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Frederick Darrington’s smile was a dangerous thing, indeed. Like gazing into the sun for too long or drinking too many glasses of a delicious wine that sets one’s head to spinning.

Realizing she was staring, Lily dropped her gaze to his dove gray cravat and sent up a silent prayer that her cheeks weren’t as pink as she suspected they were.

Perhaps this arrangement wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Perhaps she should put an end to it now, before it even began.

Perhaps—

“Excellent,” Mr. Darrington said before she could say she’d changed her mind. “Then I shall return tomorrow morning. I would begin today, but I have my sister’s children with me, and I should get them home soon before Penelope begins to wonder where we’ve got to.”

Lily nodded calmly, though her stomach had swooped with relief. “Of course. Tomorrow will be fine.”

They truly could use his help, so she would not decline his offer, but she was grateful for the extra time to prepare and hopefully grow more comfortable with the idea of seeing him every day around the inn.

“Excellent,” he said again, that belly-fluttering smile still on full display. “Now, I understand you have some bread and cheese set aside for my sister?”

“Oh. Yes, of course. Come with me and I’ll gather it up for you.”

She led him through the dining room toward the kitchens, trying to ignore his nearness, his masculine scent, and the tingles scuttling up her spine, leaving gooseflesh in their wake.

“Where are the children, by the by?” she asked over her shoulder.

“With your grandmother, milking Blythe.”

She smiled. Penelope’s children adored Blythe, not only because she was a sweetheart but because she was a novelty, too. They must have leaped at the chance to help Gran with the milking.

Lily stepped into the kitchen and made her way to the table where Penelope’s goods were waiting. Mr. Darrington paused in the doorway, but she could feel his gaze on her as she began placing wedges of cheese into a burlap sack.

Was he watching her movements? Was he looking at her hands?

Self-consciousness washed over her. She worked hard and her hands showed it, the skin rough and red, her nails clipped short.

She was not a vain person, but her hands were an occasional source of displeasure for her.

She used to have lovely hands, before she came to live at the inn, but now, well, they were a long way from lovely now.

“That bread looks delicious,” Mr. Darrington said as she slipped a loaf into the sack. “Did you bake it?”

“I did.” Pride swept through her, mingling with the pleasure his compliment had wrought.

“Do you enjoy baking?”

Lily disliked personal questions, but he seemed genuinely interested in her answer, and as they would be working together for the foreseeable future...

“I do, yes.” She tucked another loaf into the sack. “Which is still something of a surprise to me. I’d never baked so much as a biscuit before coming to live with my grandparents.”

She hadn’t given baking even a single thought before coming to the inn, but she’d taken to it with an ease that surprised her. And now, baking bread was one of her favorite chores.

“I just met your grandmother outside,” Mr. Darrington said, leaning against the door jamb. “She’s a charming woman.”

“Yes, she is. Everyone loves Gran.” Indeed, Lily suspected it was impossible not to love her.

“I haven’t met your grandfather yet,” he went on, and the comment held an unasked question.

“He died a year and half ago.” Her voice was even, though the words still made her chest ache.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his blue eyes somber. “He was a nice man?”

She smiled. Her grandfather, though a man of few words, was gentle and funny and wise. She missed him, but she was grateful she’d had those six months here at the inn, working alongside him and getting to know him better before he was gone.

“He was,” she said simply, before clearing her throat. “Well, here we are. This should be everything Penelope requested.”

She carried the sack of goods to him and held it out for him to take, and as he slipped the bundle from her hands, their fingers tangled, and the shock of that touch, of his skin against hers, was enough to make her heart skip.

Heat swept through Lily’s chest and up to her cheeks, but it wasn’t only embarrassment she felt.

It was lust, as well. She might be a virgin, but she knew what it was to want a man, and she wanted this one.

She wanted his lips on hers, his body on hers, all naked limbs and gentle hands and sweet, sinful commands.

“Thank you,” he said, his bright blue eyes smiling as he gave the sack a gentle tug, and Lily realized she’d been gaping at him like a simpleton.

Mortified, she released her grip on the burlap and took a hasty step back, bumping into the table with an audible oof.

