Mrs. Morrison eyed John’s hand clamped in her own and, instinctively, she dropped his hand. Then she realized, such a gesture probably only made them look more guilty.
Bollocks.
“Mrs. Morrison,” John said, “my apologies for startling you.”
He attempted to move past her, but the woman stepped in his way.
“What are you doing walking around the Hall at such an hour, Your Grace?”
“It is not your place to ask such questions, Mrs. Morrison.”
“Not myplace?” The woman started back.
“Mrs. Morrison,” John said, his frustration manifest, “I am merely giving Miss Aster a tour of the grounds.”
“A tour of the grounds?” the old woman said. “Master John—I mean, Your Grace. I am supposed to believe—a tour of the grounds? This old woman wasn’t born yesterday.”
Catherine watched as John’s features froze. Clearly, he had known Mrs. Morrison for averylong time indeed.
“Very comical, young man. You are playing with fire. Poor Miss Aster. Are you all right, dear? I hope he hasn’t done anything untoward. That is not—” she cast a disapproving eye at John, and then straightened up “—how Edington Hall raised him.”
“He did not do anything untoward, Mrs. Morrison,” Catherine said, caught between mortification and hilarity, “I promise.”
“See, Mrs. Morrison?” John said brightly. “All is well. If you could not mention this tour of the grounds to Lady Henrietta, however, that would be much appreciated.”
Mrs. Morrison snorted. “Indeednot. As if I would tell Lady Henrietta about such an occurrence. She is but amaiden. I, however, am not. And havingtoured the groundsonce or twice in my day, I’d recommend that you be a bit more careful, Master John—Your Grace.”
John and Catherine stood, only a few paces from his room, and waited for Mrs. Morrison to leave. The old woman, instead, stared at them with raised eyebrows.
They all stood still for a solid minute.
Oh, really,Catherine thought.This is ridiculous.
“Good night, Your Grace,” she said, moving in the direction of her own room, and giving John her best smile. “Good night, Mrs. Morrison.”
*
The next morning,as she finished dressing and pinning up her hair, Catherine heard a knock on her door.
She opened it, half expecting the stern face of Mrs. Morrison, but instead seeing John, his devilish green eyes glinting.
He entered the room and, quickly, swept her into a kiss that left her breathless and light-headed.
“I made another promise to you yesterday.”
“What?” she said, hardly remembering anything of yesterday other than him easing into her on that very ducal desk.
“I promised you we would talk to my sister. And this morning we shall. Over breakfast.”
“Henrietta, of course.” She had, in the excitement of yesterday, completely forgotten her young charge.
She looked up at John and saw the uncertainty on his face.
He didnotwant to talk to his sister.
Which gave her the distinct impression that he was doing this, at least in part, for her.
“We need to talk to her,” Catherine reinforced.
