Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

Hallie said, “I wonder if all three of them paid to have Kindred and Potter shoot Lorry.”

He smiled. “Elgin doesn’t have any money. Would Charles do that? I wouldn’t have thought so.” She never looked away from his stern face, so beautiful in the morning sunlight streaking through the window that she wanted to weep. Or swoon, like Cook, and sing arias.

She said, “Will you take Potter and Kindred with you to confront Lord Grimsby?”

“No,” Jason said, “it’s not necessary.” He strode to her, leaned down to kiss her mouth, and gave her a blinding smile. “I’m going to nail his butt to the stable door.”

“Whose?”

Jason laughed, patted her cheek.

“Master Jason.”

“Yes, Petrie? You’re still here, watching everything?”

“Certainly, it is my duty. I wished to say that your boots shine much brighter this morning than the mistress’s.”

Jason looked at his face in his shiny boots presented to him that morning by Petrie.

“It is my opinion, sir, that her use of anise seed is overrated.”

Jason said to Hallie, “I told Petrie to write to Old Fudds and find out the exact measurement since I doubted you would tell him.”

“That’s true,” Hallie said. “Still, you did well, Petrie.”

Petrie preened.

“Ah, listen. I hear Cook singing, and that means she’s scrambling your eggs as we speak, with just a pinch of thyme, the way you like them. Are you coming back to eat them?”

“Hallie,” he said. “Do you know that last night I realized how simply saying your name—Oh, Petrie, are you still lurking? Go see to Mr. Clooney’s comfort. I will be along in a moment. Go. As I said—merely mentioning your name, even in passing, makes me feel warm all the way to my heels.”

“I’m very glad about that. Oh, the devil. I’ll tell you, why not? I love you, Jason Sherbrooke, even though Cook will never scramble eggs specially for me like she does for you.”

She loved him? It amazed him, nearly brought him to his knees, nearly pulled a shout of pleasure right out of his mouth. He said, “I don’t deserve it.”

“Possibly not, but what am I to do? It’s there, deep inside me, this love for you, and I know it will never go away. You don’t have to say anything, Jason. Tell Cook that you’re bequeathing your lovely scrambled eggs to me this morning.”

“It’s done.” He gave her another quick hard kiss on her mouth, and was gone.

When Cook came into the dining room a few minutes later, Hallie said, “Master Jason said I could eat his eggs.”

Mrs. Millsom nodded sadly. “Yes, the beautiful young master apologized to me, told me it was not to be.”

She looked ready to burst into tears.

“He is meeting with a man right this minute, Mrs. Millsom or I know he would be here.”

But Cook wasn’t listening. She carried the plate of scrambled eggs in her arms like a baby, walked to the windows and looked out. When she saw the master striding toward the stables, she shouted at the top of her lungs, “Master Jason, come back before your eggs disappear down the mistress’s gullet! Bring the scrawny little man with you!”

Hallie heard him shout back, “Mrs. Millsom, please let the mistress eat my eggs this morning. She’s very possibly with child and I want my heir to grow big and strong.”

Mrs. Millsom whipped about to stare at her.

Hallie shrugged. “One never knows. Give me the eggs, Mrs. Millsom. The last thing we want is a paltry heir.”

“Eat them all mistress. Soon now you’ll be puking up your innards in the mornings.”

“That is not a happy thought, Mrs. Millsom.”