Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

“Oh dear,” Angela said.

“Well, actually not, Mrs. Millsom,” Hallie began, but Mrs. Millsom appeared not to have heard. She continued to stare at Jason, who continued to look splendidly male, hair windblown, white shirt open, leaving his brown neck bare, his britches lovely and tight, his boots dusty, and Hallie could only roll her eyes. “Actually, all he did was open the door.”

“And the windows,” Mrs. Millsom said, still in a whisper.

Jason stretched out his lovely brown hand and came to within a foot in front of her. “Cook? Mrs. Millsom? Are you all right? Ah, you’ve burned your hand.”

Cook stared at him, shook her head as she held out her hand, which he gently held between his own. “It’s not bad. Angela, hand me some butter, we’ll cool it down. Petrie, fetch some bandages.” To his astonishment, Cook looked down at her hand held by both of his, and fell into him, almost knocking him down. He caught her even as Hallie grabbed his arm, pulling him upright.

Angela called out, “Ah, Jason, be careful of the—”

Jason went down on the large spoon covered with some sort of batter, pulling Hallie with him, Cook on top of him.

“Oh dear,” Angela said.

Jason felt flattened. As gently as he could, he rolled Cook onto her back even as Hallie came up onto her knees over him. Jason said, “Why did she swoon? Is she in pain?”

Hallie could only laugh at his utter bewilderment. “Jason, you are such a moron. You touched her, that was all it took.”

He patted Cook’s face even as he shook his head, and everyone began to laugh. Cook’s eyes fluttered. She stared up into the delicious young master’s concerned face. Concern for her. The breath whooshed out of her. “Oh, Mr. Sherbrooke, oh, sir, I only wanted to make you a lovely ginger cake.”

“Ginger cake.” Angela fell against the kitchen table she was laughing so hard. As for Petrie, he found himself slapping Martha on her thin shoulder, telling her that her face was black as one particular All Hallow’s Eve he remembered as a boy.

“I say,” came an astonished voice from the doorway, “there is no more tea in the pot.”

Hallie looked at the elegant man she’d once believed she’d loved, once believed was as near a perfect man as her father. She said to the kitchen at large, “Heavenly groats, was I mad and blind, or simply stupid?”

“Oh dear,” said Petrie, trying to wipe his face and clean off his linen all at the same time, “I should be hung perhaps, but not drawn and quartered. My lord, I pray you will forgive my unforgivable negligence in my duties. I will fetch you tea immediately, sir, well perhaps not exactly immediately, if you will see and comprehend this niggling obstacle that confronts me.”

“Of course my good man.” Lord Renfrew gracefully inclined his head. “Good God, Hallie? Is that you on your knees? The only thing left white about you is your teeth. What are you doing in here? Surely—”

“Sir,” Hallie said, not moving, “please take yourself off, or if you must, at least take yourself back to the drawing room.”

Angela said, “She’s right, my lord. I would never forgive myself were you to get a single black speck on your beautiful pearl-gray tailcoat.”

“It’s true that a gentleman should not take careless chances with his appearance,” said Lord Renfrew and backed quickly out of the kitchen.

“I wish I could stick his head in the oven,” Hallie said, rubbing her arms, streaking the soot.

Jason wrapped Mrs. Millsom’s hand in a soft washing cloth, assisted her to her feet and eased her ample self into a chair. “Martha will take care of you, Cook. Rest for a moment.”

Mrs. Millsom looked ready to swoon again. Martha quickly stepped close, propping her up.

Jason began backing out of the kitchen. “I will see to the dandy in the drawing room.”

“Elgin a dandy?” Hallie said, a newly blackened brow arched. “Surely not.”

Jason grew very still. “Did you say Elgin? Wasn’t he the fellow who brought back the marbles from Greece?”

“Well, yes, but Elgin is Lord Renfrew’s first name.”

To her surprise, Jason’s face turned grim as any reaper’s. “He’s the one, isn’t he, Hallie?”

“Well, yes.”

“What the hell does he want? Why the devil is he here?”

“Stop tearing into me. I don’t know why he’s here.”