Time passed. Gradually Isabella realized that his strong hands had begun to sweep enticingly over the small of her back and buttocks. The tingly, restless feeling started burning again low in her belly.
“We really should move to the bed,” Damien announced in a deep, lazy voice. It took several long moments for him to follow through with his suggestion, his limbs too tired and content to obey his mind.
Eventually he lifted her in his arms and walked to the bed. Pulling back the counterpane, Damien laid her down gently, almost reverently. He kissed her long and ardently before gathering her close in his arms. She sighed contentedly and snuggled closer, wondering what was to happen next.
“Good night, Isabella,” Damien said softly.
“Good night,” she replied automatically, feeling her eyelids drooping. Before drifting off to sleep, she could have sworn she heard the earl mutter something else. It sounded suspiciously like “thank you.”
A sharp, insistent knock jolted Damien awake. Disoriented, he sat up in his bed and glanced about the room in confusion. He couldn’t read the time on the clock near his armoire, but the fire still blazed in the hearth. It couldn’t be that late.
The bright flames of the fire kept the worst of the chill from the room and partially illuminated the bedchamber. Damien could clearly see the nearly full decanter of brandy alongside an empty glass and several piles of clothes scattered about the floor. His clothes. And Isabella’s.
Damien turned, startled at the sight of her sleeping peacefully in his bed, even though he had carried her there himself.
The knock sounded again. Damien rose quietly from the bed, hastily donned his breeches, and answered it. Not surprisingly, Jenkins stood on the other side of the door, looking both curious and concerned.
“It has been hours since Miss Browning brought up your brandy,” Jenkins said, stretching on his toes in an unsuccessful attempt to look above the earl’s head and into the bedchamber. “We have all finished dinner. Mrs. Amberly was feeling well enough to get the children ready for bed. But they are expecting Miss Browning to tuck them in, as she does each night.”
“Miss Browning has gone to bed early this evening.” Damien stared hard at his servant. “Herownbed, Jenkins. Do you understand?”
“I hear you quite well,” Jenkins replied shrewdly. The valet folded his arms across his chest. “And Iunderstand.”
Damien dropped his chin to his chest. “No lectures, please. I’m confused enough without hearing your blistering opinion of my actions.” The earl lifted his head, sighed deeply, and added, “I’ll see to Catherine and Ian myself.”
“I managed to save a bit of dinner for you,” Jenkins said, his expression inscrutable. “Miss Browning made quite a feast that everyone thoroughly enjoyed. I suggest you stop by the kitchen after you have said good night to the children. It looks as though you could use some nourishment.”
“I most likely shall. Good night, Jenkins.”
“Good night, Damien.”
Catherine and Ian were both pleased to see their father and detained him for as long as possible with repeated requests for stories and drinks of water. Damien finally insisted they go to sleep, and he left them both snuggled under the covers, with a long candle lit to chase away the gloomy darkness.
Once the children were settled, Damien proceeded to the kitchen and was amazed at the glorious selection of food he discovered neatly arranged in the larder. After helping himself to a large wedge of pear tart that literally melted in his mouth, Damien piled three plates high with food and set them on a tray. He added cutlery, napkins, and a bottle of wine. Then he carried his bounty up to his bedchamber.
Isabella was lying in precisely the same spot on his bed, but as he set their dinner upon the small table near the fire, she awoke.
“I’ve brought some food,” the earl explained unnecessarily. “Come and eat dinner.”
Isabella sat up warily in the bed, trying desperately to hide her embarrassment. She was lying naked in the earl’s bed, her body still warm and sore from the passion they had recently shared, and he was acting as though this were a common, every day occurrence.
Her stomach rumbled from hunger. Scarcely believing she was thinking about food at a time like this, Isabella nevertheless decided that it couldn’t hurt to eat something. Since there was no clothing within her grasp, she yanked the sheet off the top of the bed and wrapped it securely around her naked body.
Feeling utterly ridiculous, she joined the earl at the cozy table. Once seated, however, Isabella’s embarrassment fled as her appetite took control. They ate dinner in silence, savoring each bite.
“This is truly delicious,” Damien remarked as he finished the last of the pear tart. “Jenkins told me you prepared the entire meal. Where did you ever learn to cook?”
Isabella blushed and lowered her lashes to hide the glow of pleasure she thought was certainly reflected in her eyes.
“After my mother died, I felt terribly lost and lonely. I craved female companionship, but there was no one to give it to me, no aunts or female relations. Actually, we had no women in our household except for our housekeeper, who was also the cook. She wasn’t overly fond of little girls, especially me, but I was determined to somehow place myself in her good graces.
“I decided that the fastest way to get her to like me was to pretended to be interested in learning how to cook. Luckily, my plan met with great success. So in addition to receiving some much-needed attention, I learned a rather useful skill.”
“You realize, of course, that you have placed me in a sticky position, Isabella.” Damien’s mouth curved in a smile that brought a sparkle to his eyes. “Now that I have tasted your roast beef, I know the only sensible recourse is to sack you as the governess and hire you as my cook.”
“You are nothing but a tease, my lord,” Isabella answered with a laugh. Sobering, she continued. “I truly do not like speaking ill of anyone, but why do you employ Mrs. Amberly? She is a disaster cooking anything more complicated than toast and is surly to boot.”
The earl grew quiet. “I know she is difficult, even impossible at times. The truth, as you may well have guessed already, is that Mrs. Amberly is not trained as a cook. She first came to The Grange as a lady’s maid and served my mother for many years.
