a rooftop.
Eleanor was breathless with running. “But what are you going to do?”
“Do not gainsay me! The pole, if you please!”
She took the long, forked stick that the cottagers used to prop up their laundry lines and flung it up to him like a javelin. He caught it in one hand and bowed his thanks.
“Where on earth,” he said as he tested the stick, “did you learn to throw like that?”
“You know I have two older brothers. We played together every summer at Acton Mead and I had to keep up, you know.”
“And become an Amazon? You leave me trembling in awe of your prowess.” He didn’t seem to be trembling in the least, unless it was with laughter. “Now, for the parasol!”
In spite of herself, Eleanor was laughing, too. “Pray, don’t do anything more, sir! It’s not worth it, truly.”
“I think, brown hen,” he said, suddenly serious, “that it’s worth a great deal to see you laugh.”
“What?” she said, staring up at him.
“In all my wicked experience,” he continued with a wink, “I have never seen a more beautiful laugh, nor more beautiful eyes.”
Eleanor stopped dead in her tracks. “Are you trying to flatter me, sir?”
But Mr. Campbell was no longer looking at her. He had backed up several paces and was coiled like a spring, the smooth muscles of his back lithe as a cheetah’s. As she watched, he took a short run and using the washing pole, vaulted cleanly to the barn roof. Abandoned, the pole fell bouncing from the cottage roof to the ground.
He ran along the pantiles and caught up the parasol. He flourished it in triumph.
“Don’t be ridiculous, brown hen,” he said lightly, as if there had been no interruption. “You’re an earl’s daughter, and I seem to be the most notorious rake in London. I’m certainly without birth, position, or prospects. I’d be lucky to marry a City chit with a large enough portion to support my dissolute career. In the meantime, pray don’t refuse me the harmless pastime of practicing compliments.”
Eleanor gazed up at him. An odd constriction pressed around her heart.
“For heaven’s sake!” she said. “I don’t want your professional compliments. Suppose they were to turn my foolish schoolgirl’s head? Don’t you have a conscience?”
“Even a hardened rake has some shreds of conscience when in the presence of a lady with so skillful a throwing arm. But I promise I’ll keep my observations to myself in future. ‘Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, / And thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,’” he quoted freely. “But you can’t stop me thinking—”
With a sudden clatter, some rotten tiles gave way beneath him.
“Good Lord! The roof’s giving way!” she cried.
He laughed again. Eleanor found herself filled with some indefinable emotion that she’d never experienced before—an odd longing, both painful and marvelous.
“‘And enterprises of great pith and moment,’” he continued to quote, as he edged along the ridge, “‘With this regard, their currents turn awry, / And lose the name of action.’”
More tiles broke away. He watched for a moment as the pieces hit the ground and shattered.
“Alas, poor Hamlet! I should have sent funds for the barn roof, too,” he said with exaggerated regret. “I’m very afraid my enterprise of great pith and moment is going to end in absurdity—”
Lady Eleanor Acton’s heart thudded into her ribs and sent the breath from her body as a whole section of tile dislodged and rattled down off the roof.
Mr. Leander Campbell, the ground stolen from under his booted feet and his hands occupied with the parasol, slipped out of sight and began to roll off the far side of the building where it was a good twenty feet to the ground.
Chapter 5
Dropping both coat and hat, Eleanor rushed around the barn. She had a terrible vision of finding the impossible Leander Campbell shattered on the ground like the
Eleanor was breathless with running. “But what are you going to do?”
“Do not gainsay me! The pole, if you please!”
She took the long, forked stick that the cottagers used to prop up their laundry lines and flung it up to him like a javelin. He caught it in one hand and bowed his thanks.
“Where on earth,” he said as he tested the stick, “did you learn to throw like that?”
“You know I have two older brothers. We played together every summer at Acton Mead and I had to keep up, you know.”
“And become an Amazon? You leave me trembling in awe of your prowess.” He didn’t seem to be trembling in the least, unless it was with laughter. “Now, for the parasol!”
In spite of herself, Eleanor was laughing, too. “Pray, don’t do anything more, sir! It’s not worth it, truly.”
“I think, brown hen,” he said, suddenly serious, “that it’s worth a great deal to see you laugh.”
“What?” she said, staring up at him.
“In all my wicked experience,” he continued with a wink, “I have never seen a more beautiful laugh, nor more beautiful eyes.”
Eleanor stopped dead in her tracks. “Are you trying to flatter me, sir?”
But Mr. Campbell was no longer looking at her. He had backed up several paces and was coiled like a spring, the smooth muscles of his back lithe as a cheetah’s. As she watched, he took a short run and using the washing pole, vaulted cleanly to the barn roof. Abandoned, the pole fell bouncing from the cottage roof to the ground.
He ran along the pantiles and caught up the parasol. He flourished it in triumph.
“Don’t be ridiculous, brown hen,” he said lightly, as if there had been no interruption. “You’re an earl’s daughter, and I seem to be the most notorious rake in London. I’m certainly without birth, position, or prospects. I’d be lucky to marry a City chit with a large enough portion to support my dissolute career. In the meantime, pray don’t refuse me the harmless pastime of practicing compliments.”
Eleanor gazed up at him. An odd constriction pressed around her heart.
“For heaven’s sake!” she said. “I don’t want your professional compliments. Suppose they were to turn my foolish schoolgirl’s head? Don’t you have a conscience?”
“Even a hardened rake has some shreds of conscience when in the presence of a lady with so skillful a throwing arm. But I promise I’ll keep my observations to myself in future. ‘Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, / And thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,’” he quoted freely. “But you can’t stop me thinking—”
With a sudden clatter, some rotten tiles gave way beneath him.
“Good Lord! The roof’s giving way!” she cried.
He laughed again. Eleanor found herself filled with some indefinable emotion that she’d never experienced before—an odd longing, both painful and marvelous.
“‘And enterprises of great pith and moment,’” he continued to quote, as he edged along the ridge, “‘With this regard, their currents turn awry, / And lose the name of action.’”
More tiles broke away. He watched for a moment as the pieces hit the ground and shattered.
“Alas, poor Hamlet! I should have sent funds for the barn roof, too,” he said with exaggerated regret. “I’m very afraid my enterprise of great pith and moment is going to end in absurdity—”
Lady Eleanor Acton’s heart thudded into her ribs and sent the breath from her body as a whole section of tile dislodged and rattled down off the roof.
Mr. Leander Campbell, the ground stolen from under his booted feet and his hands occupied with the parasol, slipped out of sight and began to roll off the far side of the building where it was a good twenty feet to the ground.
Chapter 5
Dropping both coat and hat, Eleanor rushed around the barn. She had a terrible vision of finding the impossible Leander Campbell shattered on the ground like the
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