“Suffice it to say, the cottage holds many pleasant memories, old man,” Zeke said in a light tone that almost convinced Kitty she’d imagined the tense moment between grandfather and grandson.
But she’d experienced too much loss herself to be fooled.
Behind her, Zeke bounded to his feet. “Are you finished with your meal? Care to take a stroll? That is, unless you wish to walk the property with Kit while I tidy up, m’lord?”
Kitty had been feeling a degree of kinship with Zeke. Now she had a strong urge to shift around and kick him in the shin.
She turned to glare over her shoulder, and caught Lord Claybourne’s twinkling eye.
Guessing he intended to play her against his grandson yet again, Kitty shook her head an emphatic no. “I’ll be happy to take care of this, Lord Claybourne.”
The older man grinned, then gave her a wink when Zeke’s head snapped in her direction.
She nearly groaned. She could practically hear his warranted censure. Kit had no business telling Lord Claybourne what he would or would not like to do.
The problem was, she couldn’t seem to recall she was supposed to be Kit, the servant, and not Kitty, the lady.
“Come, Ezekiel, let us walk” Lord Claybourne said, forestalling another dressing down,.
After they moved off, she levered herself to her knees and gathered the used dishes and food containers. She carried the picnic supplies to the buggy and tucked them into the back trap.
The position put the earl and his heir in her sights as they strolled the grounds near the pond.
She drank in the sight of Zeke. She couldn’t help it. He was the most compelling man she’d ever met. Beautiful to look at, yes, but more to the point, he had presence. Something in the way he carried himself, like a royal prince, broad shoulders thrown back, head held high, that wavy hair glinting in the sunlight like a golden mantle.
And today he’d shown he had a vulnerable side. A heart that had not escaped this world unscathed. The demigod was human after all.
As she stared, he threw his head back and laughed at something the earl said.
A funny little flutter tickled her belly, and she wished just for a moment, he knew her as a woman, and not an irritating boy. Wished she’d met him as Lady Christine Hastings at a London party, dressed in one of the gowns her grandfather purchased for her come-out. She saw them dancing on a glittering ballroom floor, staring into each other’s eyes. The image was so vivid it hurt.
Her eyes stinging, she turned her back on the earl and Lord Thurgood, and her silly, impossible yearnings. She should be grateful for Lord Claybourne’s generous willingness to hide her had afforded, not dreaming up impossible fairytales about his grandson that could never come true.
Chapter Three
The ancient grandfather clock in the downstairs hall chimed once, a beautiful, resounding tone that usually delighted Kitty, but tonight had her teeth on edge. Half-past eight.
She huffed aloud and closed the atlas on her lap with a resounding thunk. She’d had such high hopes when she borrowed it from the earl’s library, but not even the coastlines, plains, and mountain ranges of Africa could hold her attention. Her mind kept straying. To him.
Setting the heavy tome aside, she uncoiled her body from her cross-legged perch atop her bed and reached for her coat.
The earl had sent word earlier she should join him for a late supper in his den, which meant it would be just the two of them, which, in turn, meant his grandson was going out. Again. Third night this week. She sniffed and re-donned the wig.
She ought to be glad for Lord Ezekiel Thurgood’s frequent absences—or Zeke’s as she increasingly referred to him in the privacy of her thoughts. But the truth was, with him gone, the house feeling cavernously empty.
He’d arrived in London less than a fortnight ago, and somehow had invaded every inch of space in the rambling manse, like air or light, something that couldn’t be touched or captured or measured, but when missing left its indelible mark. She’d never experienced anything like the odd mixture of attraction and antipathy she had for Zeke Thurgood.
She ought to feel nothing for him but irritation. He mocked her at every turn. The way she spoke. Too proper for a servant, he had said on more than one occasion. Another time, he’d asked how it was she came to speak with such perfect diction, somehow making what should have been a compliment into an insult. As for her actual voice, he pronounced it too squeaky. When she redoubled her efforts to deepen her tone he accused her of mumbling.
And who could forget yesterday when he cornered her upstairs before breakfast to lecture her on her eating habits. She ought to eat more, he insisted, if she ever wanted to build muscles.
She’d thought to shut him up by escaping down the back stairs en route to the kitchen for her morning meal with the rest of the servants. The brute actually followed her, squeezing that big body down the narrow stairwell with a measure of grace she wouldn’t have believed possible had she not witnessed it for herself.
Once in the kitchens, he’d flashed his winning smile and set about charming the hapless chamber and scullery maids. No trouble there, of course. But he’d miscalculated if he expected to get any information from them about her. They hadn't any.
She grinned. She could still see the girls, sitting at the rough hewn wooden table, wide-eyed and dumbstruck, though Kitty wasn’t sure if their discomfiture stemmed from Lord Thurgood paying the kitchen a visit or his almost obscene good looks.
Yet for all his peskiness, she—well, she didn’t actually miss the man. She more wanted him around. Bother. It made no sense.
