“I shall, and I know she will be pleased to hear it. She enjoys cooking for a guest,” Donovan said. He shifted as if uncomfortable. “Do you have anything else you require? There’s a nice brandy there on the sideboard if you’d like a drink.”
She pursed her lips. “No, thank you. Do you know if Mr. Fitzhugh will be joining me this evening?”
She blushed as she asked the question. One that revealed far too much. Donovan didn’t react, though. Too well trained, she supposed, though she wondered what in the world the servants said about her below stairs.
“I’m afraid not,” he said gently.
She folded her arms as frustration rose up in her chest. Dratted man. She fought to maintain at least an image of control as she asked, “Do you know why?”
“Why?” Donovan repeated, as if he didn’t understand the question. She wasn’t certain if he was being purposefully obtuse or if he truly wasn’t accustomed to anyone questioning Oscar.
She pursed her lips. “Yes,why. I saw him arrive before supper and I don’t believe he’s left the house since then. Does he take his food in his chamber or his study to avoid me? Has he expressed displeasure in having me here, intruding upon his life?”
The butler’s gaze flitted away a fraction, and that was her answer. So she wasn’t imagining things. Oscarwasavoiding her. And it shouldn’t have mattered. After all, she hardly knew the man. Their wildly inappropriate night in her bed aside, she had no attachment to him. He was helping her and that was all there was to it.
No, it shouldn’t have bothered her, but she was bothered nonetheless. But that wasn’t the poor butler’s fault. He certainly didn’t have the answers she required, not truly. Only Oscar himself could speak to his own mind.
“Thank you, Donovan,” she said through gritted teeth. “You have been very patient and I don’t need anything else.”
He looked as troubled as he did relieved to be let off the hook in answering her. Still, he didn’t press the issue and bowed away, leaving her alone. For a moment, she went back to staring the fire, clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides as she thought about Oscar creeping around his own house, trying to make certain she didn’t see him.
It was ridiculous. If his mind or heart had changed when it came to housing her, she needed to know. She needed to make some other arrangement, whatever that might be.
She needed to understand if she’d done something to offend him. And the best way to handle all of that was head on.
She pivoted on her heel and strode from the room, down the hall and to his study door. It was closed, but she could see light dancing beneath it, which meant the fire was high and likely the lamps were lit. He was in there. Alone. And this was the perfect opportunity.
She lifted a trembling hand, girded all her strength, and knocked. There was a beat of hesitation, and then Oscar’s voice came from the other side. “Enter.”
She did so and took in a deep breath as she did so. This was one of the few rooms kept locked during the day, one of the few rooms she hadn’t yet seen in her exploration of the house.
It was wonderful. Large and warm, with dark wood paneling, a fine expensive, wallpaper and a huge fireplace. Its mantel rose all the way to the top of the ceiling and was lined with stones. A dark and sophisticated room which fit the man sitting at the cherry wood desk, quill in hand, still focused on the papers before him.
“And she’s fine, then?” he asked.
She blinked. He hadn’t even looked up at her. He thought she was Donovan, and now the reason for the butler’s concern for her was more obvious. Oscar had sent him to check on her.
“She’sstanding right here,” she said softly. “Ask her yourself, or are you too cowardly for it?”
He jerked his gaze up and his knuckles whitened around the quill. He slowly rose as he set the writing instrument away. “Good evening, Imogen.”
“Excellent,” she said, pushing the door shut behind her and folding her arms. “You recall my name.”
He arched a brow at her cheek, and for a moment she lost her breath. It was very irritating that he could spear her in place with just one look. With just one stern frown. It made her forget herself and in this situation that was not what she needed to do.
“So you are angry with me,” he said, his tone not revealing his reaction to that observation.
“No.” She shifted her weight. “Yes.”
“Very confusing. Is it no or yes?”
“Yes!” she snapped. “Iamangry. Or at least…irritated. Or maybe it’s confused?” He was staring at her now like she wasn’t making sense, and she supposed she wasn’t. Drat and damn the man for being so disquieting. She drew a breath and started again. “I appreciate all you’re doing for me. I assume you have been working on my…my situation.”
A shadow crossed his expression, troubled and dark. “I have,” he said softly.
“And that means a great deal. I’m not trying to be ungrateful.”
“But…” he encouraged her.
