He did, however, allow himself to grin.
Julia, who had turned scarlet, muttered an embarrassed, “Uh… thank you.”
Mrs. Kilpatrick smiled at Julia and Douglas witnessed stark adoration shining in her eyes. It struck him that this woman shared his home for nearly the length of his life and she never looked at him in that way. Julia had been there two months and Mrs. Kilpatrick would have laid down her life for her.
For some reason, this pleased Douglas immensely.
The older woman turned to him and he nodded at her in approval and she slowly, hesitantly, to his disbelief, winked at him.
Then she was gone.
He turned his eyes to Julia, who was staring at the door.
“She must think I’m a tramp, a tart,” Julia burst out. “Oh my God, this is terrible!”
“Do you think,” Douglas started and Julia turned humiliated eyes to him, “that she would bring you breakfast if she thought you were a tart?”
Julia looked at him, at the breakfast, at the door Mrs. Kilpatrick just exited through, back at Douglas and then she said, “Doesn’t she bring all your women breakfast?”
Douglas’s lingering grin immediately turned into a scowl.
“No,” he replied shortly, walking toward her, “she has not once, in my debauched past, brought breakfast to a woman in this room.”
Well certainly not unless he ordered her to do so but Julia didn’t need to know that.
Julia ignored his tone and his comment and skirted around him to head toward the breakfast tray.
Douglas sighed. He would not be amused if she was going to begin resisting him again. He crossed his arms on his chest and watched as she sat on the couch in front of the food and reached for the coffeepot.
“Coffee?” she asked, lifting the pot gratuitously and failing to meet his eyes. He nodded and she poured, adding no milk or sugar and walked to him to hand him a cup. He continued to regard her, wondering at her mood, as she made her own, one sugar and a splash of milk. She deposited the pot on the tray, grabbed the cup by its saucer and an almond croissant and headed across the room.
To the door.
“Where are you going?” he demanded to know.
“To my room, to wash my face, brush my teeth, take a shower,” she replied, her tone carefully blasé and she continued moving.
“You can do that here,” he told her.
She stopped and turned to him, her mouth opening to speak when a knock came at the door.
“Yes?” he called before Julia could utter a word and Mrs. Kilpatrick popped her head around the door.
“Just brought you a couple of things, Miss Julia, toothpaste, your face wash…” she sidled in and stood, carrying a toiletries bag. She looked confused for a moment as Julia’s hands were full so she moved to Douglas and, as he had a free hand, gave him the bag. “Thought you might want an easy morning and not have to run all over the house. You’ve been busy lately, you deserve a break.” She stopped at the door, offered them both a cheeky smile and then closed the door softly behind her.
Julia swung widened eyes to his as her jaw dropped and Douglas raised his brow at her.
He could swear he heard her make a growling noise and she retraced her steps, put down her cup and croissant, walked to Douglas, snatched the bag out of his hand and tramped to his bathroom.
She didn’t take long and when she came back, fresh faced, her hair pulled back in a messy bundle secured with a clip, he was seated in an armchair, sipping his coffee and reading the paper. Without access to his dressing gown, he had shrugged on his dress shirt to ward off the slight chill in the room but hadn’t bothered buttoning it.
It smelled of her perfume and he decided he liked that.
Very much.
She sat on the couch and reached for her coffee, her movements jerky, her face duelling between bemused and mutinous.
“Is something wrong?” Douglas inquired, wondering how long courtesy would require for him to give her to have her breakfast before he dragged her back into the bedroom.