Chapter Ten
Minny winced.
“You said I could—”
“I did not say you could do it wrong,” she said with a laugh. Another mistake, just like the one a few days ago. Did the man never learn? “Honestly, have you ever seen me do that?”
Henry looked up, sweat beaded on his brow, face flushed by the furnace. “No?”
It was all she could do not to laugh. Honestly, she had known this was too difficult for the man. After first giving him an opportunity to take to the anvil days ago, Minny had known it would be a slow race, Henry’s confidence with a hammer.
After all, he had burnt himself almost immediately.
But that had been then, and this was now. Henry had insisted he had learned from his mistake—Minny was still trying to forget the searing way he had looked at her, as though he was taking off her clothes piece by piece—and it was impossible to say no to this man.
Minny swallowed. There she was, letting her thoughts get away from her again. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate with Henry Everleigh in her life and in her forge.
Leaning back on the stool, she tried to watch Henry coolly without noticing the flex of the muscle in his arms, or the way his eyes focused so closely on the iron on the anvil he was attempting to work.
This afternoon they had agreed he would have another try on the anvil, and to his credit, he was doing…not badly. She would never hit at that strange angle, but she was not the one this time getting distracted…
“What are you doing?” Henry asked without looking up.
Minny’s gaze hastily dropped to the notebook in her hands. “Nothing—working on the accounts.”
It was true. At least, it would have been true if she was actually doing the accounts and not getting distracted by the handsome man.
Who knew, she thought mischievously, a spark of heat rushing through her, that Henry would look so…so impressive up there, by the anvil?
There was something so delectable about a man put to work.
She swallowed. What she should be doing is writing to Alan. That had been her intention; it had been a few weeks since she had passed on the last letter. She needed to write a note to go around it and place it by the trough once Henry had returned to the King’s Head.
The trouble was, her pencil had ceased its scratching almost the moment Henry had removed his waistcoat.
Dear Alan—I am delighted to say
Minny glanced down at the paltry words she had managed to scribble, then back to the handsome man.
Henry grinned. “Any more critique you wish to throw my way?”
“You must always strike while the metal is hot, always—see, it has cooled too much already.”
She could tell from here. It was only a distance of six feet or so, but her eye was carefully attuned to the way metal looked, or more importantly, sounded.
Her father had always said that if he lost his sight, he’d be able to continue just based on the sizzle of the metal, the way the hammer rang throughout the forge.
Henry’s forehead crinkled. “How can you possibly know from there?”
A surge of confidence rushed through Minny. “Try hitting it now.”
He did so. “The damned thing is cold!”
“Did I, or did I not, just say that?”
Their laughter filled the forge. Minny impetuously wished that it would never cease.
She had never permitted herself to consider herself lonely. She had certainly felt lonely, but tried to tell herself time and time again that it would be too dangerous having someone else about the place.
Alan’s secret was safe with her, and she would never betray him. But it would be difficult having someone else in the forge day in and day out who did not know.
But somehow, though of course she was careful, that particular problem had never reared its head with Henry.
She felt…safe with him. And at the same time, more in danger than she ever had been in her life.
Henry had thrust the iron into the furnace, watching, as she had taught him, for the way the metal changed color as it heated. Just as it was perfectly suited to a little light hammering, Minny watched as he moved it from the flames to the anvil.
Clang!
He tapped it gently, then more forcefully. Minny watched surreptitiously, pretending to be writing but instead watching the way he learned, fingers twisting the hammer to gain greater purchase.
When he had first arrived, his hands had been soft. It had been all Minny could do not to dream of them on her skin after that reckless kiss they had shared.
His story about being a land manager with his father was surely true, then. Henry Everleigh had been a man who had worked, perhaps, but not with his hands.
No longer. Minny’s gaze drifted to Henry’s hands, his rough palms, the burned and scarred wrist, the way his calloused fingers gripped tightly. He had hardened, yes, but he only seemed to melt her more.
What would it be to feel those calloused fingers stroking her—
“Minny?”
“What?” she said hurriedly, closing the notebook on her pencil and looking up eagerly.
Any excuse to look at him was one worth taking.
Henry’s smile was too knowing. “You’re looking at me.”
Minny’s lips quirked. “You said my name.”
