Chapter Six #2
Once she was seated, he began piling her plate with food. He still seemed to be convinced she needed feeding. “There,” he said with a smile, passing the plate back to her. “Is everything in your room satisfactory?”
“Yes, thank you. Mrs. Armiston is very efficient.”
“She’s worked here all my life, I think.
I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t a fixture anyway.
She was one of the housemaids when I was a babe, I believe.
She rose to become housekeeper and has been here ever since.
” He began eating with enthusiasm. She had noticed that he had a prodigious appetite, but then he was a big man.
She toyed with her fork. She really needed to tell him . . . but . . .
I can’t tell him in London. What if he packs me back off home or—an odd idea occurred to her—confronts my parents about their treatment of me? Would he do that? He wasn’t impressed by it. All the same, I don’t want to find out.
He waved his knife at her plate, “Eat up. I don’t want you fainting again!”
She swallowed the words hovering on the tip of her tongue and began to eat, rapidly finding she was famished.
“You should hire a maid while we’re here, or you can take Jenny with us if she’s satisfactory,” he said. “Will you be all right to find a modiste and order some gowns? I’ll be no use to you in that regard. I’m clueless as to feminine attire.”
“What should I do about the bills?”
“Send them to me, of course. I trust you not to break the bank.”
She swallowed a mouthful of wine to dislodge something that felt stuck in her throat. “I didn’t expect gowns to be part of the salary package,” she said, in an attempt at humor.
“I can’t have my wife going about ill-dressed,” he said. Then he added hastily, “Not that I meant to imply—”
“I know what you meant,” she broke in with a smile. “Thank you, I’m grateful. It’s very kind of you.”
“Is it? It seems practical to me.”
“I’ll do my best not to embarrass you,” she said quietly.
He put down his knife and fork. “You won’t embarrass me. I’m the one who’s grateful.” He stretched out a hand to touch hers briefly.
She blinked, shocked and unexpectedly moved. His hand was warm, his touch comforting. She resisted the urge to clasp his fingers tightly. This is a business arrangement, not one of affection.
“I’ve bellowed at you at least a dozen times in the last few days and you haven’t blinked an eyelid. I’m a grumpy curmudgeon. I’m sorry.”
“I’m used to being yelled at. My mother does it a lot.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have to tolerate it. I’ll try to manage my temper better,” he said with a rueful smile.
“It’s all right.” She smiled back. “I think I understand why you do it.”
“You do?” His blue eyes seemed to get more intensely blue as he looked at her. “I don’t. Please tell me.”
“Well, it generally occurs when you feel uncomfortable.”
“Yes, when something isn’t where it’s supposed to be. Or my routine is disrupted.”
“So, you yell to—to release the uncomfortable feelings and make things comfortable again.”
“Yes, that’s true. But I make you uncomfortable in the process, which is selfish of me. I’m not used to having someone else’s feelings to consider. Only the servants, and I pay them to put up with me.”
“Well, you’re paying me too, aren’t you?” she asked prosaically.
“Hm.” He pushed his plate aside and picked up his wine.
She stole a look at him. He was frowning at the middle distance as if he was thinking about something he didn’t like.
She had thought his features too harsh to be handsome, and he was still fearsome when he frowned, but she must be getting used to his face because he seemed a great deal more attractive in general now, especially when he smiled.
It’s a business arrangement, she reminded herself sternly, again.
You shouldn’t be thinking about him as a man. An attractive man . . . Oh dear!
She pushed her plate aside. “I think I’ll retire now, I’m tired.”
He rose when she did. “Good night. I have a few things to attend to myself while we are in London. If I don’t see you in the morning, we will no doubt catch each other later in the day.
Sleep well.” He hesitated and then leaned down and kissed her cheek.
It was fleeting, like the kiss he gave her after they were married.
But the warm pressure of his lips on her cheek sent a shiver through her body that made her jerk in surprise.
He jerked back, flushing, and turned away abruptly.
“Good night!” he repeated brusquely. She touched her cheek and eyed his stiffened shoulders.
Really, he would think she was a complete ninny if she jerked every time he touched her.
Intuitively she sensed he was sensitive to rejection.
Was that why he turned away when she reacted like that?
She left the room thoughtfully. Perhaps I’m not the only one sensing some kind of attraction.
*
Whatever possessed me to kiss her cheek like that?
He had promised her he wouldn’t bother her, and it was clear from her reaction that she didn’t welcome his touch.
She had just got through reminding him that he was paying her to put up with him.
She was his wife (temporarily, in name only) and a paid employee.
He had no business touching her under their current contract.
If he was going to do that, he would have to change the rules.
And if he opened that particular Pandora’s box, he would have to be prepared for what came out because it couldn’t be shut again.
He was not at all sure he wanted to find out . . .
If she weren’t so damned pretty . . .