“What?”

He was already steeped in his own world, she noted, torn between amusement and irritation. That impatient gleam was in his eyes, eyes she doubted were even seeing her. “Don’t you want some food?”

“Just leave a tray when you have a chance. Thanks.”

And he was gone.

Well. Brianna set her hands on her hips and managed to laugh at herself. The man had all but seduced her into a puddle, and didn’t even know it. Off he went with Deliah and her diary, murder and mayhem, leaving her system ticking like an overwound watch.

For the best, she assured herself. All that hand kissing and nibbling had weakened her. And it was foolish, wasn’t it, to go weak over a man who would be gone from her home and her country as carelessly as he’d gone from her parlor.

But oh, she thought as she walked to the kitchen, it made her wonder what it would be like. What it would be like to have all that energy, all that attention, all that skill focused only on her. Even for a short time. Even for only one night.

She would know then, wouldn’t she, what it felt like to give pleasure to a man? And to take it. Loneliness might be bitter after, but the moment might be sweet.

Might. Too many mights, she warned herself and fixed Gray a generous plate of cold lamb and cheese croquettes. She carried it up, taking it into his room without speaking.

He didn’t acknowledge her, nor did she expect it now. Not when he was hulked over his little machine, his eyes slitted, his fingers racing. He did grunt when she poured the tea and set a cup at his elbow.

When she caught herself smiling, checking an urge to run a hand down that lovely gold-tipped hair, she decided it was a very good time to walk over to Murphy’s and ask him about fixing her car.

The exercise helped work out those last jittery frissons of need. It was her time of year, the spring, when the birds called, the flowers bloomed, and the hills glowed so green your throat ached to look at them.

The light was gilded, the air so clear that she could hear the putt-putt of Murphy’s tractor two fields over. Charmed by the day, she swung the basket she carried and sang to herself. As she climbed over a low stone wall, she smiled at the spindly legged foal that nursed greedily while his mother cropped grass. She spent a moment in admiration, another few stroking both mother and baby before wandering on.

Perhaps she would walk to Maggie’s after seeing Murphy, she thought. It was only a matter of weeks now before the baby was due. Someone needed to tend Maggie’s garden, do a bit of wash.

Laughing, she stopped, crouching down when Con raced over the field toward her.

“Been farming, have you? Or just chasing rabbits. No, ’tisn’t for you," she said, hooking the basket higher as the dog sniffed around it. “But I’ve a fine bone at home waiting.” Hearing Murphy’s hail, she straightened, waved her arm in greeting.

He shut off his tractor and hopped down as she walked over the newly turned earth.

“A fine day for planting.”

“The finest,” he agreed and eyed the basket. “What have you there, Brie?”

“A bribe.”

“Oh, I’m made of stronger stuff than that.”

“Sponge cake.”

He closed his eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’m your man.”

“That you are.” But she held the basket tantalizingly out of reach. ” ’Tis my car again, Murphy.”

Now his look was pained. “Brianna, darling, it’s time for the wake there. Past time.”

“Couldn’t you just take a peek?”

He looked at her, then at the basket. “The whole of the sponge cake?”

“Every crumb.”

“Done.” He took the basket, set it up on the tractor seat. “But I’m warning you, you’ll need a new one before summer.”

“If I do, I do. But I’ve my heart set on the greenhouse, so the car has to last a wee bit longer. Did you have time to look at my drawings for the greenhouse, Murphy?”

“I did. Could be done.” Taking advantage of the break, he pulled out a cigarette, lighted it. “I made a few adjustments.”

“You’re a darling man, Murphy.” Grinning, she kissed his cheek.

“So all the ladies tell me.” He tugged on a loose curl of hair. “And what would your Yank think if he came across you charming me in my own field?”

“He’s not my Yank.” She shifted as Murphy only lifted one black brow. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Hard not to like him. Is he worrying you, Brianna?”

“Maybe a little.” She sighed, gave up. There was nothing in her heart and mind she couldn’t tell Murphy. “A lot. I care for him. I’m not sure what to do about it, but I care for him, so much. It’s different than even it was with Rory.”

At the mention of the name, Murphy scowled and stared down at the tip of his cigarette. “Rory’s not worth a single thought in your head.”

“I don’t spend time thinking of him. But now, with Gray, it brings it back, you see. Murphy . . . he’ll leave, you know. As Rory left.” She looked away. She could say it, Brianna thought, but she couldn’t deal with the sympathy in Murphy’s eyes when she did. “I try to understand that, to accept it. I tell myself it’ll be easier for at least I’ll know why. Not knowing, my whole life with Rory, what was lacking in me—”

“There’s nothing lacking in you,” Murphy said shortly. “Put it aside.”

“I have. I did—or nearly. But I . . .” Overwhelmed, she turned away to stare out over the hills. “But what is it in me, or not in me, that sends a man away? Do I ask too much from him, or not enough? Is there a coldness in me that freezes them out?”

“There’s nothing cold about you. Stop blaming yourself for someone else’s cruelty.”

“But I’ve only myself to ask. Ten years, it’s been. And this is the first time since I’ve felt any stirring. It frightens me because I don’t know how I’ll live through heartbreak again. He’s not Rory, I know, and yet—”

“No, he’s not Rory.” Furious at seeing her so lost, so unhappy, Murphy tossed his cigarette down and ground it out. “Rory was a fool who couldn’t see what he had, and wanted to believe whatever lies he heard. You should thank God he’s gone.”