“Little! That beast weighs at least a stone. I’ve seen smaller dogs!”
Woman and cat glared at him in unison, two sets of vibrantgreen eyes locked upon him in mutual dislike. “She’s a darling old girl,” Miss Seymour said, and Henry suspected they both could have happily torn him to tatters in that moment. The cat with the swift application of her claws, and the woman with the sharp flay of her tongue. “And it’s not her fault you keep luring her out of her comfortable home with your catmint.”
Henry bit down upon the inside of his cheek, which was really rather valiant of him, when he’d quite a lot of foul words straining to get loose. “Miss Seymour,” he said in a clipped voice. “I’ll thank you to remove yourself and your damned cat from my property at once.”
With an offended sniff, Miss Seymour hefted the cat in her arms and whirled about, making for the gate. “Come, Tansy. We’re going home.” That blond hair swished as she sashayed away, the ends of it twitching over her lush bottom. Plump and soft, the sort of delectable arse a man could sink his fingers into—
That wretched sound Miss Seymour had claimed to be a purr deepened into what was undeniably a growl. The cat loomed over her shoulder, large green eyes narrowed to slits. The flex of its colossal paws revealed claws which looked to be honed to a razor’s edge. A threat, he thought, of future retribution for having so summarily ejected her mistress while having the audacity to enjoy the view as she left.
One way or another, those two were bound to be the death of him.
Chapter Two
Sherry! Sherry, you get back here this instant!”
The masculine shout had originated from somewhere downstairs, Grace thought. It was not a particularly unusual occurrence; little Sherborne had been making a right nuisance of himself since he’d arrived—with his parents and older sister—from the countryside the week before.
Grace cleared her throat, striving to keep herself as still as possible to avoid disturbing the various lengths of fabric that her sister had draped over her. “Mercy?”
“Hm?” Mercy muttered as she plucked a pencil from where it had been tucked behind her ear and scribbled something down in the notebook held in her hands.
It had never ceased to amaze Grace how thoroughly Mercy could blot out even the loudest and most obvious of distractions. “Sherry’s into some mischief. Oughtn’t you do something about that?
“It’ll sort itself out. Probably.” Another furious scribble.
Grace choked on a laugh. “He’s your son!”
“When I’m working, he isThomas’son, and Thomas is perfectly capable—”
The door of the salon slammed open, and Grace heard thepatter of small feet from somewhere behind her. There was a high-pitched giggle as Sherry scampered past, a few biscuits clutched in his small hands. He dove behind the cover of a couch only moments before Thomas burst through the door himself, careening into view, his chest still heaving with the effort it had required to keep up with his young son.
“Did Sherry come through here?” he asked.
Grace and Mercy exchanged a speaking glance. “We don’t inform on family,” they said in unison.
Thomas threw up his hands in exasperation. “He nicked three sugar biscuits straight off of the dowager duchess’ tea tray!”
Grace and Mercy snickered. The couch giggled.
Thomas heaved a sigh, raked one hand through his hair. “I told him one biscuit only,” he said, leveling a stern glare at the couch, which had the audacity to giggle again.
“Oh, come now,” Mercy said, snapping her notebook closed. “He’s just a little excitable. It’s so very rare that the whole family is together.” She inclined her head toward the couch. “It’ll work itself out. I promise.”
Thomas’ stern demeanor crumpled. “All right,” he said with a sigh as he bent to sweep a kiss across her cheek. “May it be on your head, then.” He adjusted his spectacles on his nose and said loudly, as he turned to go, “I’m going back downstairs.”
The door had hardly closed behind before Sherry sidled out from behind the couch. “Is it safe?”
“Mm. Debatable.” Mercy held out one hand expectantly. “I expect a biscuit, for not snitching to Papa.”
“Aw, Mama.” Sherry’s shoulders slumped. He pulled a face as he crept forward, his hands curled protectively around his stolen biscuits. As if it physically pained him to do so, at last he released the tight clasp of his fingers and allowed Mercy to select a biscuit.
“And Auntie Grace, too,” Mercy said.
Sherry rocked back upon his heels, shaken to his core. “But then I’ll have only one!” he protested.
“As you were meant to have in the first place.” Mercy tweaked his nose affectionately. “Be glad I haven’t asked you to share the last with Flora.”
Grace plucked a biscuit out of Sherry’s hands, careful not to let the fabric draped over her arms fall. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
