He forced his eyes downward, only to have them catch on the bodice of her gown when she leaned forward to scribble. His mind was instantly wiped clean of every other thought. There was only the creamy expanse of forbidden flesh, the soft swell of generous breasts, and the beguiling hint of the deep valley between. He imagined exploring that valley with his tongue, slowly, thoroughly. He saw himself filling his hands, his mouth, his heart. He saw himself filling her.
Swallowing a groan, he squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and breathed raggedly through his nose until he regained some semblance of control. When he had, he lifted his lids and studiously kept his gaze on the desk.
Evie appeared to be writing in a ledger, but it was difficult to tell from the doorway. And what would the woman be doing with a ledger, at any rate? Curious, he crossed the room silently and peeked over her shoulder.
It was a ledger. “What are you doing?”
She started, dropping her pen and nearly coming out of the chair. “Good heavens!”
“Sorry, did I startle you?” He knew it was a stupid question even before he’d finished asking.
Laughing softly, she rubbed a hand against her chest as if willing her heartbeat to return to normal. “Of course you startled me. You move like a cat.”
“Old habit.”
She tilted her head. “What sort of habit is that for a hermit to have? Did you catch rabbits with your bare hands as well?”
“Routinely,” he lied, in part to make her smile, and in part to avoid the first question.
She tapped her finger absently on the desk. “You returned from your trip very quickly.”
“I’ve been gone for hours.”
“Have you?” Her eyes darted to the clock on the mantel. “Five o’clock already? That can’t possibly be right.”
“It is,” he assured her, a little disappointed that the time he’d been gone had simply flown by for her.
Her brow furrowed. “I wanted to finish this before dinner. I was nearly done.”
“You’ve time. Christian hasn’t begun—”
She shook her head. “I traded responsibilities with him before you left today. I’m to cook tonight.”
“You’ve time,” he repeated and gestured at the desk. “What are you doing?”
“Oh.” She looked back to her work. “I’m balancing the accounts of the group I work with.”
“You keep a ledger for that?”
“Certainly. It takes a considerable amount of money to relocate a woman and possibly children, and that money needs to be accounted for and budgeted.”
He considered that. “Where does the money come from?”
“Here and there. Private and anonymous donations, mostly.”
“How much of it is yours?”
She shrugged and reached for her pen. “What I can afford to give.”
He imagined that translated to be a great deal. Leaning over her, he watched as she turned the page of her ledger, looked at a long column of numbers, and put the total at the bottom without so much as a crease in her brow for the effort.
“That’s bloody amazing.”
She stopped to look at him. “Did you just swear, McAlistair?”
He bloody well had. He motioned at the ledger. “How do you do it so quickly?”
“I don’t know, really. I’ve always been good with numbers.”
Good, he decided, was not an adequate description. He’d met men who had spent all their lives training in the mathematics. Not one of them could add and subtract an entire page in a ledger with such speed. “Why—”
Mr. Hunter’s voice sounded from the doorway. “Ah! McAlistair. Anything of interest to report?”
McAlistair shook his head, unaccountably annoyed with the intrusion.
“I assumed as much,” Mr. Hunter responded, before turning his attention to Evie. “Mrs. Summers has informed me you’re a formidable chess player, Miss Cole. Might I interest you in a game?”
“I can’t, I’m afraid,” Evie replied with an apologetic smile. “I’ve a ham to prepare m-momentarily. I’ve traded duties with Christian.”
“Another time, then.”
“Of course.” She tapped her pen against the desk. “Are you an accomplished player?”
“There’s none better.” He flashed a devilish smile at her, then wisely disappeared before she could argue.
The silly maneuver left Evie laughing, and McAlistair equal parts pleased and irritated. He loved to hear her laugh. He appreciated less that it was Mr. Hunter who had charmed the delight out of her.
He ignored the irrational urge to cross his arms over his chest. “You enjoy playing games of strategy?” Why hadn’t he known that?
“I enjoy winning games of strategy,” she clarified with a smile.
“Mr. Hunter appears confident.”
“Hubris.” She waved her hand dismissively. “The downfall of all great men.”
Now he had the irrational urge to construct—and share with Evie—a list of all the very good reasons Mr. Hunter was not to be considered a great man. He wouldn’t have done it—probably—but he was relieved to have the temptation removed by Evie shutting her ledger and changing the subject.
“I suppose I’ll have to finish this another time.” She rose and winced a little, stiff from sitting in a hard chair for hours. “Perhaps I’ll work up the nerve to try the window seat. I was going to, you know, but then I had this awful vision of becoming stuck and—”
“Why should you become stuck?”