Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,222

terrible brutes to those they deemed beneath them, but Julius had never been one to puff up like a rooster and peck at the help. “I realize it must be awkward to have a stranger in your midst, never mind that I have ventured into your domain.”

“Not at all, my lord.” The elder servant couldn’t meet his eyes when she uttered the lie.

“I believe Lady Hadley referred to you as Quinn?”

Her face turned bright red. “Yes, my lord. Felicity Quinn. I am Lady Hadley’s maid.”

Her answer surprised him. A lady’s maid did not engage in kitchen duties. All the cottage occupants were lending a hand, which solidified his decision. He gestured to one of the empty plates. “May I?”

The youngsters stared at him with wide eyes. Quinn answered in the affirmative. He stood at the table to fill his plate with bacon and bread, and gathered the silverware.

“I’ll not make a nuisance of myself any longer. Which direction is the breakfast room?”

“Up the staircase and to the left,” Anne said. “Are you certain you do not want Robbie to show you?”

“I am, miss.” He walked into the corridor and swiveled on his heel to face them again. “By-the-by, I intend to make myself useful while staying at Davensworth Cottage. If Lady Hadley can learn to wash dishes, I imagine I am not a hopeless cause. Robbie, please come find me once you have eaten your fill.”

Bess jerked to a stop at the top of the stairs. Air whooshed from her lungs as if she collided with a wall. Coming up the flight with an armful of split logs was none other than Lord Julius. He practically bounded up the stairs as if he carried a load of feathers. In a large house, avoiding him should have been an easy task, yet here he was again underfoot.

“Good day, Lady Hadley.”

His chipper greeting eased the tightness in her chest. Perhaps he was the jovial type who would have a good laugh when she admitted to fooling him, although it might be at her expense. She didn’t mind being the butt of a joke, but what if she was wrong about his forgiving nature? Surely he wouldn’t hold Gemma accountable. Bess would impress upon him that her cousin played no part in the pretense, just as soon as she screwed up enough courage to tell him.

He stopped on the top step. His brown hair was damp at his temples, dark and glistening like a raven’s wings.

“We meet again, my lord.”

“Always a pleasure.” A devilish twinkle in his eyes caused her insides to quiver with excitement. “I expect we’ll see a lot of each other over the next few days.”

And that was the problem—seeing too much of him. He’d discarded his jacket and waistcoat since their last encounter, and the translucent fabric of his shirt did nothing to hide the definition of his flexed biceps. It was challenging not to ogle. Had she not seen much more of his impressive figure on two previous occasions, the sight of him in his shirtsleeves would have come as a shock. She was beyond being scandalized, but she wasn’t immune to him.

Fanning her face to cool her overheated skin, she said, “I thought we established you are a guest at Davensworth Cottage. Why are you performing a servant’s duties?”

He tipped his head. “Your cheeks are flushed. Are you overtaxing yourself?”

“No, not in the least.” She dropped her hands at her sides, embarrassed he had noticed her involuntary reaction.

He narrowed his eyes. The intensity of his inspection made her self-conscious. She reached for her earlobe. “Mm-hmm,” he muttered. “Have you stopped working since you woke?”

She inhaled slowly to calm her churning breath. One quick shake of her head acknowledged she had not.

“I’d wager you haven’t had a morsel of food either.” His thick brows were like stern slashes hovering low over his eyes. “There is no harm in having a lie down.” His harping should have irritated her, but his concern for her wellbeing was touching, albeit unnecessary.

“I don’t need a rest, my lord, and you are a guest. You shouldn’t be performing manual labor.”

A dimpled grin transformed his face in a flash. “Should I leave it to the mice to do?"

He was teasing again, so she took no offense. “The troubles at Davensworth Cottage are temporary,” she said. “We cannot risk having it known you were asked to perform chores. Additionally, we are vermin free.”

“No mice? All the more reason you need my help, I say. Besides,