Chapter Eleven
Henry had never looked on anything more beautiful. It was perfection. It was…outstanding.
“Voila!” he said proudly, holding up his masterpiece.
The forge was unusually silent as Henry beamed at Minny who had been seated on the stool for the last hour or so, scribbling in that notebook of hers.
Ever since last week when he had lost all his senses and started stripping off before her—not nearly enough, sadly—Henry had been careful when working at the anvil when Minny was in the forge.
At least, he had tried to be careful. It was easier said than done, but in the following six days, he had managed not to kiss Minny senseless and admit his foolish scheme to identify a gossiping scandalmonger.
He had neither allowed the truth to slip through his lips nor permit his lips to lock on hers.
He should be congratulated.
Still. He was unusually aware of her presence whenever in the forge. Henry had been determined to focus on the task at hand—the task she had set him—and only twice had he lifted his head to take in the splendid beauty of her hair.
Well. Perhaps three times.
Yet despite that, he had managed to complete his first project at the anvil. And what a thing of beauty it was!
“Is…that it?” asked Minny faintly.
Henry’s shoulders slumped. For some reason, there was neither amazement nor congratulations in Minny’s tone. In fact, there was a strained smile across her cheeks and a puzzled expression on her brow.
Which did not make any sense. Why, he had never seen a horse shoe so splendid. Wiping beaded sweat from his brow, Henry gazed with delight at the curved metal in his hands.
It had taken him the best part of an hour, he would guess, and his shoulders ached.
“Remember,” Minny had said only yesterday, “it’s the detailed work that takes the time, that really puts the pressure on the nerves. When you have to take your time, if you want beauty to emerge.”
Henry swallowed at the mere remembrance of her words. Yes, one had to go slowly if one wanted beauty to emerge. And he had tried to rush things, hadn’t he?
Foolish cad, taking off his shirt like that! He would have to hope that never got back to the Dulverton Club. He would be eaten alive by his friends for doing such a foolhardy thing.
He had tried, since then, to tread more carefully. If he were going to get information from Minny—and that was the only reason he was still here, he tried to convince himself—he would need to go slowly.
And that was why his damned shoulder ached, and he’d forced himself to have cold baths every evening after returning to his room at the King’s Head.
“What is it?” Minny said lightly.
Henry frowned. Was it not obvious? “A horse shoe.”
It was ridiculous to be so proud, he knew. Part of his rational mind, buried deep under desire for Minny Banfield, could see the thing in his hand was nothing to write home about.
A curve of metal, poorly angled, not entirely smooth on one side. Part of the metal had melted unexpectedly, and there seemed to be nothing he could do to fix it.
But still. It was, at thirty paces, recognizable as a horse shoe. Wasn’t it?
“A horse shoe,” repeated Minny in a level voice.
A prickle of irritation clutched around Henry’s heart. He had felt such achievement, looking at it on the anvil, knowing he had created something from a mere lump of metal.
Just a month or two ago, he had not known one end of a hammer from the other!
Henry had been born and raised to be a duke. The Duke of Dulverton was not in the habit of using his hands for anything, save the ordering of good wine and the loving of women.
Which was why, in his mind, this was such an achievement. After all, Henry thought with a wry grin, how many dukes could say that they had made something—anything?
“It’s definitely a horse shoe,” he said defensively, still holding it up.
The spring sunlight glinted off the iron, throwing a glow around the forge.
Minny nodded sagely. “If you say it is.”
“Minny!”
“Well, what do you want me to say?” she said seriously. “It is clearly an achievement for you, and I have no wish to detract from your enjoyment.”
Henry allowed his hand to fall to his side, all excitement leaking away. Was it truly that bad? Was it impossible to tell it was a—
Only then did he notice the teasing smile on Minny’s face. His loins lurched.
Dear God, she was a minx. What was he going to do with her?
More importantly, what was he going to do with himself?
“You are mocking me,” Henry said, waving the horse shoe.
“Well, only a little bit,” said Minny, eyes dancing with mischief. “What did you want me to say?”
His heart thumped painfully as responses whirled through his mind.
Oh, I don’t know, whispered his traitorous heart. That you want me? That you need my touch, crave my attention, are just as conscious of where I am at all times as I am of you?
That you want to be underneath me as I kiss your—
“It’s just that I don’t know any horses with feet like that,” Minny continued, evidently unaware of licentious thoughts rushing through Henry’s mind.
