Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection

“Oh, I’d like that.” She straightened away from the stall door, and her expression turned neutral. After last night, he wasn’t surprised at the change in her manner. Every time their interactions broached on intimacy, she pulled back and acted like a servant. Never very convincingly.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a prim little voice, as the cat slunk over to sit at her feet. “I’m getting above myself, sir.”

He rolled his eyes, while forbidden pictures of her being anything but prim flooded his mind and made his blood surge. “There are only two of us here.”

Her lips tightened. “I’m well aware of that, sir.”

“So do you think you could forgo calling me sir, given nobody else is around to give you points for humility?”

“It’s not suitable.”

With difficulty, he prevented himself from rolling his eyes again. “My presence here isn’t suitable. Nothing else counts.”

“Sir—”

“I insist you don’t call me sir. No good servant disobeys a blatant command.”

The blue eyes flashed azure with annoyance. “As you wish, Mr. Hale.”

He supposed it was better than sir, but not much. “And what shall I call you?”

“Miss Carr.” Her voice held a nice snap. He liked seeing the pepper in her.

“No. Margaret, I think.”

“I prefer Miss Carr.”

“But I’m giving the orders.”

“Aren’t you just?” she muttered.

He bit back a smile. “You’ve got too much spirit to be a servant.”

To his surprise, her lips turned down in self-disgust. “I know. It’s probably a good thing nobody ever comes here. If Dr. Black sells the house, I don’t know who else will employ me. I’m really too young for such a senior post. But I couldn’t bear—”

“Taking something further down the pecking order?”

“Yes.”

He was sorry he’d made her sad again. “Uncle Thomas never said he was selling the house.”

“No. Perhaps I’m worried about nothing.” She bent to pick up the cat and rubbed her cheek against the top of Smith’s head. Joss had never been jealous of a feline before. “Anyway, it’s not your problem.”

“I’ll feel responsible if you lose your situation.”

“Oh, no. It’s not your fault.” She raised her chin and straightened her back. Every time she did that, he felt like she defied a world that had treated her very shabbily indeed. “I’m sure Dr. Black won’t cast me out into the world with nowhere to go. After all, we’re distantly related.”

“Are you indeed?”

The news was unexpected. What in Hades was Uncle Thomas doing, making a relative a bloody housekeeper? He had plenty of blunt. Enough to give this girl a London season, at the very least.

“Yes, cousins of a sort. Mamma worked it out and told me.” She was still mulling over her future as she cuddled the cat. Lucky Smith. “I suppose I could find a place as a governess.”

Joss’s doubtful glance made her bristle, justifying his misgivings about this plan.

“I’ve had a good education,” she said, as if he’d offered some argument. “Papa was an Oxford man and taught me Latin and history and mathematics, and Mamma was a baronet’s daughter, so she passed on the feminine accomplishments like drawing and music.”

He frowned. “What the devil…deuce is a baronet’s granddaughter doing in this backwater, playing drudge to Thomas Black? Why didn’t your mother apply to her rich relations for help, if things got so bad that she had to work as a domestic?”