Seductive Deception

Chapter 13

Allegra looked out the front window of the dower house, down the winding roadway that weaved its way through a tunnel of trees, surrounded by fields of overgrown weeds and grasses rimmed with forest. And then, she spotted him, back to her, stripped of clothes from the waist up.

Holy hell.

She sucked in a breath.

What was he doing?

The lines of his back, golden from the sun, flexed as he threw an ax over his shoulder and swung down with swift methodic thwacks; the sound dull and rhythmic.

Was he...chopping wood?

Another thwack. And then another. And another.

She leapt up and opened the door, walking toward him slowly so as not to startle him. She averted her eyes as she pulled her hood up, but she couldn't help but take peeks at him.

His arms glistened, sweat trickling down them like dew drops, one with a jagged scar, like a lightning strike. Her breath caught in her chest at the sight, her mouth opening before she had the chance to quickly snap it shut.

War injury. Her body went stiff, a cold sweat threatened at the idea of him bleeding, dying in some foreign land, no one there to comfort him. It felt like someone kicked her in the stomach.

She tiptoed his direction, trying her best not to startle him, but she had no intentions of letting him know she'd seen it, that she'd felt a stab of pain in her gut at the sight, as if the wind was knocked from her.

And despite the gnarly gash, no, rather in fact, because of it, he was perfection. The scar adding to his attractiveness, a mark of immortality etched in his skin. As if Hercules had attempted to smite him, but he persisted, fought back.

She'd have to encourage him to keep his shirt on. No lady in the ton would be thrilled to know her future earl was out chopping wood.

He wedged the ax with one final blow into a trunk as he turned, reaching down for a rag to wipe his face.

"Lord Whittington," she rebuked, "what are you doing? I...we have more etiquette training to go over." she rubbed her hands together. Why did she feel so imprudent right now? As if she couldn't put two words together. She was so close she could smell him—sweat, musk, and freshly cut wood shavings. Her pulse jumped.

She didn't dare run her eyes over his torso, didn't dare look at the tantalizing trail of fine bronzed hair that lead to the top of his trousers, or the way his hips dipped on each side as he glanced back at his work, oblivious to her desire.

"Chopping wood."

Finally meeting his eyes, she leveled him with a glare.

"The dower house gets cold in the evenings, and with summer ending in a few short weeks, you will need firewood."

Untethered hope fluttered inside her. She didn't know what to make of it.

He sat on a pile of neatly stacked logs and looked up at her; his legs bowed to his sides, elbows on his thighs framing a certain irresistible place that she'd had to admit, she thought of. Wondered about. Her eyes darted to his face, praying that he didn't see her staring there.

"It's ineffective for me to point out that earls typically don't do things like this, isn't it?" she propositioned as she shot him a smile.

He smirked and shrugged. "I'm not a typical earl."

She couldn't resist grinning in response. "No, I suppose not."

And she couldn't be more grateful for that. He was going to fail etiquette training, and admittedly, she couldn't feel bad about it.