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polished an apple on her skirt.
    Austin bit into the cheese, surprised that something so simple could taste so good. No fancy sauces, no muted clink of silverware, no servants hovering. "What did you do to help Cook?"
    "She cut her finger and suffered a wound that required several stitches. I was in the kitchen searching for some cider when the accident occurred.
    Naturally, I offered to help."
    "You sent for a doctor?"
    She raised her brows, amusement lurking in her eyes. "I treated the injury and then stitched her up myself."
    Austin nearly choked on his cheese. "You stitched her wound?"
    "Yes. There was no need to bother a doctor when I was perfectly capable of taking care of her. I believe I mentioned last evening that my father was a physician. I often helped him."
    "You actually performed er, duties!"
    "Oh, yes. Papa was a very good teacher. I assure you, Cook was well taken care of." She offered him a smile, then bit into her apple.
    Austin's gaze was drawn to her full lips, glistening with apple juice. Her mouth looked moist and sweet. And incredibly tempting. Not that he believed she could actually read his thoughts, but in light of her odd perceptiveness, he jerked his attention away from her lips.
    "It is such a lovely morning," she said. "I wish I could capture the colors of the sunrise, but I have no talent for watercolors. Only charcoals, and I'm afraid they only come in one color."
    Austin cocked his head toward the sketch pad next to her. "May I?"
    She handed him the tablet. "Of course."
    He examined each drawing and could tell at once that she was very talented. Her bold strokes rendered images so vivid so startling, they appeared to leap off the page.
    "Did you recognize Gadzooks?" she asked looking over his shoulder.
    The gentle scent of lilacs surrounded him. "Yes. It's an exact likeness of the little devil." Glancing up from the sketch, his attention was captured by the intriguing gold flecks in her eyes. Huge, golden brown eyes, the color of fine brandy. Her steady gaze met his and held him captive for a long moment. A spark ran through him, igniting his pulse. Although he sat on the ground he suddenly felt as if he'd run a mile. This woman had the oddest effect on his senses. And his breathing.
    He cleared his throat. "Have you had the opportunity to meet Gadzooks's family?"
    "Only his mother, George, last evening."
    "Then you must stop by the stables and meet By Jingo, By Jove, By Jupiter, and the rest of them."
    Laughter bubbled from her. "You're making up those names, your grace."
    "I'm not. Mortlin named the beasts as they were born . . . and born . . .
    and born. There were ten in all in this last litter and the names grew more, er, inventive as the births continued. Decency prevents me from saying some of them." With an effort he forced his gaze back to the tablet. "Whose dog is this?"
    The merriment faded from her gaze. "That's my dog. Patch."
    The sad longing with which she looked at the picture tugged at him, prompting him to ask, "Where is Patch?"
    "He was too old to make the journey to England. I left him with people who love him." Reaching out, she ran a gentle fingertip over the drawing. "I was five when my parents gave him to me. Patch was so tiny, but within several months he'd grown bigger than me." Slowly pulling her hand away, she said "I miss him terribly. Although he'd be impossible to replace, I hope to someday have another dog."
    He handed her back the tablet. "These are very good Miss Matthews."
    "Thank you." She cocked her head to one side. "You know, your grace, you would make an interesting subject."
    "Me?"
    "Yes indeed. Your face is . . ." She paused and studied him for a long moment, tilting her head from left to right.
    "That bad?" he asked in mock horror.
    "Goodness, no," she assured him. "Your face is most interesting. Filled with character. You wouldn't mind if I sketched you?"
    "Not at all." Most interesting? Filled with character? He wasn't sure if that was good or bad