"Cleaner than people usually think, but not as clean as you and I." She looked at his messy boots, amusement dancing in her gray eyes. "Well, usually."

He muttered something rather unsavory before shooting back, "I thought they didn't like...you know."

"They don't."

"Well?" he demanded, planting his shovel into the ground and putting his other hand on his hip.

Henry walked over and sniffed the air above the pile he was making. "Oh, dear. Well, I guess some got mixed in by accident. Happens often, actually. So sorry." She smiled at him and went back to work.

He let out a discreet growl, mostly just to make himself feel better, and marched over to the slop pile. He thought he could control his temper. He usually thought of himself as an easygoing man. But when he heard one of the men say, "Work's going so much faster now that you're helping, Henry," it was all he could do not to strangle her. He didn't know why she had been so smelly the day he arrived, but it was now apparent it wasn't because she'd been knee-deep in muck, helping to build the pigpen. A red haze of fury blinded him as he wondered what other disgusting tasks she was planning to take on just to convince him they were daily chores for the lord of the manor.

His teeth clenched together as he stuck his shovel into the smelly mush, scooped some up, and made to carry it to the center of the pigpen. On the way over, however, it slid off the shovel and onto Henry's shoes.

Pity, that.

She whirled around. He waited for her to burst out with, "You did that on purpose!" but she kept silent, motionless except for a slight narrowing of her eyes. Then, with a flick of her ankle, the slop spattered onto his trousers.

She smirked, waiting for him to say, "You did that on purpose!" but he also remained silent. Then he smiled at her, and she knew she was in trouble. Before she had time to react, he'd lifted his leg and planted the sole of his boot against her breeches, leaving a muddy footprint on the front of her thigh.

He cocked his head, waiting for her to retaliate.

She briefly considered picking up some of the slop and smearing it on his face but decided he'd have too much time to react; besides, she wasn't wearing gloves. She glanced quickly to the left to confuse him, then slammed her foot down on his.

Dunford let out a howl of pain. "That is enough!''

"You started it!"

"You started it before I even arrived, you conniving, unruly..."

She waited for him to call her a bitch, but he couldn't do it. Instead, he grabbed her around the middle, heaved her over his shoulder, and stalked off with her.

"You can't do this!" she shrieked, pounding his back with surprisingly effective fists. "Tommy! Harry! Someone! Don't let him do this!"

But the men who had been working on the wall didn't move. Openmouthed, they stared at the unbelievable sight of Miss Henrietta Barrett, who hadn't let anyone get the better of her in years, being forcibly removed from the pigpen.

"Maybe we shoulda helped her," Harry said.

Tommy shook his head, watching her writhing form disappear over the hillside. "I don't know. He is the new baron, you know. If he wants to carry Henry off, he's got a right to do it, I guess."

Henry obviously didn't agree because she was still screaming, "You have no right to do this!" Dunford finally dumped her down next to a small shed where they kept farming tools. Luckily no one was in sight.

"Oh?" His tone was utterly imperious.

"Do you know how long it has taken to win the respect of the people here? Do you? A long time, I'll tell you. A bloody long time. And you ruined it. Ruined it!"

"I doubt the collective population of Stannage Park is going to decide you are unworthy of respect because of my actions," he spit out, "although your own may cause you trouble."

"What do you mean by my 'own'? You're the one who dumped the slop on my feet, in case you don't recall."

"And you're the one who had me shoveling that shit in the first place!" It occurred to Dunford that that was the first time he'd ever spoken quite so crudely to a female. It was amazing how furious she could make him.

"If you're not up to the task of running a farm, you can go right on home to London. We will survive just fine without you."

"That's what this is about, isn't it? Little Henry is terrified I'm going to take her toy away from her and is trying to get rid of me. Well, let me tell you something, it'll take a lot more than a twenty-year-old girl to scare me off."

"Don't patronize me," she warned.

"Or what? What will you do to me? What could you possibly do to me that will cause me any harm?"

To Henry's utter horror, her lower lip began to quiver. "I could... I could..." She had to think of something; she had to. She couldn't let him win. He'd boot her off the estate, and the only thing worse than having no place to go was never seeing Stannage Park again. Finally, out of desperation, she blurted out, "I could do anything! I know this place better than you! Better than anyone! You wouldn't even—"

Quick as lightning, he had her pinned up against the shed and was jabbing his index finger into her shoulder. Henry couldn't breathe—she'd entirely forgotten how, and the murderous look in his eyes made her legs turn to jelly.

"Don't," he spat out, "make the mistake of getting me angry."

"You're not angry now?" she croaked in disbelief.

He let her go abruptly and smiled, cocking a brow as she slid down into a crouch. "Not at all," he said smoothly. “I merely wanted to set some ground rules."

Henry's mouth fell open. The man was insane.