Page 12 of Tender Blackguard

As expected, the ride refreshed him and helped fortify his mood in preparation for the evening. Unfortunately, his newfound clarity brought along the realization that he’d failed to advise Mrs. Evans he was expecting guests for dinner.

After bathing the scent of horse and sweat from his body, he went down to his study, where he rang for his tea. Mrs. Evans arrived only a few minutes later. His housekeeper must have had eyes watching for his return to have the tea so promptly prepared.

Instead of sitting in his chair with the newspaper as usual, Alastair stood before the fire.

The alteration of his routine didn’t seem to bother the woman, however, as she continued forward, expertly balancing the laden tray in her hands. She kept her gaze trained forward and slightly down as she approached to set the tray on the tea table between them.

“Shall I pour?” she asked. Just as she always did.

“Please.”

He’d never witnessed the little ritual she performed as he’d always made an effort to focus on whatever article he was reading rather than his housekeeper. But he watched her now, as she bent forward to arrange a cup and saucer, then lifted the small porcelain teapot to pour a measured amount before finally adding the perfect amount of honey to sweeten the dark brew just how he liked it. After stirring with a silver teaspoon—three gentle circles—she set the spoon aside and lifted the cup and saucer in her hands.

The level grace and steadiness of her movements seemed an almost poetic thing. Her gaze finally lifted to meet his as she carried the tea to him, and Alastair’s muscles tensed with a subtle anticipation. As he did so often, he sensed a spark of challenge in her eyes. But as soon as the impertinence was detected, it was gone. Replaced by proper deference.

She transferred the cup and saucer carefully into his larger hands, making sure their skin did not make contact. Then she stepped back and linked her fingers at her waist.

“Would you like breakfast brought to you here?”

“No breakfast, Mrs. Evans.”

His reply, the same as it had been each day she asked about serving a morning meal, inspired a new reaction in the woman this time. It wasn’t much, just a purposeful inhale and a tilt of her head.

“If I may make a suggestion, my lord?”

Alastair raised a brow. This was new. But he was feeling magnanimous after his ride, so he gave a short nod.

“Your cook, Mrs. Reynard, is highly trained and possesses a great love and appreciation for her work. She has a particular magic with jams. Her rose preserves are truly inspired.” She paused and that subtle light of challenge reappeared in her gaze. “It would be a shame if she were ever to decide her exceptional talents would be better utilized elsewhere.”

A feeling akin to amusement spread through Alastair’s chest. He carefully concealed it and furrowed his brow instead. “Are you saying, Mrs. Evans, that my cook is growing bored?”

The housekeeper’s gaze didn’t even flicker as she replied, “I’m only saying you might enjoy sampling more of what she is capable of producing in the kitchens.”

The housekeeper was manipulating him. And none too subtly, either. Yet she didn’t appear the slightest bit remorseful about it.

“I shall consider your suggestion,” he noted finally. She nodded, as though his compliance was guaranteed. But when she prepared to leave, he stopped her. “Mrs. Evans.”

She turned back to face him, and though her movements were obedient, he sensed a fine hint of tension in the woman.

He frowned. “I’ll be having a couple guests for dinner tonight. From what you’ve said, I’m sure Mrs. Reynard will have no trouble providing an impressive meal despite the late notice.”

“I’ve no doubt she’ll be delighted to do so, my lord.”

“Excellent.”

“Is there anything else, my lord?”

Alastair paused, as though giving the question full thought. He even raised his teacup for a sip, blowing away the steam before putting the porcelain to his lips. He met the housekeeper’s gaze as the dark, sweet tea bathed his tongue.

She stared back at him. Enduring and silent. The virtual epitome of a proper servant awaiting her master’s will. But for a brief flashing moment, he saw the truth in her eyes. More than impatience or impertinence, it was...awareness. A quiet acceptance of something he wasn’t sure he’d fully acknowledged yet.

His blood heated and rushed through his body in a swift awakening.

Blast.

“That’s all,” he muttered curtly, needing the woman gone before his physical reaction became noticeable.

She lowered her gaze and gave a curtsy before striding swiftly from the room. But even after she’d left, Alastair remained tense and frustrated. A sexual attraction to his housekeeper was utterly unacceptable.

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