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"Sleeping, if they have any idea what's good for them," Dunford replied acerbically.
"I suppose we could get started on our own," she said doubtfully.
For the first time all morning he smiled broadly and meant it. "I know less than nothing about stonemasonry, so I vote we wait." He sat down on a half-finished wall, looking quite satisfied.
Henry, refusing to let him think she thought he might be right about anything, stomped across the construction area to a pile of stones. She leaned down and picked one up.
Dunford raised his brows, well aware that he ought to help her but completely unwilling to do so. She was quite strong, surprisingly so.
He rolled his eyes. Why was he surprised about anything having to do with her? Of course she'd be able to lift a large stone. She was Henry. She could probably lift him.
He watched her as she carried the stone over to one of the walls and set it down. She exhaled and wiped her brow. Then she glared at him.
He smiled—one of his best, he thought. "You ought to bend your legs when you lift the stones," he called out. "It's better for your back."
"It's better for your back," she mimicked under her breath, "lazy, good-for-nothing, stupid little—"
"Excuse me?"
"Thank you for your advice." Her voice was sweetness personified.
He smiled again, this time to himself. He was getting to her.
She must have repeated this task twenty times before her workers finally arrived. "Where have you been?" she snapped. "We've been here ten minutes already."
One of the men blinked. "But we're early, Miss Henry."
The skin around her mouth tightened. "We start at six forty-five."
"We didn't get here until seven," Dunford called out helpfully.
She turned around and leveled a deadly stare in his direction. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
"We didn't start until half past seven on Saturday," one of the workers said.
"I'm sure you're mistaken," Henry lied. "We started much earlier than that."
Another builder scratched his head. "I don't think so, Miss Henry. I think we started at half past seven."
Dunford smirked. "I guess country life doesn't begin that early after all." He neglected to mention that he tried to avoid getting up much before noon when in London.
She glared at him again.
"Why so testy?" he asked, schooling his features into a mask of boyish innocence. "I thought you liked me."
"I did," she ground out.
"And now? I'm crushed."
"Next time you might think about helping instead of watching me lug stones across a pigpen."
He shrugged. "I told you I have no experience in stonemasonry. I wouldn't want to ruin the entire project."
"I suppose you're right," Henry said.
Her voice came out a little too smoothly. Dunford grew worried. He raised his brows in question.
"After all," she continued, "if the previous pigpen had been constructed properly, we wouldn't have to be building a new one today."
Dunford suddenly felt a little queasy. She looked altogether too pleased with herself.
"Therefore, it would probably be wise not to let one as inexperienced as yourself near the structural aspects of the pen."
"As opposed to the un-structural aspects?" he asked dryly.
She beamed. "Exactly!"
"Meaning?"
"Meaning…" She walked across the pen and picked up a shovel. "Congratulations, Lord Stannage, you are now commander of the shovel, lord of the slop."
He didn't think her smile could grow any wider, but it did. And she wasn't faking the expression one bit. She jerked her head toward a foul-smelling pile of something Dunford had never seen before and then walked back over to the other workers.
It took all of his restraint not to run after her and slap the shovel against her backside.
Chapter 5
Two hours later he was ready to kill her. Even his outraged mind, however, recognized that murder was not a viable option, and so he contented himself with devising various plans to make her suffer.
Torture was probably too trite, he decided, and he didn't have the stomach to use it on a female. Although... He looked over at the person in the baggy breeches. She appeared to be smiling as she lugged the stones. She was no ordinary female.
He shook his head. There were other ways to make her miserable. A snake in her bed perhaps? No, the blasted woman probably liked snakes. A spider? Didn't everyone hate spiders?
He leaned on his shovel, well aware he was acting childishly and not caring in the least.
He had tried everything to get out of this disgusting job, and not just because the work was difficult and the smell was...well, the smell was revolting, there was no way around that. Mostly he just didn't want her to feel she had bested him.
And she had bested him, the hellish little chit. She had him, a lord of the realm (albeit a rather new one), shoveling slop and manure and God himself probably didn't want to know what else. And he was neatly cornered, because to get out of it meant to admit he was a sissified London dandy.
He had pointed out that all of the slop would get in her way as she built the wall. She had merely instructed him to put it in the center. "You can smooth it out later," she had said.
"But some might get on your shoes."
She had laughed. "Oh, I'm used to that." Her tone had implied she was far tougher than he.
He ground his teeth and slapped some slop down into a pile. The stench was beyond overwhelming. "I thought you said pigs are clean."