“Les déchets,”he deemed an entire wrack, and Serena had translated for him.
“Those areswill, Father.”
“Swill!” exclaimed Lord Elmstead.
“Swill?” echoed the butler, who had a hand in keeping the very best wines in stock.
“Oui,”said her grand-père.
They were not thrown out, however, simply put aside.
And then her grand-mère had tossed down her napkin one day after dinner and declared,“Nous mangeons comme des bébés.”
“Father,” Serena told him, unable to contain her smile, “Mémère says we are eating like—”
“Babies, yes, I understand. Your grandmother finds our food to be too bland.”
After that, Mémère took over the dinner menu, demonstrating to their cook how to make renowned Chef Carême’s famous sauces —espagnole, velouté,andbéchamel, each beloved in France.
“Too much of these rich sauces,” Serena’s father complained, “and I shall start bursting my waistcoat buttons.”
Thus, it was somewhat understandable when the butler appeared in the doorway of the upstairs salon late one afternoon, using a tone of exasperation with his announcement.
“Another guest?” her mother repeated, looking up from her needlepoint.
Serena’s father and grand-père had made peace over many glasses of brandy and were now playing an excruciatingly slow game of chess. They both paused.
“Yes, my lady,” Mr. Tewles said. “Lord Branley is downstairs. Shall I bring him up?”
Serena heard her mother make some reply, but she was already on her feet and flying from the room. Down the main stairs, she raced, not caring how unseemly it was, but she paused when Malcolm wasn’t in the large foyer. The drawing room door was ajar, and she ran in, hearing a bark as she crossed the threshold.
“Close the door,” were his first words to her, “or I can’t put this pain in the arse down.”
Doing as Malcolm said, hardly sparing a glance for the brown and white squirming bundle in his arms, she launched herself at him. He released the pup and wrapped her in his arms before claiming her lips under his.
Without another word, she slid her hands up until she could clasp them in his soft hair. As his firm lips moved over hers, she kept repeating to herself, “He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.”
After a moment, Malcolm drew back, looking down at her with those rich brown eyes that melted her heart and touched her soul.
“Are you saying something?”
She thought she’d been speaking entirely in her head. In any case, she ignored the question, and Malcolm resumed his breath-taking kiss. In the next instant, she felt his fingers mimic hers, raking into her hair and tilting her head just so.
When their mouths were perfectly melded, his tongue touched her lips and she parted them. As he started the sweet plunder, she sagged against his chest. She was finally in his arms, at last touching him again, and she didn’t want to ever let him go!
The warmth of their passion rushed through her, particularly —oddly!— across her feet. Until she realized, her feet were actually becoming wet.
Snapping open her eyes, she reared back a step and looked down to where the dog had peed upon her favorite green slippers. At the same time, the drawing room door opened and her entire family came streaming in.
“What in blue blazes?” demanded her father, and Serena was infinitely glad for the pup’s terrible manners, which had prevented her father seeing her mouth fused to Malcolm’s.
“Father, Mother, this is Lord Branley.”
The pup barked.
“And his dog,” she added.
“Actually, he’syourdog,” Malcolm corrected. “A gift. It’s a boy.”