“I meant before that. When you were pretending to be writing, writing…whatever it is that you’re writing.”
Her cheeks flushed. Minny was not about to admit she had been looking at him, that would be outrageous. Young women did not look at men. The very idea!
Except she had been.
“No, I wasn’t,” she said automatically. Well, it would hardly be right just to admit it, would it?
Henry seemed to know what she was thinking. He grinned as he pushed back his hair. “I know what I saw, Minny Banfield, and it was you, looking at me.”
Minny swallowed. She greatly enjoyed looking at him, more’s the pity. If only the Henry Everleigh who had turned up at her forge had been old, dull, so uninteresting she could have sent him on his way with no regrets.
But he was a part of her life now. That did not mean, however, that she was going to merely accept his aspersions.
Minny drew herself up as best she could on the stool and promised herself she would complete her note to Alan later. “I was inspecting your technique.”
Henry’s eyebrows raised. “My technique?”
She nodded, unsure why the words made her heart flutter. “Yes, I had to look at your hands t-to see how you were holding the hammer.”
It sounded a poor excuse, even to her ears. Minny dropped her gaze, unable to continue looking into the handsome face of a man she knew she could not have.
Would not have. Unless…unless he truly wished to learn the ways of blacksmithing, her traitorous heart could not help but whisper. Unless when his money ran out, he decided to stay. Marry her. Become a part of the forge, just as she was.
Minny swallowed, wishing to goodness her stomach would not insist in tying itself in knots.
She was being ridiculous.
“Besides,” she found herself saying, smile returning as she lifted her head. “You would only know I was looking at you if you were looking at me.”
And there it was—the sudden flush, the way Henry looked away then immediately back.
He was embarrassed, too! He had been looking, hoping, perhaps, for her attention.
Desire rushed through her, and Minny did nothing this time to push it back.
Was it not clear they liked each other? She hardly had the words for it; she had never been courted, the sudden death of her father putting paid to all thoughts of matrimony. She’d had the forge to look after. Her brother, the fool, to care for.
Was this what it was, to meet someone you wished to court?
Odd courtship, Minny could not help but think, throat dry in the heat of the forge. Why, if they had been lords and ladies, there would already be a scandal. They had been alone together so often. He had even kissed her!
“I was only looking at you because you were looking at me,” Henry shot back hastily.
Minny raised an eyebrow, desire compelling the boldness so often reticent within her. “Is that a fact?”
Their gazes held for a heart-stopping moment, one that stole Minny’s breath and made it impossible to think.
“You know, it is remarkably hot in here.”
Minny blinked. She must have imagined that—it was the sort of tawdry thing a milkmaid would say!
But then, the words had apparently not come from her mouth.
Henry’s eyes blazed with fire. Though they reflected the flames of the furnace, there was something else there, something wild and dark and wonderful. Something fixed on Minny that nailed her to the stool, unable to move.
Though what she would have done, she could not tell. Particularly when, without releasing her from his gaze, Henry very slowly placed the hammer on the anvil and pulled her leather apron over his head.
“Wh-What are you—”
“I said, it was remarkably hot in here,” said Henry steadily. “Don’t you agree?”
Minny’s stomach was twisting so wildly, she was certain he could hear it—but then her heart was beating so loudly, perhaps that was drowning it out.
This was a trap, yet Henry’s eyes tempted her beyond anything she could endure.
Whatever was about to happen, she wanted it, could feel the aching need between her legs.
“I…yes, quite warm I would say, but—Henry!”
Minny had been unable to help herself. Exclaiming his name, however, did not make him cease the absolutely outrageous thing he was doing.
He was removing his shirt.
Minny blinked several times, sure that each time she opened her eyes, she would see she had been mistaken—but no.
Slowly, without taking his eyes from her save for the brief moment the linen fabric obscured his face, Henry pulled up his shirt to reveal taut and hair speckled muscles.
The shirt fell to the floor.
Henry stood by the anvil, still looking intensely at Minny, certain she was going to melt from this stool onto the floor. How could she not? Knots of desire were untangling in her chest, between her legs, making her mouth dry and her hands wish to know desperately what those muscles felt like.
Dear God, he was so attractive, it was surely criminal!
Heat flushed through Minny’s face as she rose, notebook and pencil falling to the floor. She ignored them.