact, it was vacated by the caretaker only a week ago, so it should still be somewhat clean and ready to move into, though I must warn you that it is pretty sparse.”

“That’s quite all right.” He smiled warmly at Cassandra, and Mary felt the oddest pang in her chest. “My needs are few. As long as there’s a roof and a bed, I’ll be content.” He picked up his cup and cradled it carefully between his large hands. Sipping the tea he then asked, “Why did the caretaker leave?”

It was so to the point Mary felt like she’d just been pushed into the path of a charging carriage. “Because he accused us of squandering our money on others instead of seeing to Viscount Aldridge’s wishes.”

The room fell silent in the wake of her sharp response. Mary took another sip of tea, not daring to look at any of them while heat warmed her cheeks.

“Not a very sympathetic man then, I take it,” Mr. Crawford murmured.

Heart pounding, Mary raised her gaze to his and stiffened her spine in an effort to maintain at least some of her composure. “He did not understand why we would feel any responsibility toward children who aren’t our own.”

“He was a very plain-spoken man,” Emily added while Mr. Crawford’s gaze remained fixed on Mary. It took a moment for him to turn slowly away in order to face her friend, leaving Mary’s insides in a jumble and her head slightly dizzy. “Too plain-spoken, in the end.” Emily grinned and jutted her chin in Mary’s direction. “Miss Clemens put him in his place. I’ve never seen a man pack up and leave so quickly.”

“I’m sure you haven’t,” Mr. Crawford said. His voice was soft and his eyes trained on Emily, and yet Mary felt her insides quiver as if he spoke only to her.

Reaching up, she pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered a gentle reminder to herself about not letting any man tempt her.

“You probably want to take a look at the damage and at the cottage where you will be staying,” Cassandra said. “Mary can do the honors while Emily and I start on supper. You are welcome to join us for our evening meal if you like, unless of course you prefer the tavern in the village.”

“Thank you, but I do believe a hearty home-cooked meal would be just the thing this evening,” Mr. Crawford said. He stood and lowered his gaze to Mary. “Shall we proceed with the tour, Miss Clemens?”

She was a lovely woman, Caleb decided as he followed Miss Clemens out of the parlor and toward the stairs. Feisty too, judging from her impassioned defense of the caretaker’s dismissal. He liked that she’d stood her ground and thrown the man out when he threatened her principals. In fact, he had to admit he was slightly surprised by what he’d discovered when he’d knocked on the door and the three young women had bid him welcome.

When they’d asked his name, he’d hesitated just long enough to ensure that none of them knew him. He doubted they would since he could not recall meeting any of them before, not even his best friend’s sister, Lady Cassandra.

As soon as he was certain of anonymity, he’d introduced himself as Mr. Crawford, which wasn’t so much of a lie since it was his last name. It would allow him, he hoped, to be treated as a normal person while he was here, which was all he really wanted, aside from the task of fixing the roof.

The women were remarkably pretty, which instantly piqued his curiosity. It made no sense that none had married, though he supposed they all had their reasons. So far he only knew of Lady Cassandra’s, but when Miss Clemens had walked into the parlor carrying the tea tray, her eyes sparkling and her lips drawn up in a radiant smile, he’d been transfixed. He wanted to learn her secrets now, and he wanted to know why she’d fled the front entrance with the hasty excuse of fetching refreshments.

“How did you end up here?” he asked, going straight to the point without any finesse.

The tip of her shoe caught the edge of a step on the staircase. Her body jerked as she stumbled, her hand clutching the banister firmly for support. Caleb was tempted to reach out and steady her, but that would probably be unwise, so he clasped his hands behind his back, hid a chuckle, and allowed himself to savor her discomfort.

“That is a rather personal thing to ask,” she grumbled. She’d regained her balance and was now marching up the stairs. “We have only just met.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not curious,” he told her lightly. She reached the top of the landing and turned to face him, effectively bringing her daringly close to his person when he stepped up onto the landing as well. Her lips parted, either in surprise or to offer a sharp rejoinder, he wasn’t quite sure, until the flint in her green eyes eased, and she blinked a few times in rapid succession.

“Curiosity can be a burden, you know.” She swirled around and rushed onward as if she hoped to escape his presence.

Caleb followed her easily enough with a few long strides. Reaching a door at the end of the hallway, she undid the latch at the top, yanked it wide open, and hurried up the next flight of steps as if fearing he might accost her.

