Page 61 of An Alleged Rogue

“We have worked Molly hard enough for one day, Oliver. Go ahead and take her back to the stables. She deserves a rest.”

“Very good, m’ lord.”

Oliver set to work releasing the harness from the mill pole. Molly’s reaction was a snort that sounded a great deal like a sigh. Adam rolled his shoulders and turned back to his work. He understood her weariness completely.

“Well now, Molly, how have you been managing with this heavy load?”

At the sound of Miss Hadford’s voice, Adam swung around to see the lady running her hand down Molly’s neck.

“She’s done right well, miss,” Oliver said. There was a hint of pride in his voice. “No complaints at all.”

“Good girl, Molly.” Miss Hadford smiled at the horse, and Adam’s stomach tightened. Heaven help him. He was truly overtired if he could admit to being jealous of an old plow horse.

He cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, Miss Hadford. Is everything all right in the orchard?”

“Yes, my lord. Everything is fine.” Her brow furrowed. “Forgive me. I did not mean to disturb you. I was simply taking a walk. After having been bent over for so long, it is good to be upright for a little while.”

It was Adam’s turn to frown. He stepped closer. “I would not have you injure yourself with this endeavor, Miss Hadford. Is it your back?”

“A dull ache is all.” Her eyes sparkled with the humor he’d seen yesterday. “Unless you are looking for proof that I do not work nearly hard enough under normal circumstances. Then it might be sufficient.”

Oliver chuckled softly and led Molly toward the door. “Good day, Miss Hadford.”

“Good day, Oliver.”

The sound of heavy hooves crossing the yard echoed through the shed.

“You must stay at home tomorrow and rest,” Adam said.

“Henry says that if we keep up our current pace, we shall start harvesting the Genet Moyles tomorrow. I will most certainly be here for that.”

“I am grateful for your efforts. Truly, I am. But I must face your father again when he returns from London. You know as well as I that he would not wish his daughter doing the work of a laborer—especially if there is any risk that it would cause her harm.”

She leaned against the now-silent mill, her fingers curling over the rim of the trough as she faced him. “It is not doing me harm. Quite the contrary. It is giving me a great deal of satisfaction and offering me plenty of fresh air.”

His gaze fell upon her hands. Up against the large millstone, they appeared very small—and totally unprotected.

“Where are your gloves?” he asked.

Instantly, she removed her hands from the stone and tucked them behind her back. “I took them off. They were too hot, and the apples kept slipping from my grip.”

Adam extended his own hand. “Let me see.”

“They are fine.”

He released an exasperated breath. “If they are fine, you have nothing to fear from showing them to me.”

Slowly, she drew her arms out from behind her and lifted them toward him. He took her hands and turned them so they were palm up. His pulse quickened at the feel of her fingers against his, but then he saw the long scratch running across the heel of her right thumb, and his eyes snapped to hers.

“How did this happen?” he asked.

“It was a rock. I was reaching for an apple that had rolled farther than I thought and lost my balance. My hand landed on its edge.”

His jaw tightened. It did not look deep enough to cause serious problems, but the risk was always there. “Have you washed it?”

She shook her head. “It happened only a little while ago.”

Without releasing her hand, he led her to a bucket of water in the corner of the shed. A bar of soap and a small rag sat on a nearby barrel.