Priceless

Ivan just stared at him, as if he was trying to make sense of the question, then he glanced down at me again. “Shall Finnegan pour, Gabrielle?”

What? Why are you asking me if Mr. Finnegan shall pour?

“I-I g-guess so if he wants to.” Oh. My. God. Did I just say that out loud? This was like a really bad British comedy. Real bad.

I so needed out of this pool and the smoking jacket wrapped around me again.

Ivan grinned down at me, processing my response, and no doubt finding great amusement in my trapped state of naked and wet. He looked like he was trying to suppress some straight-out laughter, but he just turned back and answered Mr. Finnegan easily. “Miss Hargreave says yes.”

Mr. Finnegan took that information and proceeded to pour the tea, or coffee, or whatever he’d brought for us.

I shoved Ivan with both of my hands and hissed, “Get out! And bring me a towel so I can get out—and the robe, too.”

He raised his eyebrows at me.

I kicked him in the shin from under the water. “Hurry, before he finishes pouring!”

Ivan did it for me. He wore that signature cocky smirk on his face the whole time he helped me get out of the pool, dry off with a towel, and still had it while he blocked the view from Mr. Finnegan so I could dress in the robe, but he did do what I asked of him.

“FINNEGAN adores you, you know,” Ivan said before putting a forkful of eggs in his mouth.

“What I know, is that your statement couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“He does.”

“No, he does not adore me, Ivan. The poor man must think I am the biggest psycho on the planet. You really have no idea what a mess I was that night.” I shook my head in disgust. “Just remembering how I was in front of Mr. Finnegan then, horrifies me now, and just again—almost as much.”

“You being gracious and very sweet to him is what I just witne

ssed. He is putty in your hands. And Finnegan doesn’t deliver breakfast.” He took another bite. “Ever.”

“He has always been so kind to me.”

“That’s because he adores you,” he said patiently.

I sipped my tea with milk, made perfectly as if I had prepared it. He must have noticed what I used from the tea cart in the bedroom where I’d slept before. And he had my clothes, too. Mr. Finnegan was my true champion.

“Gabrielle?”

I looked up. Ivan wore a serious expression on his face, telling me he wasn’t kidding around at the moment. “Yes?”

“I really do feel like a shit-heel prick for what happened that night.”

I could tell he was being sincere just by the expression of regret in his eyes.

“It’s all right. The whole thing was like a Twilight Zone episode. And not all of it was your fault.”

He shook his head at me. “I was terribly out of line, and I am so sorry you were frightened and ill while you were here. Finnegan said you were in tears.”

“He did?”

“Oh yes. I got the dreaded baronial address from him that morning just like I did a few minutes ago when he brought this breakfast in here.”

“What does that mean, baronial address?”

“When he uses my Lord on me, Finnegan is undoubtedly telling me to fuck off.”

“Wow. That’s just crazy,” I said in disbelief, wondering what the story was there.