His Housekeeper's Christmas Wish. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
passed her a plate of meat and she reciprocated with the vegetables, racking her brains for what might be suitable small talk. ‘I do not remember London at all well.’ Or at all. ‘Is your house in Mayfair?’ That was the most fashionable area, she knew.
‘Yes, in Half Moon Street, off Piccadilly. Just a small place because I travel so much.’
That appeared to have exhausted that topic. ‘Your valet does not travel with you?’
‘I sent him on ahead, along with my secretary and several carriages full of artworks. It was a most successful trip this time.’
Tess thought she detected a modest air of self-congratulation. Was that simply the pleasure at a successful chase or was Alex reliant on the income from his dealing? It seemed a precarious existence for a viscount. Maybe he could not afford lavish celebrations and entertainment at Christmas, she pondered, in which case she had been unforgivably tactless to have pressed him about it. Although he certainly seemed to spend money on his comforts without sign of stinting. Perhaps that was an essential facade, or he ran up large debts.
‘Have I dropped gravy on my neckcloth?’ he enquired, making her jump. ‘Only you have been staring at it for quite a while.’
‘I was thinking that your linen is immaculately kept,’ Tess admitted. ‘Your neckcloths and your shirts.’
Alex choked on a mouthful of wine. ‘Do you always say what you think?’
‘Certainly not. Should I not have mentioned it?’ But it had been a compliment...
‘Perhaps not comments about gentleman’s clothing?’ Alex suggested.
‘Goodness, yes, of course. The outside world is such a maze, full of pitfalls.’
‘Are you nervous of what you will find in London?’ He put the question in such a straightforward way, without any show of sympathy, yet she sensed he understood just how frightening this was. Mother Superior had certainly shown no such insight, only the expectation that Tess would obediently accept her lot in life despite the blow she had delivered.
‘Terrified,’ she admitted baldly. ‘But there is no point in giving way to it—that will only make it worse. I will soon find my way around my new world. I did with convent life after all.’
Alex watched her over the rim of his goblet, his hazel eyes intelligent, and not, for a change, mocking. ‘It must have been a shock to find yourself there. Wine? This is very good.’ He refilled his own glass from the decanter.
‘Thank you, but, no. I’ve hardly ever had it before and I do not think I should start now.’ Tess scrutinised her conscience and admitted, ‘You are offering me too much temptation as it is.’
The air went still, as though someone had taken a deep breath and not let it out. ‘Temptation?’ Alex said with care, as he set down his knife and fork.
‘Food, servants, luxury,’ she explained.
‘Ah. The temptations of comfort, you mean.’ He picked up his glass again and turned it slowly between long fingers. The heavy signet ring on his left hand caught red highlights from the claret. ‘This is not luxury, although it is very civilised. You are tempted by luxury?’
‘I do not know. I obviously have no concept of it if this is merely comfort.’
‘What are your expectations of your new employment then?’
‘Simplicity, I have no doubt. After all, I will be somewhere between a poor relation and an upper servant in the scheme of things. Mother Superior explained that very clearly.’ Along with everything else. ‘But I will be in a home and that is the important thing.’
‘It is? I would have thought that salary and security would be the highest priority for someone in, forgive me, your position.’
‘No, not for me. Being able to earn my own living and to have some security is essential, obviously. But being within a family is what is most important. If I am caring for children that is assured, but an elderly lady or an invalid will have family, too, people who care for them.’
There was movement around her skirts and Noel climbed up, claws pricking her thigh, before he settled down into a small, warm ball on her lap. Tess cupped one hand over him, felt his little belly tight as a drum with chicken and milk. The vibration of his purrs was soothing. ‘Warmth. I want warmth.’
The maid came in with an apple tart and cleared the used dishes. Alex watched in silence while Tess served them both, then took the cream with a murmur of thanks. ‘You will miss that from the convent, I suppose. The close community.’
She stared at him, almost confused that he could understand so little. How to explain? Impossible. ‘No. I will not miss it.’ Ever. That cool, detached, ruthless honesty that seems not to care how it hurt. ‘You are a bastard, Teresa. That is the fact of the matter and you must adjust your expectations accordingly.’ Horrid old woman...
Tess felt stupid with weariness and carefully suppressed worry. The tart was delicious, but it was an effort to eat now. She pushed back her chair and stood, the kitten nestled in one hand. ‘I must take Noel out into the yard or we will be dealing with an accident.’
‘Give him to me.’ Alex stood as she did. ‘You can hardly hop out there with your bad ankle and your hands full of kitten.’
‘What are you going to do with him?’ Tess asked, suspicious. Perhaps he was regretting his impulse to saddle them with a demanding baby animal. She steadied herself with her free hand on the table.
‘I will take him out to investigate a nice patch of earth, then I will put down yesterday’s news-sheets near the hearth, add a saucer of milk and upend the basket over the top. Will that do?’
‘Very well. I hope he will not miss his mother.’ She worried as she tipped the kitten into Alex’s waiting palm where it snuggled down, obviously feeling safe in the cage of his fingers. Who could blame it?
‘If he cries I will take him into my bed, give him one of my best silk stockings to play with and ring down to the kitchen for some lightly poached salmon,’ Alex assured her, his expression serious.
‘I wouldn’t want to put you to so much trouble. Perhaps I should have him in my room—’ Then she saw the crease at the corner of his mouth and the wicked look in his eyes. Tess drew herself up to her full five feet five inches. ‘You, my lord, are unkind to make a jest of me. Thank you for a delightful supper.’
She took a step to sweep past him in a dignified manner, forgot her sore ankle and twisted sideways with a yelp of pain.
‘Definitely best not to drink the wine. You are quite unsteady enough as it is.’ Alex caught her one-handed.
Her hip was against the table, her nose was buried in the V of his waistcoat and her hands, she discovered, were clenched around his upper arms. All she had to do was let go and straighten up, use the table as a support to make her way to the door. Let go. He felt so good, so warm and solid and...expensive. Fine broadcloth coat against her cheek, silk waistcoat against her chin, fine linen under her nose. Tess wanted to burrow into the luxurious softness with all that masculine hardness beneath it. His chest, those biceps, that big hand pressed against her back, the tantalisingly faint edge of musk.
‘Tess?’ His mouth was close to her ear—he must have bent down. His breath tickled, his lips were so near.
‘Yes.’ Whatever the question is—yes.
From the region of her diaphragm there was an outraged yowl, a wriggle and a small paw reached up and fastened onto the front of Alex’s waistcoat.
‘You little devil, that’s Jermyn Street’s best.’ He stepped back, the kitten hooked to the fabric.
‘I will leave you to deal with your kind present, my lord.’ It was not easy to exit with dignity, not hobbling, pink in the face and with ginger hairs clinging to her drab grey