A round-faced maid in an overlarge cap brought Leigh clothes and water, staring curiously until he sent her on her way. He thought that Miss Merrifield would not return, but he misjudged her. He had just managed to get his boots on when he heard her voice at the door. He called out, and she slipped inside the room, her hand still on the knob. She saw him and turned away to hide a smile.

“What?” he asked.

“Your face,” she said. “My father’s shirt and breeches are not to your liking?”

“They were made for a man with thinner legs and shoulders,” he said stiffly.

“Should I send for your tailor?”

“Irony, Miss Merrifield?” He watched her. “You suffered no lasting harm then from our kiss?”

She studied the floor, but the cowardly impulse passed and she looked up again. “I wanted to know. Now I know. It needn’t happen again.”

“Then I’d best leave you now.”

He heard the quick indrawn breath, imagined her tight grip on the doorknob. With slow deliberate steps he crossed the room to the little table where shepherd Braithe had left the cheese. “Before I go, Braithe and I have a proposal for you.”

She watched him warily. He recognized the vulnerability of senses newly stirred.

“Have you ever milked a ewe, Miss Merrifield?”

She shook her head. He told the tale again, surprised to find it undergo a transformation. He heard himself describe the softness of the ewe’s wool, the fluttering beat of her pulse, the satisfying weight of the full pail.

“And this is the cheese?” she asked, relinquishing her stand at the door.

Leigh opened the cloth that Braithe had wrapped around their sample, inviting her to taste it. She was within his reach again, but he held himself easy and let her crumble a morsel of the cheese, watching it disappear between her lips.

“You and Braithe made this?”

“Mrs. Cole helped,” he said, looking at her significantly.

A slow happy smile drew up the corners of her mouth. “The butter in Braithe’s hat melted?”

“It did.” If it was difficult to resist Rosalind Merrifield when she was solemn, it was impossible when she was pleased at something he’d done. He reminded her of the proposal.

“You want me to milk my sheep?”

“Braithe says your tenants will do as you do. Mrs. Cole has cheese presses to spare at her dairy.”

“And what will you do with the cheese?”

“Sell it at the next fair, or feed it to hungry children.”

She was looking at him as if he were a puzzle she could not work out. “You’ve done something good.”

“Be careful,” he said. “You’ll be wanting to kiss me again.”

“Never,” she said.