“I am not the Earl of Threthewick.” His voice sounded flat and didn’t reflect the turmoil he felt inside. An ugly, snaky feeling unfurled at the pit of his stomach. Was she spying on him?
“My lord?”
Philip’s head whipped around. “Don’t youevercall me that! No oneevercalls me that, do you hear?”
Arabella took a step back. No wonder. He’d snarled at her. He’d probably bared his teeth at her too, like a beast, and was this a growling sound that came out of his mouth?
“I’m sorry. I need to look for the children,” she babbled, backing away further.
Then she turned and fled.
He slammed a hand on the wooden working table.
Blast.
Chapter 19
Arabella regretted the question as soon as it was out of her mouth.
One moment he’d smiled at her sunnily, the other his face shut down like someone had drawn a black oilcloth over it. That look of mistrust on his face still disconcerted her. He’d regarded her as if she were a stranger. Worse. An enemy.
He’dgrowledat her. She rubbed her eyebrows. No one ever growled at her!
She’d wanted to mention in a straightforward manner that she’d had tea with the duke, for whatever was wrong with that? And that the duke very much wanted to meet Philip and his family. If Philip declined, there was nothing she could do about it. But then he’d reacted in such a violent way when she brought up his title, that she deemed it wiser to not mention Morley. In fact, she was now certain Philip would dismiss her unconditionally if he found out she’d had tea with him.
She wondered how she was going to be able to arrange a meeting between him and his grandfather. She didn’t like Morley very much, but she felt a small pang of sympathy for the old man if he always encountered such hostility from Philip.
Arabella chewed on her bottom lip as doubt assailed her. Maybe she should forget about acting as a go-between. It really was none of her business. But the duke had asked her, no, begged her for help. She found it difficult to decline. She’d have to arrange a meeting somehow without Philip learning she’d ever met Morley.
She was doing this for the children, she told herself. They had grown very dear to her, the children. And Philip…
“You are in love with him,”the duke had said.
“No, I am not,” she said out loud. But her heart flipped, her hands grew sweaty, and her entire body hummed like she’d swallowed a beehive.
“I am just hungry,” she concluded. That was it, yes. Tea would fix this. She decided to go to the kitchen. “I would love to have a cup of tea, Peggy.”
Arabella cut herself off and gaped.
A bear of a man stood in front of the stove. “Me too, lass, me too.” He spoke with a distinct Scottish burr in the deepest voice she’d heard in her entire life. “Peggy’s not here so one has to lend a hand oneself. Water’s almost boiling.”
His face looked weather-beaten and rugged, marking him as an outdoor man, but he wore well-fashioned, clean clothes.
“Who are you?” she asked, taken aback.
The man appraised her with sharp eyes under bushy eyebrows. Dodging the question, he replied, “So Philip’s finally got himself a lass?”
She felt a fiery blush cover her cheeks. “Oh no. I am the governess. Miss Arabella Weston.” She waited for the man to introduce himself.
“Guverness. Huh.” The man turned to take the kettle off the stove. He poured water in the chipped tea pot. He seemed entirely at home in the kitchen with a quiet authority that made her wonder whether he was a friend or colleague of Philip.
“Are you–?”
“Teacups are over there,” he interrupted, jutting his chin into the cupboard to the right.
Oh. He expected her to set the table for tea.
She got them out and set them on the kitchen table.
