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throat, which seemed suddenly swollen. “Then perhaps I will see you here again.”
    She ended her statement on an upward note, sneaking a glance up at him. To her explosive relief, he grinned.
    “Perhaps you will,” he agreed. “Let me help you up.” He nodded toward the horse.
    Then, to Nicola’s surprise, instead of cupping his hands to give her a leg up, he placed his hands on either side of her waist and lifted her to her saddle. He stepped back, looking up at her. Nicola took up her reins in trembling fingers. She could feel the imprint of his fingers against her flesh, as if they had burned into her.
    “I—I don’t know your name,” she said softly.
    “It’s Gil, miss. Gil Martin.”
    “Don’t call me ‘miss,’” Nicola said quickly, something in her rebelling against the subservience in this common form of address from servants.
    “All right,” he said slowly, watching her. “What should I call you, then?”
    “My name is Nicola Falcourt.”
    The smile that crept across his face this time held none of its former amusement, only a kind of heat that stirred Nicola’s blood. “All right. Nicola.”
     
    H E WAS THERE AT G RANNY R OSE’S the following Sunday when Nicola arrived. Nicola saw the faint consternation on Granny’s face when she opened the door to find Nicola on the step, as well as the uneasy way she glanced over at her grandson. Though she and Granny talked easily enough together, as equals, she supposed that Granny must be uncertain about her being thrown together with a servant.
    Gil rose from his seat at the table, his eyes intent on Nicola’s face. Nicola looked at him, and a wave of heat washed through her, so fierce that she blushed with embarrassment.
    She sat down at the table with Gil and Granny Rose, and Granny politely offered her a cup of tea. The three of them sat and drank tea together, their conversation awkward and stilted. But later, he walked her halfway home, strolling along beside her as she led her horse by its reins. They talked about any and everything, from Granny Rose and her home medicines to Nicola’s father to a foal that had been born two days ago at the Tidings stables. Nicola found herself telling him things she had never told anyone before, even her sister Deborah, her innermost feelings and thoughts. When at last they reached the point where he must turn off for Tidings, they hesitated, unwilling to part.
    “Will ye be comin’ to the main house this Friday, then?” he asked, glancing at her, then away. “His lordship’s dance, I mean.”
    “What?” Nicola was looking at him, watching the play of the sun on his crow-black hair and fighting the sudden urge she felt to reach up and sift her fingers through it. It took a moment for his words to register. “Oh. Yes.”
    She grimaced. She no longer had any desire to go to Tidings now that she had found Gil. But she could hardly tell her mother that, so she had had to accept the invitation.
    Gil looked away, seemingly studying intently a rock on the ground at his feet. “The others are sayin’ that he’s sweet on ye.”
    “Exmoor?”
    He nodded. “’Tis common gossip about the house.”
    Nicola sighed. “He seems to be.”
    “And you?” He looked up abruptly, his dark eyes boring into hers. “What do ye feel for the man?”
    “The Earl?” Nicola asked in some astonishment. “Why, nothing. What would I feel?”
    “There’s those sayin’ ye’ll be acceptin’ him.”
    “Never.”
    Gil relaxed a little. “Well, then…that’s all right.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    Gil smiled faintly. “Never mind. I’d best be going. Almost anyone could happen by.”
    He hesitated, his eyes going to her mouth, and for a brief, dizzying moment Nicola thought that he meant to kiss her.
    But then he swung away, moving swiftly down the track toward Tidings, turning back once to raise his hand in a farewell wave. Nicola watched him go, her insides in a turmoil. Had he wanted to kiss her? Had she