When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,31

be,” she said. “I’d rather talk to your cook instead. Where is he?”

His lips twitched as if he knew a joke she did not.

“Actually, I was about to introduce you to him.” He took her hand and turned her around so that she faced the redheaded youth. “This is Hicks, my cook.”

“Ma’am,” Hicks said, nervously fiddling with a wooden spoon and then dropping it.

He hastily bent and retrieved it, his cheeks now redder than his hair.

Messalina felt her eyes widen. Hicks couldn’t be more than twenty or so. No wonder he had no idea how to make a proper breakfast—or indeed anything other than pies, it seemed. This morning she would’ve berated the cook and told him that his services were no longer needed.

But that was before her afternoon with Hawthorne. Before she’d found out how dire it might be for a person out of work in London.

And before she’d seen Hicks’s wide blue eyes.

Messalina took a bracing breath and said to Hawthorne, “Would you excuse me, please? I’d like to discuss the meals with Hicks.”

Hawthorne seemed to search her eyes for a moment, and then he leaned forward, murmuring in her ear, “Don’t forget I’m taking you to the theater tonight.”

He was out the door before Messalina had fully recovered from his hot breath against her cheek. She stared after him, absently touching her fingers to her cheek.

Hicks cleared his throat awkwardly. “’Ow can I be of service, ma’am?”

Messalina turned to him. “I thought we should discuss breakfast.”

Hicks gulped, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yes, ma’am?”

She smiled. “Have you ever made shirred eggs?”

“Uh…”

“What about kippers?”

His eyes widened in what looked like alarm.

“Chocolate? Buttered kidneys? Porridge?”

Hicks shook his head at each item.

“Well.” Messalina felt her smile slipping a bit, but she continued briskly, “Time enough for you to learn those dishes. Perhaps we should start with something more—”

She was interrupted by the patter of tiny paws. The puppy came gamboling over, his tail wagging so madly his entire rear end wriggled.

“Oh,” Messalina said softly, and bent to catch him in her arms. His little body felt almost boneless, his puppy fur rippling beneath her fingers as she scratched his neck gently. “You are terribly beguiling.”

The puppy licked her fingers and then tried to nibble.

“No biting,” she said sternly, tapping him on the nose.

The puppy looked confused and then began squirming.

She put him down, and he raced back to his pallet, where Sam was sitting up sleepily.

Sam caught sight of her and his eyes widened. “Ma’am.” He scrambled to stand, looking worried. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“That’s quite all right.” Messalina made sure her voice was reassuring. “Has he been good today?”

Sam looked down uncertainly at the puppy, now wrestling one of his shoes. “’E’s been doing ’is duty mostly in the garden.” The boy looked at her earnestly. “’E’s right clever and ’e’s trying not to bite.”

The puppy lost his grip and fell over before taking an interest in his own tail.

“He does seem very clever,” Messalina said gravely. “I wonder what I should name him.”

Sam opened his mouth and then shut it.

“Hmmm.” Messalina tapped her finger against her lips, making a show of considering the matter. The boy stared at her urgently. “Sam, do you have any ideas?”

“Daisy!” Sam exclaimed, as if the name had been bottled up in his throat and he’d just uncorked it. “Cause ’e likes to sniff them in the garden.”

Messalina blinked and looked at the puppy, who was now attempting to catch his own tail. The puppy toppled over again with a squeak.

Messalina’s lips twitched. “Then Daisy it is.”

Sam grinned happily up at her and Messalina felt warm. As if she’d single-handedly brought joy to the little boy.

At that moment Daisy began circling and sniffing the floor with purpose.

“Erm,” Messalina began, alarmed.

“Daisy, come ’ere!” Sam ran for the door leading into the garden.

Thankfully the puppy chased him.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Sam said at the open door, “’e’s going to—”

“Yes, yes, go on.” Messalina waved him out the door.

When she turned back, Hicks looked surprised but respectful. “Thought that dog would never learn to go outside for ’is…erm, duty.”

“Then Sam must be doing a good job,” she replied. “Now. Why don’t we start with something simple? Have you ever boiled an egg?”

When Hicks’s face fell, Messalina took a deep breath. Good thing she’d watched her nursemaid make soft-boiled eggs almost every day in the nursery.

She set to work. Her smile was wide, her attention seemingly all on Hicks…or so she hoped. For inside, her