Chapter Five #2
“Won’t you be wanting any breakfast, ma’am?”
“Oh, yes, a cup of tea and some toast would be lovely, thank you.”
“And what about a nice bit o’ bacon, ma’am?”
Callie hesitated. Bacon. How long had it been since she’d eaten bacon? Rupert had forbidden it to her.
“Very well then, some bacon, thank you.” She paused. “Where shall I take it?”
“I’m having mine right here.” Gabriel crossed the room and swung a long leg over one of the chairs that surrounded the long kitchen table.
Callie stared. The master of the house eating in the kitchen?
She’d never heard of such a thing. He must have read her mind, for he said, “I’ve been breaking my fast in Mrs. Barrow’s kitchen since I was Nicky’s age and younger.
Best place in the world, I thought it was when I was his age, apart from the stables.
” He glanced across at Jim. “I’ll wager Jim thinks so, too, now he’s tasted Mrs. Barrow’s cooking, eh, Jim? ” The boy nodded fervently.
“I shall take my breakfast in the…” Callie wasn’t sure where. She only knew she wasn’t going to eat bacon in the kitchen with that man watching her. And with the taste of his kisses still on her mouth.
“The breakfast room, ma’am?” suggested Mrs. Barrow. “In about fifteen minutes?”
“Yes, if you will just tell me where it is,” Callie agreed gratefully.
Chair legs scraped on the stone-flagged floor. “I’ll escort you.” Gabriel held out his arm.
Unable to refuse, Callie took his arm and allowed him to lead her to the breakfast room.
Sunshine streamed through long French windows.
They opened on to a terrace that overlooked the garden at the side of the house.
Small enough to be cozy without being poky, the room was decorated in pale green and white with rose upholstery and curtains.
It was almost as if the garden had crept into the room.
“Oh, what a pretty room,” she exclaimed, forgetting she’d planned to crush him with dignified silence.
“I believe my great-aunt was fond of it. I never use it,” he said indifferently, pulling out a chair for her at an oval mahogany table.
She walked to the French windows and stepped out onto the terrace. “I never had a great-aunt,” she said. “Were you fond of yours?”
He followed her outside. “Yes. She was a terrifying old lady, but with a very kind heart. She used to give me a daily grilling on my lessons.” He quirked a rueful smile.
“Boys were a variety of humanity she believed were in dire need of civilizing—which came in the form of discipline, exercise, and rewards.”
He saw her expression and laughed. “Great-aunt Gert was passionate about the training and breeding of dogs. She treated boys much the same way—not the breeding, of course. But don’t get the idea she was some mad old recluse—she also adored the social whirl and went up to London every season—to terrify the ton, Harry and I always thought. She always returned much refreshed.”
Callie smiled and strolled a few steps along the path. “She didn’t have any children of her own?”
“Lord, no! I doubt there was a man in England brave enough to marry her.”
“That’s sad,” Callie said. It was warm in the morning sun. Bees were already out and buzzing around the sweet Alice and the lavender. The pathway led to a circular bed containing a sundial. She walked toward it.
He followed her. “With sentiments like that, I’m surprised you don’t plan to marry again.”
“No, I won’t remarry,” Callie told him. “Not ever. Not to anyone. I want nothing further to do with men.”
He heaved a sigh. “That’s my hopes and dreams dashed forever, then.”
They walked on. It had been a good thing to set him straight, Callie thought. Best to get it clear and out in the open. No misunderstandings. He’d stop bothering her now. He’d leave her alone, and that would be a good thing.
She didn’t need to be…bothered.
He was a very…bothersome man.
She darted him a sidelong glance. He’d been silent for several moments now. She hoped he wasn’t too crushed by her announcement. Not that he should be—they’d only just met, for heaven’s sake.
He caught her looking. “So,” he said. “You’re absolutely sure. No plans to marry again?”
She gave a firm nod. “None.”
“You wouldn’t consider becoming my mistress?”
She stopped short, scandalized. She’d told him she had principles. She whirled to face him. His eyes were laughing at her. He was teasing her, she realized.
The way he laughed with his eyes, laughing and seeming to…caress…at the same time…it was most disconcerting.
“You are joking,” she told him.
“Am I indeed?”
“Yes, for you know perfectly well I am a respectable widow—”
“Oh, we needn’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about—”
She gave him a severe look. “I told you, I have no desire to put myself under the thumb of any man, ever again.”
