Free The Gamekeeper's Lady by Ann Lethbridge

they said nothing. His gaze dropped to her lips and stayed there.
    A heart-quickening tension gripped every nerve in her body. The small space between them seemed to shrink and she was certain his breath brushed her cheek. A shiver slid across her shoulders, something sweetly painful tugged at her heart. A longing to be held.
    She’d felt nothing like it since childhood. She swallowed.
    He jerked back as if he, too, resisted the strange pull. ‘The fox will be along any moment now, if he’s coming.’ His voice sounded harsh, his breathing rushed, but his expression seemed quite blank as he stared ahead as if completely oblivious to what had just happened between them.
    Nothing had happened.
    She must have imagined the sense of connection. How could she feel such a thing for a man she’d met only a few times? But he was unlike anyone she had ever met. Handsome and arrogant, and occasionally humble. Well educated, too. He even knew about Mrs Radcliffe. Fascinating. And obviously very dangerous to her senses.
    He touched her arm. ‘Look,’ he said in a soft whisper.
    Pencil poised, she stared at the sleek red creature trotting into her field of vision. His bush hung straight to the ground, his shiny black nose tested the air and his ears pricked and twitched in every direction.
    With held breath, she sketched his shape. Focused, imprinted the colours on her mind, even as her hand caught his outline, the shadow of muscle, lean flanks, the curve of his head. Attitude, intense and watchful—not fearful, though. Eyes bright, searching, body sleek, softened by reddish fur.
    Apparently satisfied, the fox trotted the last few feet and, after one glance around his domain, disappeared into his lair.
    Frederica didn’t stop drawing. The image firmly in her mind’s eye, she captured the narrow hips and deep chest, the tufted ears and pointy muzzle, the white flashes on chest and paws.
    Finally, she stopped and rolled her shoulders.
    ‘Did you see him for long enough?’ he murmured.
    She jumped. She’d forgotten his presence. ‘Yes.’
    ‘You draw with your left hand.’
    The devil’s spawn. She waited for him to cross his fingers to ward off evil spirits the way some of the other servants did. She should have used her right hand as she’d been taught by hours of rapped knuckles. But then the picture would be stilted. Useless. Tears welled unbidden to her eyes. How could she have let him see her shame? She never let anyone watch her draw. She transferred the pencil to her other hand. ‘I-I—’
    His hand, large and warm, strong and brown from hours outdoors, covered hers. ‘My older brother is left-handed.’
    She glanced up at his face and found his expression frighteningly bleak. ‘Y-you h-have a b-b—’ she swallowed and took a deep breath ‘—brother?’
    ‘Yes. I have two brothers and three sisters.’
    ‘How lucky you are. Do they live near?’
    She winced at his short, hard laugh. ‘I don’t know about lucky. They live in London most of the time.’ He shrugged. ‘What about you? Do you have any siblings?’
    How had she allowed the conversation to get on to the topic of families? Had he really not heard the gossip about her mother, or was he looking for more salacious details? ‘I never knew my parents.’
    The small breath of wind lifted a strand of dark hair at his crown in the most appealing way. ‘An orphan, then. I’m sorry,’ he said softly.
    ‘You forgot your Somerset accent again, Mr Deveril.’
    He pushed to his feet, unfolding his long lean body and stretched his back. ‘So I did, Miss Bracewell. So I did.’
    ‘Why pretend?’
    ‘Weatherby wouldn’t have hired a man educated above his station.’
    The words rang true, but she sensed they hid more than they told. Clearly he was not about to reveal any secrets to her. With a feeling of disappointment, of an opportunity missed, she packed up her drawing materials. It really was time to go or she would be late for breakfast.
    She held up