Page 99 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

“That is unfortunate,” I reply. “I am sorry you must deal with such trouble.”

Edvear pulls himself together. “It is no matter, my lord. I suppose we can buy butter in the market. I won’t let such a fine cook as Mrs. Finch go without what she needs. What can I do for you?”

There is a note in his tone that gives me pause. Has my steward taken an interest in the widowed cook? He will be sorely disappointed when it is time to return to Nothril.

I pretend I noticed nothing. “Please arrange a meeting with Lady Duxbury Vandermore.”

“At once, my lord.”

An ear-splitting crash echoes from the opposite side of the house. Both Edvear and I turn toward it.

Edvear tusks. “It’s that boy again. He’s as clumsy today as he was on his first day. He’s driving Mrs. Banks insane. It’s barely past breakfast and she already looks ready to box his ears.”

I shoot to my feet and shove past him. If that woman lays a hand on Kat—

The yelling in the kitchen is enough to guide me through the hallways. I throw open the door to find Kat on the floor, grimacing in pain next to my fallen breakfast tray. The china has broken to pieces, tea spilled everywhere, and chipped dishes scattered across the floor.

“—useless, clumsiest—”

“Enough!” I demand, grabbing Kat under the armpits and pulling her to her feet, away from the broken china immediately. I cannot keep my voice from betraying my temper this time. “Mrs. Banks, I have been clear that you are not to raise your voice or your hand against Nat. It is nothing but a few broken dishes. I will clean it up myself if that would please you!”

Mrs. Banks stares at me in shock. She looks like she wants to shift her tirade to me and yell that I shouldn’t have so obvious a favorite among my staff. Which she might be right about—but I couldn’t care less.

I put Kat gently on her feet, shielding her from Mrs. Banks with my body. She stumbles slightly, grabbing my wrist with a tight grip as though she might fall.

She’s injured.

My blood turns hot in my veins. Was I too late? Did Mrs. Banks already lay a hand on her? I barely restrain the burst of violence inside me. I am not in Nothril, and I will not be hasty in meting out judgment.

But if Mrs. Banks did this, she will be immediately dismissed.

I don’t release my grip on Kat. “Edvear, please see that this is handled. If it’s too much trouble for the staff”—these words come out with far more bite than they ought—“then wait for me and I’ll deal with it myself.”

“I will clean it up—” Kat starts to protest.

“No, you will not,” I reply firmly as Edvear shuts the kitchen door, giving us the privacy I need to bend and scoop her up into my arms.

“Master!” she cries, at once wriggling to free herself. A flash of pain crosses her face at the movement. She tries to hide it, but she’s not fast enough.

“Where are you hurt?” I demand, taking her to my quarters for privacy. I kick open the bedroom door, then shut it with my heel.

She colors brightly. “I’m not hurt. I only—”

I stop before the bed, holding her firmly so she cannot squirm free. “You are going to tell me exactly where you are hurt and how it happened, or else I will search you for your injury.”

Her head draws back sharply. I knew that threat would loosen her tongue. I set her down on the bed gently and place my palm on the footboard, waiting for her explanation.

“I sprained my ankle,” she blurts. “It’s really nothing. It wasn’t Mrs. Bank’s fault. That was mine. I just took a misstep and sprained my ankle and spilled your tray everywhere. I am the worst servant! Please forgive me, Master. I promise to do better.”

“Let me see your ankle.”

She draws in a hiss. “Please, my lord, do not trouble yourself.”

“Too late. Show me. Or else I will summon the doctor.”

Her skin goes pale. “No—no, my lord! Such a thing is not necessary. You can see for yourself that it is a minor injury.”

I withhold my sigh. It is so ridiculous that she still does not believe I know she is a woman. If only she would confide in me—when she issober—all of this would be tremendously simple. We wouldn’t need to maintain this ridiculous charade.

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