But maybe I am. Crossing into the bathroom, I look in the mirror. My cheeks are rosier than they’ve been in ages, my eyes bright.
I look healthier for crying out loud.
Brushing my teeth, I hop into the shower and then dress in leggings and a tunic before I start downstairs to find coffee and some breakfast.
I have no idea how it works in a house like this, but I’m about to find out.
Maybe a staff member will give me attitude, help me get my mojo back.
After ten minutes of searching, I finally find the kitchen.
The moment I walk in, the entire staff turns and bows…bows to me…like I’m a person who matters.
I don’t.
I blink back my surprise.
“Miss Ivanov, so wonderful to meet you,” a white-coated older woman steps up to me. “What can we help you with?”
“I…” I swallow down a lump. “Was hoping for coffee and maybe an egg.”
“Of course. Would you like a tray brought to your room, or should I have Mary show you to the dining room?”
“My room would be great.” If I can find my way back.
The chef bows again. “Feel free to ring us from your room if you require anything throughout the day. We’re here to provide whatever you might need.”
A younger woman steps forward. “I have a pot of coffee ready if you’d like to take a cup with you.”
I give a quick nod of appreciation as a cup is poured and placed in my hand. Espresso, Italian I’d guess, but strong like Russian coffee, and I inhale a deep whiff. “Perfect. Thank you.”
“No need to thank us,” the older woman raises her hand. “That is what we’re here for.”
I give a small jerk of my chin in acknowledgment. Royalty does not thank staff, but I’m not royalty.
Apparently, as the duke’s guest, I fall under the same rule. But the staff was so exceedingly pleasant, I find myself humming as I leave the kitchen, coffee in hand. So much for my mojo.
I’ve only made my way up the back stairwell when Win appears in the hall. He looks ready for a day of being a duke in a crisp white shirt and dress slacks with polished black loafers.
I begin tingling at the sight of him, a throbbing starting between my thighs.
“Don’t you look fresh,” I say, taking another sip of my coffee.
“I haven’t been called fresh since I was ten and gave my mother guff.”
I smile around the cup. “I meant like mint, or clean laundry.”
He quirks one brow as he looks back at me. “I have something for you.” Then he turns and starts back down the hall.
It’s my cue to follow, but I take another sip of coffee before I begin trailing behind him.
I can admit that it’s a nice view, watching the masculine sway of his body as he moves.
He stops in a doorway at the end of the hall and gestures for me to enter. I catch up and do as he commands.
As I step into the space, I take in the small room, made larger by the high ceilings. It’s been paneled in dark wood three quarters of the way up, the top wallpapered a deep red. It’s masculine, sophisticated and cozy all at the same time, with leather club chairs flanking a lit fireplace.
“May I?” I gesture at one of the chairs.
