Sensing her apprehension, he gave her a somewhat condescending stare.
“Unless you’re too afraid to disobey your sister’s orders.”
Faith narrowed her eyes at him and took a step toward him.
“I am not afraid of anything,” she said primly, resting her hand gently on his solid forearm.
“I am well aware of that,” he said under his breath as he escorted her down the hall as Jaco followed.
Chapter Six
Neither of themspoke as they made their way down the staircase, through the main hallway to a narrow door. It was strange, as most of their time in each other’s company was comprised of snipping at one another, but at that moment, the sole focus of her attention was the heat that stemmed between her hand and his arm. Never in her life had she felt a forearm so large and rigid. It made her curious what his bicep felt like, and soon she wondered if his entire body was as firm and strong.
“I see you’ve stolen my dog’s loyalty,” he said, his tone neither accusatory nor mirthful. “I would have thought you’d prefer him to stay away.”
She bent down slightly as they walked, patting Jaco on the head.
“He was a great comfort during my illness and Grace allowed him to stay in the room.”
“So she tells me.”
By the time they reached the kitchens, Faith was warm and flustered, though she assumed it was because she hadn’t had any sort of exercise in days. Apparently, her appearance was altered enough for Logan to comment on it.
“Are you certain you are well enough for this?” he asked, his tone concerned. “Your cheeks are red.”
“Are they?” she said, taking her hand away from him as they entered the doorway leading to a servants’ dining room. She pressed her fingers to her cheek. He watched her closely as shesat on a long wooden bench beside a rough-cut table where the servants’ meals took place. “You know, it isn’t polite to point out someone’s physical flaws.”
“I didn’t say your cheeks were flawed.”
“No, but red cheeks are hardly considered pleasing.”
“On the contrary, I quite enjoy seeing you flushed.” Faith knew he was teasing her, but the heat in his eyes made her pulse flutter and she swallowed. Really, it was very impolite of him to make such comments, and she was appalled to find that she was flattered by them. “Now, what would you like to eat?” he asked, walking into the kitchen portion of the large room, where several cooks and maids were busy preparing dinner. Several servants paused in their work to see if he had any orders for them, but with a wave of his hand, Logan seemed to convey that their presence wasn’t intended to disturb the servants’ work. A number of large brass pots and pans hung from the opposite whitewashed stone wall while the clanging of metal utensils echoed throughout the open room. “Puddings? Meats? Cheeses? Or something sweet, like tarts or biscuits?”
Faith’s stomach growled, and she put her hand to it.
“I’m nervous anything too rich would make me unwell. Perhaps a plate of biscuits?”
With a nod, Logan moved around the kitchen quickly as if he had spent much time there. That was absurd, of course, as men of position rarely ventured into the kitchens. They could simply request something, and a servant would bring it. But Logan seemed capable and soon procured a delicate blue-and-white plate piled ridiculously high with shortbread biscuits. The cook, a stout older woman named Mrs. MacGregor, brought a pot of strong black tea, cream, and sugar and set it before them without a secondary glance. It seemed she was used to Logan being in her kitchen. But not Jaco.
“Come along, you mangy mutt,” Mrs. MacGregor said, holding a piece of overcooked meat above the dog’s head. He followed her instantly as she led him away from the table. “Out of my kitchen.”
The dog followed her to the door, which she opened before tossing the meat out. Jaco ran after it.
“He’s as faithful as a snake,” Faith mused, taking up one of the buttery shortbread biscuits.
“Aye, he is,” Logan said with a smirk as his voice dipped. “But he’s far better at retrieving sticks.”
Faith felt a giggle bubble up as she bit into the delicious pastry. Whether it was because she hadn’t had anything sweet in days or because the cook was an accomplished baker, Faith didn’t know. All she knew was they were the most excellent biscuits she had ever tasted.
She might have restricted herself slightly if she had been at a formal dining table or been in the company of someone whose good opinion she sought, but that wasn’t the case here, and she was well and truly hungry. She ate three circular biscuits before even looking up, only to find Logan watching her with his brows slightly raised and a faint smile on his lips, seemingly entertained by her famishment.
Taking a sip of her tea, Faith swallowed the delightful treats, noting a surprising lack of aftertaste that she was used to.
“These are delicious. You have a very talented cook,” she said, loud enough for Mrs. MacGregor to hear. Faith could see the old woman’s profile pull up into a smirk as she tended to her steaming pots over the stove. “But they’re different than the ones at Lismore Hall.” Faith picked up another one. “What is the difference?”
“That’s because Graham has long since convinced Lady Belle to use honey in nearly every recipe. When he started his honey business, he had his cook whip up a shortbread recipe usinghoney as the sweetener, and he gave them to Lady Belle to try. Whether she genuinely enjoyed them or not, who knows, but she told the cook to begin using that recipe forthwith,” Logan said, adding loudly over his shoulder, “However, Mrs. MacGregor would sooner shoot me the take any requests to change her recipes. Isn’t that right, Mrs. MacGregor?”
“There’s no use fooling with a good and proper recipe,” she answered from her post.