That gave him pause, and he immediately frowned. He hoped her reasons for being here didn’t include falling victim to a dishonorable scoundrel.

Climbing the stairs a bit slower than before, Caleb stepped up into the attic and instantly sucked in a breath the moment she came into view once more. She was peering out a dusty window while sunshine spilled through it and onto her face. Bathed in light and with a few stray strands of golden hair falling across her cheek, she looked like a creature from another world. Her lips were rosy and slightly moist, as if she’d recently licked them, her nose an elegant line that curved with perfection.

Caleb took a moment to gather his thoughts, completely upended by the beauty Miss Clemens portrayed. And although her gown was plain, the way she stood, leaning slightly forward, allowed him to admire her shapely contours with greater ease.

A surge of heat erupted inside him, and he clenched his hands to ward off the sudden desire that assailed him. After all, he hardly knew this woman, and if she feared him, she’d be right to, because the only thing he could think of now was how she might respond if he stepped up behind her. Would she lean into his embrace and sigh with pleasure?

No, he decided with a wry smile. From what little he’d learned of her so far, he rather suspected she’d smack him. And as pleasant as that might be in the end, he could not take the risk of her sending him packing. Because then he’d be forced to go straight back to London, to the desk that awaited him there in his study, and the dull future looming before him.

Sighing, he left Miss Clemens to ponder the view and forced himself to consider the roof. Without looking too closely, he could see the extra light pouring through where tiles had gone missing. Water stains here and there on the floor suggested a series of long-existing leaks. Some had caused the floorboards to rot, which not only made them unsafe to walk on but probably resulted in heavy dripping in the bedrooms below whenever it rained.

“This roof is sorely lacking in attention, Miss Clemens. I’m not surprised the previous caretaker was frustrated by his inability to fix it for you.”

“Providing food and clothing was a little more pressing,” she told him tartly.

He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. She’d come away from the window and was making her way toward him, watching her step to avoid the rot. “I’m also sure you’d like to prevent yourself and the children in your care from getting sick, as you are all at risk of doing if you live in a damp and chilly home.”

“We have fireplaces.” Her voice had grown defensive.

“And heat rises,” he told her gently. “If the roof is not secure, all that heat will go straight outside.”

She pressed her lips together and drew a deep breath. “You’re right,” she said, startling him with her concession. “Do you think you can fix it before winter sets in?”

He gave the roof another quick glance and nodded. “Viscount Aldridge gave me the funds to do it, so yes, I believe it will be possible.”

The smile she gave him in exchange for his assurance left him feeling slightly unsteady.

“Thank you, Mr. Crawford. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear you say that.” She placed both hands on her hips. “Now, shall I show you where you will be staying?”

Caleb nodded, his gaze holding hers until her cheeks colored. There was no doubt in his mind that he affected her somehow, which was definitely gratifying since she so clearly affected him. He was also sure that she felt it too, this unmistakable attraction between them, but rather than accept it, she seemed quite determined to fight it and deny it and run from it as fast as she could.

Whatever happened to you, Miss Clemens?

Most women he’d known appreciated a man’s attention. Except her. If he had to guess, she’d rather shut herself away in a wardrobe than grant him a second to admire her looks.

Her feet tapped loudly on the steps as she hurried down the stairs like a scampering mouse being chased by a prowling cat. Caleb took his time, enjoying her breathless pauses when she stopped to check if he was still behind her. Hell, she was lucky there were children and two other women in the house, or he might make an effort to catch her. Watching her cheeks flush each time she glanced his way and hearing her gasp when she saw he was close was starting to wear on his urge to pull her back to him and kiss her senseless.

Lust and desire, he told himself bluntly. How long had it been since he’d had a woman? Damn if he could remember. He’d been so absorbed in his building projects in France and later by his return to England and the deaths of his father and brother, he’d not had the time or energy to consider his baser needs. They’d lain dormant until the door to this house had swung open and he’d looked into Miss Clemens’s eyes, at which point they’d surged to life with a vengeance.

Christ!

This really would not do.

Raking his fingers through his hair, he muttered an oath and strode out of the house to where Miss Clemens now waited. Except she wasn’t waiting. She was walking toward a small stone building about a hundred yards away from the main house. Caleb quickened his stride to catch up with her.

“It’s a beautiful property,” he said. Squeals sounded from somewhere behind him, and he instinctively glanced back to see two little girls chasing after each other. “There’s certainly plenty of space for the children to run about.”

