The Charmer Read Online Free PDF

were
firmly in place at regular intervals along the line of trees. There were twelve
of them, all carrying green fruit the size of a child's fist. It wasn't until
he parted the branches that he became aware of the number of fruit. The crop would
be good if they didn't lose them to frost.
    She explained all this to him as
he worked. She told him the canvas would protect them from the English winter,
so much colder than their native climate. She went on to tell him how Sir
Francis Carew had built a wooden structure around his trees which could be removed
when the weather warmed. The canvas was simply attached to the top and opened
on sunny days, even in winter, and replaced at night. He'd found this the best
method in England's cold winters.
    "He wrote to me and said his
trees like the extra protection, and there is not the hazard of the canvas
sides being torn off in strong winds."
    The trees liked it? She
spoke of them as if they were people. "You could build something like
that," he said.
    "I could if I had six of you
here on a permanent basis," she said wryly.
    He picked up a mallet and
hammered the last stake as far into the ground as it would go. He wished there
were six of him too. Then he could continue his investigation without wasting time
protecting bloody orange trees from freezing their delicate little twigs off.
It was ludicrous. They weren't supposed to grow on English soil, and he was no
gardener. He was the second son of a London merchant and a trained assassin,
skilled at everything from surviving in the forest to dancing in foreign
courts. Hughe had better be bloody appreciating the thoroughness with which he
undertook this assignment. If he didn't...
    Orlando smiled ruefully to
himself. If Hughe didn't appreciate it, there was nothing Orlando would do. He
liked being part of the Assassins' Guild and he would never jeopardize his
position. The satisfaction of getting justice for victims overrode any qualms
he had about taking a life, but most of all, he liked the adventure working for
the Guild offered. It kept him from being bored, and being bored was something
Orlando needed to avoid at all costs.
    He drove another stake into the
ground with all his strength, but it didn't drive the sudden, hateful memories
away, or the guilt. He'd always have those.
    The shimmering golden sun was
hovering on the horizon by the time they returned the gardening tools to the barn.
The stakes were ready for the canvas to be attached to them, but first the
trees needed fertilizing and light pruning.
    "We'll start tomorrow,"
Susanna said, walking alongside him to the house.
    They skirted the perimeter of the
small kitchen garden and he breathed in the scents of sage and thyme. They were
the same herbs growing at his London home, and he felt a little nostalgic for
the days when he and his brother would play hide and seek among the rosemary.
    "Thank you, Mr. Holt," Susanna
said at the door. "You're a hard worker. I'm sorry we cannot pay you
better for your efforts." She dipped her head, hiding those beautiful
eyes. Was she ashamed of her family's lack of fortune? Or ashamed she'd
misjudged him?
    "You have saved me from
starving to death on a freezing night. I should thank you."
    "Freezing? It's autumn, Mr.
Holt, not the depths of winter. And here I thought those muscles made you
tougher." She swept past him into the kitchen, leaving him staring after
her.
    She was flirting with him. Wasn't
she? It was difficult to tell. Most women softened their caustic remarks with a
wink, and some even went so far as to lift their skirts when no one was
looking. Lady Lynden left him feeling uncertain and on edge. It wasn't a
feeling he was used to.
    He removed his hat and went into
the kitchen, but Susanna had already passed through. A generously sized woman
stood at the central table pounding dough with her massive fists. She looked
up, not breaking her rhythm.
    "You the gardener, eh?"
A tangle of thin red veins spread across her cheeks and