Page 11 of The Dreaming Beauty
She turned her head, lowering her gaze as she searched for where the deep voice had come from. Mr. Taylor stood to the left of the stairs, mostly hidden by the stair rails until he stepped forward. “That tapestry is older than I am, but it’s impressive, is it not?”
“Quite,” she breathed.
“Are you feeling better this morning?” He rounded the stairs and put his hand on the end of the stair rail.
“I am much improved, thank you.” She walked the rest of the way down the stairs, stopping when she reached him.
“You cannot be thinking of leaving before breakfast.”
She hesitated. “I thought I would walk home and breakfast with my aunts.”
He stepped back, and her feet followed the final step to the landing, putting her across from him. It was easier facing Mr. Taylor when they stood like this instead of when he stared down at her as he stood over the bed, though she was still self-conscious about the entire ordeal.
“You know the way, then?”
Hardly, but she would not impose upon this man any longer. “Mrs. Kirk said Rose Cottage was no more than a mile away—an easy walk. I will find my way.”
“What if I can assure you that you won’t get lost on the way to the breakfast room? I cannot be easy about sending our patient home on an empty stomach.”
Tansy’s shoulders shrank. Instead of rushing back to explore more of her new home, she was going to have to endure Mr. Taylor’s handsome, yet slightly intimidating, company for a bit longer. He had let her convalesce in the home over which he had stewardship and had agreed to keep the complete debacle a secret. Such kindness merited her thanks even if it meant enduring breakfast with a near stranger. “I am a little hungry,” she admitted, tying her bonnet loosely and pushing it off her head so it rested on her back..
“Follow me.” Instead of charging forward, he waited until she stepped even with him, and they walked down the corridor together. “I hope my bed was to your liking.”
Tansy’s foot snagged on the rug that lined the corridor, and she quickly reached for the wall to steady herself. “Your... your bed?”
“Mmm,” he said. “You were recovering in my room.”
She swiveled her head and stared at him. That intoxicating smell had been his? “Why was I in your room?” For a steward, the room had been exceptionally grand.
“Does the room matter?”
She quirked one brow. Did it? What had happened while she had slept? She felt she could trust this Mr. Taylor, but some of the things he said led her to believe... well, she didn’t know what to believe.
Mr. Taylor opened the breakfast room door and motioned for her to go inside. “When I found you, you were curled up asleep by the fire. I soon discovered you were sick with fever, so I carried you to the nearest room and sent for a doctor.”
She forced her gaping mouth to close. He seemed completely unaffected by the fact that an unmarried woman had slept in his bed. A man of less morals would have taken advantage of such a scene. She would be thankful to him, but this was one more potential rumor her reputation would not survive. Unable to meet his eyes, she took in the sideboard covered with food and picked up a plate. “You must’ve been surprised to find me.”
“You might say that.” He selected a plate as well and stepped too close for her to breathe naturally.
She piled things onto her plate without thinking, eager to put space between them. “Especially since I was poorly dressed and thoroughly drenched from the storm.”
“So you remember the storm?” He shifted, leaning his body against the sideboard. A few dishes rattled, but not one was more shaken than she was.
“My aunts must’ve told me about it.” She prayed he would let it go.
“I suppose they must’ve.”
Not able to meet his probing gaze any longer, she studied his dark-honey hair, nearly distracted by the fetching way it curled over his ears. “I should go.”
“I thought you were hungry.”
“I am.” She met his gaze again.
“Why don’t you sit down and eat.”
Feeling like a foolish child, she hurried to take a seat at the long table while Mr. Taylor took the chair across from her. She bit into a scone that oozed with a jam filling and was topped with a sweet lemon glaze. What was this glorious creation? Thank goodness she’d unintentionally piled two onto her plate. Having not eaten solid food since leaving Rose Cottage, she quickly devoured them both. She felt Mr. Taylor’s gaze on her as she finished the last bite. Why did this man feel it proper to stare? And he did so as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Annoyance led her to narrow her eyes. Perhaps he needed a reminder of good manners. “I must have something on my face.”