“But it wasn’t my thumb I was thinking of.” He said it with such a wicked, laughing look she was hard put to know what to say. So she turned on her heel and walked off.
It took her several minutes of marching along as fast as her legs could carry her before she was able to think at all, let alone think of an appropriately crushing, yet dignified response.
His words, along with that laughing smile in his eyes, were a pure invitation to sin.
She snorted, remembering the session in the stables.
Nothing pure about it!
She could hear him coming up behind her on the path.
She quickened her pace. His didn’t seem to alter, and yet he still gained on her.
It wasn’t fair that he should have such long, strong legs and hers should be short and rounded.
The only way to escape him would be to run, but she wouldn’t put it past him to run after her.
The wretch probably would enjoy chasing her.
A small voice inside her suggested timidly that she might find it exciting, too. She ruthlessly squashed it.
She deliberately slowed her pace and stopped to stare earnestly at a flower. She had no idea what it was; she’d never been any good at botany, but he needn’t know that.
He stopped beside her and waited. She felt the warm wash of his gaze flow over her. And ignored it. She stared hard at the flower. He bent and peered at it over her shoulder.
“Fascinating,” she murmured, trying not to be aware of the proximity of his big, masculine body.
“Utterly,” he agreed fervently. “Something special, do you think?”
She frowned thoughtfully over the small, blue-flowered plant. “It could well be,” she said, hoping he was no botanist.
“It definitely could be,” he agreed. “If only creeping charley was not regarded as a weed in England.” He paused a moment, then added, “Shall I get someone to pull it out before it spreads, or would you rather paint it or press it in your Weeds of England scrapbook?”
She continued the walk in dignified silence. He strolled along beside her.
“This is nice, isn’t it?” he said chattily.
She didn’t respond.
“Getting to know each other like this,” he continued unabashed. “Breathing the morning air. Learning about your fascination with English weeds…and your fear of thumbs.”
“You know perfectly well what I meant by not wanting to be under the thumb. My entire life has been spent under the rule of two extremely autocratic men—first my father and then my husband. Now, I have had my first ever taste of freedom, and nothing—no man—could ever taste sweeter than that.”
“Is that a challenge?” he said softly.
“No! Do not be so frivolous.”
“I wasn’t,” he said in a meek voice, but his eyes were dancing.
It was the color, she thought irrelevantly. She’d never seen such blue, blue eyes. Like sunlight sparkling on the sea. Another thing that wasn’t fair. Men shouldn’t be allowed to have eyes like that.
They walked on and, as they turned a corner, the house came into view again. Thank goodness, Callie thought. She might have been walking on a firm graveled path, but it had felt as though she’d been negotiating a marsh, full of traps for the unwary.
He was a very dangerous man! She glanced at him and found him watching her.
“I’m so relieved,” he told her.
Callie could not imagine what he was talking about. “Relieved?”
“That you don’t dislike my thumbs. I think they’re quite nice thumbs—for thumbs, that is. Don’t you think?” He spread his hands out for her to inspect, and though it was clearly ridiculous, she couldn’t help glancing at his hands.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She gave them a second critical look and sniffed. “All I can see is that your thumbs are rather large,” she said in a quelling voice.
He gave her a slow smile. “Exactly.”
Callie had no idea why she should blush, but she did. “I think our breakfast will be ready now,” she said and marched briskly back to the breakfast room.
He strolled along beside her. “Yes, I’m ravenous.” The way he said it, he didn’t just mean for food.
Callie walked faster. She reentered the breakfast parlor. “Did your great-aunt live to a great age?” She was determined to stick to safe subjects.
“Yes, I believe she was eighty or more—she never would let on how old she was. Harry and I thought her a hundred, at least, when we were young. She died just after I left for the war, and for some reason, she left this house to me. I have no idea why. I certainly hadn’t expected it.”
Callie knew from Mrs. Barrow that Gabriel had spent almost eight years at war, yet the curtains looked new and the paintwork of the room seemed fresh, as if done quite recently. “So you kept her color scheme in memory of her. That’s lovely.”
“No, it isn’t. I had no say in the color scheme. When I sold out of the army, my eldest brother had this place cleaned up for me. I doubt he gave any orders about colors or fabric, so everything was simply renewed.”
“That was nice of him,” she offered.
“Hmm.” He made a noncommittal noise. “I expect he was relieved to have somewhere to put me.”
“Put you?” He didn’t seem like the sort of man anyone put anywhere.