Tempting Taffy (House of Devon #8) - Meara Platt Page 0,16
when Taffy returned to his bedchamber within the hour. He had just finished helping Rafe to wash and was now helping him dress when he heard a soft knock at the panel leading to the servants stairs. In the next moment, the panel opened and she stuck her pretty head into the room. “May I come in, my lord?”
“Aye, lass. Do.” He had been kneeling while helping his son put on his breeches, but rose as she entered and quietly shut the panel behind her. “I dinna expect ye back so soon.”
Rafe’s eyes lit up and he began to hop up and down. “Now can we play?”
The lass tossed his son an affectionate smile. “Indeed, Master Rafe. Why don’t you fetch your shoes while I talk to your father for just a moment.”
The boy obediently scampered to the large wardrobe. “I can put them on myself.”
She laughed softly as Rafe got busy attempting to buckle his shoes. She watched the boy another moment finding him truly adorable, then turned to the marquis and spoke in a low voice. “I was not looking forward to making the trek into town in the blinding snow. Fortunately, Mr. Barrow drove up in a farmer’s wagon to deliver produce to Hartland.”
He arched an eyebrow. “A man of many talents.”
“He is that, and now that he is here, he’ll chat up the staff and have a quick look around to see if anything or anyone seems out of place. You see, he came here to let me know that one of his runners spotted a man watching this house. He described this man as being of average height and average weight, possibly with brown hair. I gave him the name of Bruce Gordon.”
He tensed immediately. “I see. The villain is here already.”
She nodded. “We suspect so. You needn’t worry about your son. I will stick to him like a barnacle to the hull of a ship.” She patted her hip. “And I have my pistol at the ready.”
“Lass, ye have no idea how much I am comforted in the knowledge ye’ll be with my son. Where is Mr. Barrow now? I’d like to meet him.”
“Oh, I expect you will when he’s ready to introduce himself to you. You will know him immediately. He’s a big, portly man. Jovial, much like one’s own grandfather…well, what I expect a grandfather should be. He has a bulbous nose and jowly cheeks. Do not mistake his good nature for lack of determination. He is the cleverest man I’ve ever met. You are in excellent hands.”
He glanced down at her hands and took them into his own. “I think I am in excellent hands with ye, lass.”
Her cheeks turned a bright pink. “I merely work for Mr. Barrow.”
He did not release her, although he did not quite understand why he could not. Surprisingly, her hands were soft. Not genteel soft, for Taffy truly had taken on the role of a Hartland Abbey maid. Perhaps elegant was a better description, for her fingers were long and slender. “What do ye need me to do?”
“Do, my lord? For now, you only need to stay close to me.”
“Like a barnacle to the hull of a ship?” he teased, repeating her earlier words.
Her blush deepened and her lips parted. “Um…”
“I’m teasing ye, lass.” In that moment, he wanted to kiss her. He also wanted to take off that irritating mobcap she always wore and see the lush color of her hair. The curls peeking out from under the white cap were a lustrous reddish brown. How deep a red was her hair? “The thing is, I dinna wish to stand around and do nothing while this villain approaches.”
“Oh.” She licked her lips.
An ache tore through him.
Why did he sorely wish to kiss this lass?
It would do neither of them any good. He was a Scot and a marquis. She was a Sassenach Bow Street runner, a foundling left on an orphanage doorstep. He could never marry such a lass and she’d already made it clear she would be no man’s mistress. In truth, he could not stomach to take her on as that.
She was good and proud.
Clever and loving.
He valued her judgment and trusted her with Rafe, for she’d shown more kindness to the boy in a day than Vera ever had in the lad’s five years. Not that Vera had ever been cruel, for she had not been. But Rafe was his son, bred off her. She could not give his son a