“Goodbye, Mr. Darrington,” she said stiffly, willing him to leave while she still possessed a shred of dignity. “I shall see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed. “But, please, call me Frederick.”

“Not Freddy?” For that was what Penelope called him, and apparently, where this man was concerned, her curiosity would not be denied.

“Only my siblings call me Freddy, and only because they refuse to stop, no matter how often I ask them to.”

He was still smiling, but she caught the thread of frustration in his voice.

She nodded. “Frederick, then.”

He watched her from the doorway, his gaze expectant, and after a moment, he raised one eyebrow.

“And…you may call me Lily,” she said, against her better judgment.

His eyes seemed to deepen several shades, as if showing his pleasure, and then he bowed his head. “Goodbye, Lily. Until tomorrow.”

She watched him turn and walk away, his strides long and confident, the burlap sack swinging at his side.

Leaning a hip against the table, she blew out a frustrated breath. Curses . She could not be trusted around handsome men. Her body began to misbehave, yearning for contact, compromising her judgment. Just look at the silly reaction she’d had to a simple brush of Frederick’s fingers on hers.

Foolish.

And the most foolish part of all was that she was excited to see him again, to feel that shiver of awareness once more, the one that reminded her she was more than making beds and washing tables. She was a woman with needs, desires. Wants.

It did not matter that she couldn’t act upon them. At least she knew they were there. Even if she also wished they weren’t.

“Goodness me, Penelope’s brother certainly is a charming man,” Gran said as she walked into the kitchen carrying a pail full of fresh milk.

Lily took it from her and lifted it onto the table with a grunt. Penelope’s brother was a bit too charming, in her opinion, but all she said was, “He paid you the exact same compliment.”

“That I’m a charming man?” her grandmother teased as she crossed to the wash basin and began rolling up her sleeves.

“That you’re charming,” Lily said with a smile.

“Well, he must have found you charming, as well. He certainly was in here for a long while.”

Lily’s cheeks warmed. “Yes, well. That would be Mr. Carstairs’ doing.”

“Mr. Carstairs?” Gran turned to face her, drying her hands on a clean length of linen. “What did he do?”

Lily told her of the man’s insistence and the impromptu and desperate measure she’d taken to get rid of him.

“Well, that was gallant of Mr. Darrington, wasn’t it? Offering to go along with this farce until Mr. Carstairs leaves,” Gran said, apparently impressed.

“I suppose it was, yes.”

“And all he asked for in exchange was to help out around the inn?”

Lily nodded.

“Well, that is…interesting.”

Peculiar was more like it, at least to Lily’s mind. But he seemed genuine in his desire to help, and she could think of no logical reason to refuse. After all, it was free labor.

“I think he is the sort of man who likes to be active,” she said, “and this will give him something to do.”

“Hm.”

Lily did not miss the skepticism in her grandmother’s voice, though she wasn’t entirely sure of its meaning. She refused to ask, however, for she was fairly certain she would not approve of the answer.

Of course, Gran never had required an invitation to share her opinions. She gave them away freely and with much enthusiasm.

“I think it’s more than that,” she said firmly. “I think he wants to get to know you better.”

Lily eyed her. “Whatever happened to your petition to match me with Mr. Carstairs?”

Gran waved a dismissive hand. “That was before I knew how strongly you disliked the man.”

“And now that you do know, it’s on to the next eligible gentleman, is that it?”

“You say that as if you believe I would accept just any man for my granddaughter’s husband.”

Lily lifted her brows as if to say, wouldn’t you?

Gran gave an offended huff. “In any case, Mr. Darrington is not just any man. He is your dearest friend’s brother and the brother of a viscount.”

“Be that as it may,” Lily said, somehow resisting the urge to roll her eyes, “I told you already that I have no desire to marry. I’m happy with the way things are.”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Her grandmother huffed out another sigh. “It’s a pity, though. He is a mighty handsome man.”

“So was Stephen.” The words slipped from Lily’s lips, low and bitter. “Besides, Mr. Darrington is only here for a short visit. His life is in London, not in Little Bilberry.”

“Lives often change, Lily,” Gran said with a gentle smile before returning to her work.

Lily sighed. No one knew better than she did how changeable—how fickle—life could be. And that was precisely why she preferred the safety of sameness.