My Merry Marquess (Wallflower's Christmas Wish #3) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,4

else. “Interesting isn’t the proper word. I’d say it was—”

“Ladies.” Mr. Clark sent a harsh glare over his shoulders. “Please give our guest, Lord Blitzencreek, some privacy.”

And on that note, he closed the door silently but firmly, shutting them out.

Holly sighed. “I’ll head out to fetch some breakfast for myself. It could be ages before Cook manages anything edible.” And then she disappeared back down the stairs.

Noelle remained hovering by the door.

“I know you rescued him and not Mr. Clark. You’re lucky he didn’t try to ravish you. What were you thinking?” Eve couldn’t help feeling concerned that her sister had ventured outside in the middle of the night.

“He was too sloshed to ravish me. Besides, I could tell by his clothing that he’s quality.”

“Just because he’s quality doesn’t mean he’s honorable.”

Noelle bit her lip. “But he could be. What do you think of his looks? He’s quite handsome if you ask me.”

Eve shook her head. “I barely saw him. It’s no matter, anyhow. I need to clean my cloak and then make more pies. Aunt Winifred has promised I’d take one over to the inn for, er, a few of the guests.”

Noelle’s eyes flicked toward the closed door. “I believe that’s where he came from.”

“No doubt,” Eve agreed. Her stomach fluttered as she remembered her encounter in the square. If this man associated with Nicholas, then Noelle should be careful. “Promise me you will be leery of him, please? Even if he is handsome and charming, remember the condition he was in when you found him. Not exactly a sound recommendation.”

“Not everyone is like Father.” But Noelle shrugged. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Eve stared at her hard. Noelle was a grown woman. All Eve could do was hope that she wouldn’t do anything foolish.

Back downstairs again, she found her aunt’s housekeeper, Mrs. Smith, examining the soiled cloak Eve had left hanging by the door.

“I’ll have this good as new in no time at all.”

“Thank you.” Eve touched her neck, concerned to leave its care to someone she hardly knew. “It was a gift from my mother.” She should have been more careful with the pie. It would serve her right if it couldn’t be repaired.

“You needn’t worry about that, My Lady. I’ll tend to it myself.” The maid cradled the coat as though it was a delicate garment and solemnly met Eve’s stare. Her aunt’s entire household had welcomed them with open arms. Eve wondered how long it would take to begin to feel at home.

She thanked the kind maid again and headed toward the kitchen. She would make those pies but not because Nicholas and his companions deserved one. She would bake them because baking seemed to be one of the only things that made her feel at peace. It reminded her of their mother, of happier days.

She could almost forget the pain of the past year and a half as she sliced the apples and then added the precise measurements of each ingredient. Rolling out the dough was something she could control. She could make it the exact thickness she required and create perfect diamond shapes for the top crust.

After placing them in the oven, she stepped outside once again, wearing one of her aunt’s older coats this time, walking in the direction of the inn.

She could leave the pie with the innkeeper. She didn’t even need to see him.

But what if she did see him? She pinched her lips together. More than anything, she wanted to ask why he’d never answered any of her letters. But that would be pathetic. It wasn’t as though she’d been pining after him all this time.

She’d been mourning her mother.

Stepping through the doors of the inn, Eve found the foyer and front desk empty. Jovial masculine voices drifted out from a common room off to the side.

“Breakfast will be right out, my lords.”

She’d barely slipped into the occupied room when the innkeeper rushed past her.

Of course, one of the voices had been his. Unlike her sisters, she rarely blushed, and yet upon seeing Nicholas leaning against the mantle, heat crept up her neck into her face.

“I’ve brought the pie my aunt promised.” She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He was the same but different. He looked… harder. Since she’d seen him earlier that morning, he had removed his jacket, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves. His hair looked more unruly than the style he’d worn while in London.

“Your friend, Lord Blitztencreek,