She tilted her chin. “Do you like children, Mr. Crawford?”

He blinked and stuck his hands in his pockets. What a strange question. “Doesn’t everyone?”

She pressed her lips together. “No.”

“Hmm.” He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. “I don’t have much experience with them, I confess, but their ability to offer unconditional love to those who care for them is worth all the effort, I suspect.”

“It most certainly is,” she agreed, and although she didn’t look at him and he didn’t look at her, he could tell she was smiling from the sound of her voice.

“Do you not wish to have some of your own one day?” He wasn’t sure where he’d found the nerve to ask such a forward question, and yet somehow he had.

She didn’t answer right away, and he began to think she never would, which was not surprising, but then she said, “I believe the time for that has passed.”

The sadness with which she said it tore at his heart. “Why?” They arrived at the door to the cottage, and she busied her hands with finding the key which seemed to be lost in one of her pockets. “You’re still young enough to attract a man’s attention, Miss Clemens.”

Her gaze shot up to lock with his. “I…” She lifted the key to the door between them, paused for a second, and then quickly unlocked the lock. The door creaked open, catching on the floor and sticking. “Sorry. This probably needs to be fixed as well,” she muttered before pushing her way through the narrow opening.

Caleb squeezed inside as well and considered the space he’d been offered to live in. It was small but just as clean as Lady Cassandra had promised, and the roof here looked much more solid than the one that covered the main house.

“I’ll give you some sheets for the bed,” Miss Clemens told him. She cleared her throat and appeared to consider each corner of the room, looking everywhere but at him. “If there’s anything else you need…”

She glanced at him at that moment and went completely still.

He wasn't surprised, because he knew he was staring at her while compiling a long list of all the things he needed. Each item more wicked than the last. Her eyes widened and as they did so, he knew it must show on his face. Worst of all, he wasn't sure how to stop it. The presence of a bed wasn't helping.

“I'll get you some fresh towels too,” she said. “And a wash basin and pitcher so you can...” She waved her hand aimlessly before dropping it to her side. “Perhaps a book or two would be nice as well. Do you read, Mr. Crawford? Yes, of course you do since you're quite well-spoken. There is a library that you are welcome to use, though it's not very grand, but it does contain a few novels I think you'd enjoy and—”

“Miss Clemens,” he muttered, closing the distance between them in two easy strides.

“Yes?” she squeaked.

He met her gaze boldly before lowering it to the fullness of her lips. Her breath hitched and he knew she thought he might kiss her. The temptation was certainly there, burning through his every restraint. But it would be a mistake.

This knowledge made him look up even as the tips of his fingers tingled with the urge to touch her. He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent: fresh linen and starch with a hint of lavender.

Inspiration struck and he decided to allow himself a moment of pleasure. “Cobwebs,” he murmured.

Confusion puckered her brow. “What?”

Her voice was but a soft exhalation spilling over her plump lower lip. Caleb steeled himself and reached up, shamelessly sliding his fingers between a few stray locks of her hair.

He couldn't regret the lie he'd told her. Now that he'd touched her, discovered how silky her hair felt against his skin, he knew he would have been mad not to take the liberty.

“It must have attached itself to you in the attic.” His knuckles deliberately grazed her cheek before he withdrew, dropping his hand to his side. “There. All gone.”

She stared up at him, and he heard her breath tremble as she inhaled. Her response to his closeness and touch was not only palpable, but thoroughly arousing.

But then she blinked and when she looked at him again, it was with a mixture of surprise and unease. It ruined the moment and made Caleb feel like a cad for taking advantage of this woman's trust. She'd shown him hospitality without a chaperone's protection, and he'd thanked her by making her the subject of his most depraved fantasies.

“Thank you,” she told him crisply.

He almost laughed. If she knew his mind, she'd scold him instead.

Keeping that bit of information to himself, he dipped his head and aimed for politeness. “You are welcome, Miss Clemens.”

She hesitated briefly before brushing past him. “I must help Cassandra and Emily with supper,” she said as she slipped through the door. “We eat at six.”

He turned to watch her flee and then thought of something. “I don't suppose there's a lake on the property?”

“Over there behind those trees,” she called with a wave of her hand.

Caleb waited until she was out of sight before leaving the cottage and striding briskly in the direction she'd indicated. Summer was long gone so the water would probably be frigid, which was precisely what he needed in order to cool his ardor.