Gentlemen Prefer Spinsters (Spinsters Club #1)(19)

“But it is not my home,” she reminded him. “It is Daniel’s now. I will simply be a lodger.”

“This is technically Daniel’s, too.”

That was true. But she could not help feel if she put in all the work to clean it and make it livable again, then in some way, it would be hers. She would have poured herself just a little bit into the building.

“Daniel and Isabel need their space,” she insisted.

“And you need yours.” His lips quirked and Merry was reminded of how attractive those lips were, even when he was teasing her.

“To be able to work on my translation in peace will be wonderful,” she said, turning her gaze forcefully away from him.

As helpful as he had been, lifting things she could not, Harry had been a distraction. She watched his muscles pull against his shirt and admire the slightly tanned flesh at the v of his shirt. She never quite understood how he managed to be tanned there as she rarely saw him without a cravat, but she suspected he must ride in a state of undress at times. Just the mere thought of him on horseback, his cravat discarded, sent a trickle of awareness through her that was entirely unwanted.

But quite pleasant, a voice whispered.

She forced the voice back. If her friends knew what she was thinking, they would be so upset. After all, she had been the one to suggest the forming of the Spinster Club. How could she give into desire for the opposite sex when her friends had suffered so terribly at the hands of men? Not to mention how foolish she would look once Harry turned his interests to another woman. He would have little intention of hurting her or ruining their friendship, but he was a man, and men were want to do such things.

“I could do with a drink,” she declared, aware of the raspy quality of her voice. “All the dust is making my throat dry.”

She did not look at him to see if he believed her. It was a plausible explanation anyway. Merry headed down one set of stairs and another into the kitchen that was set into the cellar. The windows at the very tops of the walls were grimy and covered in overgrowth outside the house, but that was something that would need to be dealt with later. For now, she lit two oil lamps and retrieved the lemonade and biscuits she had brought with her.

The kitchen looked as though it had been abandoned while someone was cooking a meal. Pots and pans remained on the stoves. Several bowls sat on various surfaces while cutlery was scattered across the table in the center of the room along with bowls, jelly molds, and a rolling pin. Although the room was dark and a mess, it would hopefully prove to be one of the easiest rooms to sort out. It needed no maintenance—just a good clean and tidy.

“Shall we take these upstairs?” he suggested. “It’s a darn sight more pleasant than down here.”

Merry smiled ruefully. “You have stepped foot into the drawing room, have you not?”

He nodded. “I shall admit peeling wallpaper and an inch of dust is not de rigueur but it has to be better than eating in the dark.”

She had to admit he had a point. As she went to pick up the jug of lemonade, Harry reached for it. Their fingers brushed, and she jerked her hand back, holding it close. He smiled, a knowing look in his eyes.

She huffed out a breath. Damn the man. He knew full well what she had felt—and perhaps he had felt it too. Why was he so insistent on torturing her like this? They were meant to be friends, for goodness sakes, but this charm attack he had embarked on was driving her to the edge of her wits.

He said nothing when he picked up the plate of biscuits and carried them upstairs. Merry snatched up the two glasses she had cleaned up recently and followed him meekly, feeling anything but. How was it a mere touch of a hand could have her unraveling and thinking all sorts of odd thoughts? She had touched men’s hands before—albeit they had usually been relatives, or it had been with gloves on. She must have touched Harry’s hands before though. It was that wretched kiss. It had changed everything.

It had changed her.

But it did not matter. Life had not changed. She still intended to remain a spinster and Harry would go off and do whatever it was that Harry did—charm another widow into bed, most likely. She owed her friends that much. Nay, she owed it to herself. She would not be like Arabella—swayed into bed with a man who could so easily steal her heart.

She sucked in a breath and sat opposite him on a worn chaise while he poured the lemonade. Turning her gaze to the brown, peeling wallpaper in one corner, she pressed her hands between her knees. She should tell him to go home. To never come back. That she did not need his help.

Except she had tried that before and it did not work. One thing she knew well about Harry was that he was about as stubborn as she but in a much more charming way. Somehow whenever he dug his heels in, the person on the end of the stubbornness found themselves acquiescing with pleasure. She had never learned such a skill, so she usually ended up arguing with said person.

“So what are your plans for the rest of the house?” he asked, taking a bite of the biscuit.

Merry eyed his even, white teeth for a moment and how his lips closed around the morsel. Taking a large gulp of lemonade, she let the cool tang work down her throat before answering. “I plan to keep it modest. Most of the furnishings can be cleaned and used and as you know there is no shortage of paintings and decorations—although I shall not be keeping any medieval torture scenes on my walls.”

Harry chuckled.

“I think even the rugs and curtains can be saved with a good scrub,” she continued. “I have a small amount of savings I can use to redecorate, though the estate will fund the repairs. I am hoping Daniel shall see that as a good use of funds—we cannot let part of the estate fall down after all and perhaps he and Isabel shall live in it once their children come of age.”