Henry took another look at the horse shoe. It was crooked, now he came to examine it closely, though his gaze shifted past it to the giggling woman.
Dear Lord, why had he thought her stern and stiff when he had first made her acquaintance? There was such joy in her, such heart.
And his heart yearned for it to be him, his presence, his kisses drawing it from her.
“Perhaps it will not perfectly fit a horse immediately,” Henry conceded, trying to keep laughter from his own voice.
“Perhaps not,” Minny said with a giggle. “Though I should not tease too much. Here, look at this.”
Eager to accept any excuse to look more closely at the woman he was fast feeling too much for, Henry watched her step across the forge—leaving her notebook carefully closed on the stool.
His joy drained away. That notebook of hers, she was always writing in it, always scribbling away. Was it possible…Henry had come here for one reason, to find the person writing such terrible lies about his sister.
Was it possible that as he stood here sweltering, attempting to make his first horse shoe, his beloved sister was being slandered before his very eyes—by a woman who was becoming just as dear to him, although in a different manner?
Henry’s jaw tightened as Minny rummaged in a wooden box pulled from underneath a bench.
It was possible. He had never sneaked a look in her notebook, had considered it inappropriate.
But was his affection for Minny clouding his judgment? Was he risking a chance to find the miscreant…and was it possible that the miscreant was Minny herself?
“Here it is!” she said triumphantly.
Henry almost dropped his horse shoe onto the anvil in surprise. Minny was holding a lump of metal that looked like an iron bar bent in half. It was a horrendous lump of dross, really, but for some reason, she was holding it as though it were made of gold.
“And…what is it?” he ventured.
Minny’s eyes glittered. “Why, the very first horse shoe I made, of course!”
She stepped over to show him, and Henry forced his gaze onto the useless lump of iron rather than the curve of her collarbone disappearing into the sleeve of her gown.
No good would come from it, he tried to tell himself. He was not here to bed innocent maidens. No matter how well they kissed.
“You are jesting me,” Henry said aloud, taking the iron lump from her. “This is supposed to be a horse shoe?”
Minny tapped him lightly on the arm in a playful manner that almost forced Henry to forget all his stern promises and kiss her again. “It was my very first attempt!”
“So is this, yet it at least looks like the thing I was attempting to make!” Henry said with a laugh.
He held the two pieces of iron beside each other and immediately felt drastically better about his first try.
Minny raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Yes, but you are…what, five and twenty?”
Henry’s stomach lurched. “Eight and twenty.”
“And I was but seven years old when I made that,” she said proudly, pointing to what she had called a horse shoe. “I was barely strong enough to lift the hammer!”
Blast. Henry had to admit, it was more impressive.
“I still win,” he said aloud, permitting a teasing air into his voice.
Teasing was permitted. Standing close was acceptable. Dreaming of that soft skin under his fingers was—
“I suppose you have a little way to go, but so did I,” said Minny, taking her horse shoe.
Henry’s heart skipped a beat as her fingers brushed past his own. Had the forge suddenly grown much hotter?
“And you have time to improve,” she continued, placing the keepsake back into the wooden box. “At least…how long are you planning on staying here, Henry?”
Henry swallowed. Her voice was nonchalant; she had not even bothered to turn around as she asked him the question. But perhaps that was the point. Perhaps she did not wish for him to see her face as she asked the question.
He certainly did not know how to answer.
“At least…how long are you planning on staying here, Henry?”
Perhaps he would have a better answer if he had managed to keep his attention on the task at hand.
Peg was at home—or more likely, Henry thought, taking tea with one of her many friends—and with every passing day, the damage to her reputation increased.
The longer he dwelt here with Minny in this strange dream of a life, the harder it would be to rectify the damage.
Yet, he could not drag himself away, look in her notebook, force himself to sneak about her kitchen and attempt to find any clues to prove whether she was a part of this mysterious plot to destroy his sister’s life.
Henry’s jaw tensed as Minny leaned against the bench, fixing him with a stare.
There was such beauty there. Such power, such strength.
He could also see pain, vulnerability, longing. He could see it so swiftly because it was a mere reflection of his own heart. What he was doing here was wrong. So why had nothing else felt so right?
“I…I don’t know,” Henry said hoarsely.