Love Language (The Aristocrat Diaries 1)

“Only if you had a tin opener,” I muttered, eying the tins of soup. “Can you see the spaghetti?”

“Not yet.” He spun, scanning the shelves as I did. “Oh, there it is. Right up there.” He leaned over, and the light cut off, plunging us into darkness.

And he was pressed right up against my body.

Like.

Right there.

Chest to chest.

My nose was touching his collarbone kind of against each other.

This was not good.

I swallowed and reached out to grip onto the shelf next to me, making two jars clink together. “Is that the power?” I whispered as if speaking any louder would mean I’d raise some sort of pantry monster desperate to raid jars of green tomato chutney.

“I think so,” Miles replied, his voice just as low as mine. “Want me to try the switch?”

“No, I’d like to stand here in the dark with you in my personal space.”

Could he feel how fast my heart was beating?

Did he know?

If I shivered, would he be able to tell?

Gosh, what was I doing? Sure, he smelled great, like freshly cut grass and soil and the flowery detergent we used on our sheets, but I had no business reacting like this. There was no reason for my heart to be running a marathon at his closeness in the dark.

None.

None at all.

The air around me cleared as Miles stepped back slightly and flicked the switch several times. “I think you’re right. It’s the power.”

“Oh.” I wrapped my arms around my waist as a shiver ran through my body.

Miles was still close enough that if I lost my balance and slipped forward, I’d fall right into his body. A part of me—the part with one too many hormones raging in it—considered falling accidentally-on-purpose and hoping he’d catch me.

But that was ridiculous.

My life was not a romantic comedy movie.

If it was, it’d be terribly boring.

“Are you all right?” he asked, and I felt his hand touch my arm.

I laughed shakily. “I guess that’s a no to the spaghetti.”

“I’m inclined to agree. Come on, it’s pitch black in here. We need to find those candles.” He wrapped his hand around my elbow to guide me out, and I’d never been so glad to be wearing a jumper in my life.

God knows how I’d react if my arms were bare.

Miles helped me out of the pantry and into the kitchen where the gas cooker had gone off. He released me and turned the knob so no gas could escape, then turned to me. “Shall we find the candles?”

I nodded and limped in the direction of the library where there was both the fire that needed seeing to and a stash of candles for emergencies, and the full realisation of the situation I was in dawned on me.

I was alone. In my house. With no power.

With the hot gardener I had a highly inappropriate crush on.

Surely things couldn’t get any worse than this.

CHAPTER NINE – MILES

If anyone had told me this morning that I’d be stranded at Arrowwood Hall alone with Gabriella with no power, I’d have laughed at them.

It wasn’t something I’d planned to happen today.

How was I supposed to know the roads flooded? I was in the greenhouse when the storm had hit, and it really hadn’t been raining for that long when I was ready to go. It wasn’t that unusual that I hadn’t seen anyone else.

It was raining.

It was hard to garden in the rain.

And now I was here. Stuck with her. In the biggest, fanciest house I’d ever set foot in. With no way fucking out.

I’d never been more uncomfortable than I was in this house. This was so far away from anything I’d ever experienced that I was seriously considering asking if there was still a ‘downstairs’ for the staff, because I’d probably be more comfortable down there than up here in all the grandeur of the manor house.

Not to mention that I’d already been far too close to Gabriella in the pantry when the power had cut out.

Gabriella.

Lady Gabriella. A bloody aristocrat. Someone who couldn’t be more different to me if she tried.

I bet the only hand me downs she knew of were expensive family jewels. Probably a tiara or some shit like that.

As a kid, I’d been lucky if my brother’s old shoes didn’t have a hole in them.

“Can you get this box?” Gabriella winced and braced herself on the bookshelf. “Ow.”

“You’ve got to sit down,” I told her, retrieving the box she was pointing to. “I’m not a doctor, and there’s no way to get you to one, short of calling in a helicopter.”

She wrinkled her face up. “No, thank you. I don’t fancy flying in a helicopter in this weather. It’s bad enough in good conditions.”

Of course she’d flown in a helicopter.

Why wouldn’t she have?

I shook my head and lifted the box. “What’s in here?”