Free Love With the Perfect Scoundrel by Sophia Nash

conditions are not what you’re used to, but we’re stuck until the roads are passable, so let’s make the best of it.”
    “No, Mr. Ranier, you misunderstand…I appreciate—”
    He didn’t hear the rest of her words for he had already left, bounding down the stairs, grabbing his coat to return to the life he knew…in the stables, surrounded by animals, the creatures who had brought him more comfort than any person ever would…
    Until the following day, when he found the heart-wrenching efforts Grace Sheffey had expended on him.

Chapter 5
    G race woke the following morning to find another steaming bowl of milk and porridge with honey on a tray beside her. Shame filled her. After a lifetime of repressing every last provocative thought, she was possessed with equal parts horror and embarrassment over what she had revealed last night to a man who was so purely masculine, so purely distilled capable male that he made her feel like an awkward young girl all the time.
    She tried to be kind to herself. Surely, what could one expect after sustaining the death of a husband, two failed engagements, one carriage accident, an injury and nearly freezing to death under a hemlock tree?
    Well. She could not stay in this bed all day with these morose thoughts. But she wouldn’t risk further injury, for she could not suffer more scrutiny by Mr. Ranier. She spied her torn fine lawn shift folded on the end of the bed, as well as her ruined corset. Thoughts of his large, capable hands washing these intimate garments brought only more mortification. It seemed she was to be stripped bare of every last dignity.
    And then an idea came to her as she finished the porridge. A wonderful, calming idea. The former owner—or the housekeeper—must have some sort of sewing basket. A short search produced the well-stocked basket, and much more.
    Six hours later, she was surrounded by stacks of mended goods, her own and those of the other occupant of the house. It was the only way she could think of to show her gratitude. Timmy Lattimer had interrupted twice, first with a delicious, simple dinner tray of roast mutton with potatoes and carrots, and the second time with a small hammered-copper hip bath and three pails of hot water.
    “Mr. Ranier said ye might fancy this ma’am.” Timmy had blushed to the roots of his black hair.
    She couldn’t think of anything she wanted more. “Thank you, Timmy. Thank you ever so much. And, ah, where is Mr. Ranier?” She couldn’t stop the question from tumbling from her lips.
    Now the boy was adding more wood to the fire, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. “In the barn. One o’ the ewes has gone and started birthin’ early.”
    “Really…”
    “Yes, and he’s got his hands full of her now.” The boy’s face turned a shade of crimson when he realized what he had blurted out. “I mean, he’ll pull the young ’un out soon. It’s a good thing Mr. Ranier’s got so much experience with those animals he tended in the colonies.”
    So that’s where Michael Ranier was from. That was the elusive accent she sometimes heard. “You’re very right, Timmy. So how does Mr. Ranier know the former owner of Brynlow?”
    The boy gave her a measured glance before continuing quietly, “Well, the ways I understand it from me pa is that Mr. Bryn met Mr. Ranier in town.”
    “So he was from London originally?” she tried to keep her voice light.
    “Mr. Bryn was in a foundling home there afore ’e was taken in by that fancy furniture maker and his wife. That’s how ’e came by this place.” He swung a glance toward the door. “Mr. Bryn used to tell me how lucky I was to have me ma and pa like the ones he got late in life. Uh, ma’am? It’s been a long day. I think I’ll see to heatin’ Mr. Ranier’s bathwater now. I’ll fetch the tub in a half hour if that suits ye, ma’am.”
    Well, she’d drawn more information from Timmy Lattimer than she would have extracted from a month of Sundays with