His mouth twitched slightly. “I suppose you make a valid argument.”
Very gently, he began to wrap a clean strip of cloth around her hand.
“We’ll be alike now,” she said. “Both of us with a scar on our hand. Yours is from prison, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I noticed that Mr. Dodger has one. Yours is very different.”
“Mine shamed me. I tried to slice it off. Only served to make it more noticeable.”
Her stomach grew queasy at the thought of him taking a knife to himself. How
desperately he must have wanted to be rid of it. “Were you in prison long?”
“Three months.”
“What was your offense?”
He gave her a cocky grin. “Getting caught.”
He stood and she grabbed his wrist. “What did you do?”
“I stole some cheese. It’s not easy to run with a block of cheese. Lesson learned: steal smaller items.”
Turning away, he said, “I’m very skilled at making a ham and cheese omelet.
Interested?”
“As stealing it was your downfall, I wouldn’t think you’d care much for cheese.”
“I’m very fond of cheese. Why do you think I tried to steal some?”
She watched as he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over a chair. He began rolling up his sleeves.
“You’re really going to cook it yourself?” she asked.
He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “I keep odd hours. I often can’t sleep. It would be unfair to ask my cook to maintain the hours I prefer keeping.”
“But that’s the whole point in having servants. They’re supposed to be at your beck and call.”
“They’re available when I need them. Presently, I don’t.” He lit the wood already stacked in the stove. “You see? My cook keeps things ready for me.” He looked at her, lifted a brow. “Omelet?”
“Yes, please. What can I do to help?” She started to rise but he stilled her actions with the raising of his hand.
“You’ve done enough, Catherine. Now it’s my turn to do something for you. Relax and enjoy the pampering.”
She watched as he moved about the kitchen. He knew where everything was. Leaning forward, she put her elbows on the table and her chin in her unwounded palm.
“Is that a hint of a smile on your face?” she asked, thoughtfully. It transformed him.
“I actually enjoy cooking.” He broke eggs into a bowl and whisked them around.
“Brings back good memories.”
“Of your home? Before you were orphaned?”
He stilled for a moment, shook his head, and went back to preparing the eggs. “No, as we got older, Frannie began to do the cooking. I took pleasure in watching her. She was like a little mother.”
