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“Thank you,” she finally said. “And I’m sorry. I did not like to use you in that way, but Mr. Carstairs was skeptical when I told him I was betrothed, and then there you were at the door and before I knew it...” She trailed off, letting her shrug finish for her.

“You claimed me,” Fredrick said with a smile.

She blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Before you knew it, you had claimed me.”

“I claimed you were my betrothed,” she corrected, her gaze narrowing on his smile. “I was trying to get rid of Mr. Carstairs.”

The words snuffed out his amusement, and he frowned, anger roiling in his belly. “Has he been harassing you?” The thought had his hands curling into fists.

“He’s never behaved in an ungentlemanly way,” she said, “but he is persistently interested in me.”

“And you’re not interested in him.”

It was an unnecessary remark, but he made it anyway, and Miss Grayling nodded, twisting the rag she held in her hands before slipping it into her dress pocket.

“I tried to make him understand that without saying it, but he couldn’t seem to grasp my meaning.”

Or he didn’t want to. And that made Frederick even angrier.

“So, after I declined another invitation to walk with him today and he began to grow angry,” she continued, “I lied and told him the reason I could not go was because I was promised to another man.”

“Why not simply tell him you’re not interested?”

The look she shot him implied his question was terribly naive. “Because he is a paying guest.”

Frederick could read between the lines, and he saw the uncomfortable truth of her situation.

Carstairs was a guest at her inn, and as with all guests, she must tread carefully or risk incurring an undesired, potentially harmful consequence.

The unfairness of it twisted his gut. Life could be bloody unjust sometimes, especially for women, and women like her, pretty and single, were forced to endure the attentions of men simply because they were guests at her inn.

As if that gave them the right to take liberties, to treat her unkindly and with no respect for her feelings or wishes.

“I see,” he said, the words roughened. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged again, as if to say it was a woman’s lot in life, which was absolute bollocks so far as he was concerned. But before he could say so, Miss Grayling spoke again.

“I am sorry for placing you in this position. It was not well done of me, no matter the reason, and I think it would be best if you would stay away from the inn, at least until Mr. Carstairs’ departure.”

Frederick found himself nodding, even as another idea entered his brain and slipped from his lips. “Or I could do the opposite,” he said. “I could visit the inn every day until he leaves.”

She frowned. “For what purpose?”

“To keep him out of your hair. I didn’t think he seemed totally convinced by our charade. But if he sees me here every day...” He spread his hands wide.

Miss Grayling eyed him for a long moment, long enough for Frederick to suspect she was scrutinizing more than just his offer.

“And what would you want in exchange for your services?” she finally asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Frederick couldn’t help but smile. “Have you always been so cynical, Miss Grayling?”

She cocked one brow. “Then you don’t want anything in return?”

“Actually, I do.”

A knowing look crossed her face. “Which is?”

“I want you to let me help you out around the inn.”

“Excuse me?” she asked, confusion knitting her brow.

“I want you to let me help you—”

“I heard what you said, Mr. Darrington,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “What I don’t understand is why you would wish to do that.”

“I’ve never worked at an inn before,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I thought it might be a fun diversion.”

She stared at him as if he’d said he liked to eat worms.

“You may assign me whatever chores you wish,” he pressed on, “and I will do them all to the best of my ability.”

Still smiling, he returned her unflinching gaze, rather pleased with himself and his selfless offer.

“I do not need your help, Mr. Darrington. I am perfectly capable of managing the fun myself.” Her voice had turned decidedly frosty, but it was nothing to the ice in her turquoise eyes.

Bollocks. He’d offended her.

Frederick sighed inwardly. He wasn’t usually so clumsy with his words, but this woman seemed to upset his balance without even trying.

“I know you don’t need my help,” he assured her. “But wouldn’t it be nice to have it, if only for a few days? Surely your grandmother would accept an offer of free labor.”

Miss Grayling did not smile at the last remark like he’d hoped she would, but she did seem to be considering the idea, and that was something at least. He had no idea what had happened in her past to make her so distrusting, but whatever it was, it must have cut her very deeply.

“I would like to see Gran rest more,” she mused softly. “And we could use an extra pair of hands in the apple orchard. The trees are brimming with apples.”

“And, of course,” Frederick offered, “the more I’m here at the inn, the less likely Mr. Carstairs will be.”

Miss Grayling nodded slowly, her eyes gleaming, the idea clearly attractive to her.

“All right, Mr. Darrington,” she said briskly. “I accept.”