“Lord, no. He prefers a much lighter, almost feminine decor.” She stepped across the hall and opened that door and flipped the light switch, illuminating a perfectly made bed, an islet of ruffle-edge pillows with gray accents. “This is his room.”
Amusement had Alistar biting back an unfamiliar grin as he took in the contrast of the dark wood floor against the charcoal-and-white throw rug and the snow-white-and-silver filigree in the papered walls. The bright white counterpane, stark alongside the tall dark wood head-and-footboards of the bed. A comfortable gray chair was cornered in a nook next to a window and floor standing reading lamp. The overall effect was a breath of air at the top of a mountain. “I see what you mean.”
She pulled the door closed and motioned him back to the red-and-gold chamber. “This was my—Leander Skerry’s room. There may even be something for you to wear,” she said. She’d turned away. Hiding?
He could almost believe it. WhowasLeander Skerry to her?
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.
Instinct nicked him. He grabbed her hand before she could escape, tugging her into him. He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, and before she could balk, he let go. “Good night.” He slipped inside his assigned room and latched it softly in her surprised face.
Six
P
eyton strolled into the kitchen the next morning. Hair, check. Makeup, check. “Good morning—er, um, is everything okay?”
Alistar stood at the counter, holding the top of the coffee pot in his large, capable hand, his brows beetled, perplexed. He glanced over at her. “I’m sorry, I don’t know…”
His expression was so pathetic, she burst out laughing. “Neither do I. New Yorkers don’t need to know how to make coffee. We have Starbucks. Almost two on every corner.” She stepped around him and pulled a pan from a low cupboard and filled it with water. She set it on the stovetop and turned on the flame. “We can have tea.” She scooted around him again and pulled out a box of tea bags.
He groaned.
“What? It’s caffeine.”
“I’ll handle things from here,” he said, shooing her out of the way.
“There are some muffins in that bread box,” she told him.
He nodded. She watched as he found a couple of plates. He poured milk in a small pot, then took down a sugar bowl and carried all of it to the table where they’d had dinner the night before. She followed him in, carrying cups.
The sun peeked through a stained-glass window, which spilled a rainbow of colors across the table and floor. There was a fireplace in this room, as there was in almost every room in the house. They hadn’t used it the night before, and today looked to be a beautiful fall day. He laid out the table with a pristine carefulness that she found adorable. He returned to the kitchen, where she heard the sound of doors opening and closing, water pouring, pan clinking on iron. He came back with a ceramic pot and the tea bags, disgust written in every line of his handsome aristocratic face, and set them on the table.
“What’s wrong?”
“What? Oh, I’m, um, not accustomed to tea… bags.” His expression cleared. “It matters naught.” He moved to the chair closest to her and pulled it out. “My lady?”
Peyton was charmed and swarmed with myriad sensations. The smell of fresh soap, the light brush of warm fingers, the depths of husky tones addressing her. She pictured herself here with him, meals together, going up the stairs to a single bedroom, not separate suites. A life shared.
Alistar poked through the tea bags. “Ah, good. Oolong.” He placed a muffin on his plate and used a fork to break off a bite. “Not bad. Where did you acquire these?”
Startled from her ridiculous musings, she grabbed the first bag out of the tea choices and tore open the packet and dropped it in her cup, then quickly poured the steaming water.
He used his fork to point at her ripped package. “That appears to be decaffeinated. I thought you preferred caffeine.”
Heat crawled up her neck. She could only hope the red in her cheeks would be considered a reflection of the stained glass. She plucked out the decaf bag and found the English breakfast variety. “I believe Mrs. Handel made the muffins.”
He finished off his muffin and tapped his lips with a napkin. “I think we are in for a day of delightful weather,” he said with a wolfish grin.
She narrowed her eyes on him. He was not brooding this morning. He appeared downright giddy.
“Would you care to have dinner with me tonight?”
She was completely at odds with his swinging emotions. Last night’s to this morning’s to now. It was all too confusing. “Thank you. That would be… nice.”
“You have”—he leaned over and licked the side of her mouth, sending her stomach into a riot of chaos—“a crumb.” His lips moved across hers, then pulled back. He rose from the table. “I shall take my leave, then. I’ll pick you up at seven. Don’t read the journal without me.”
Then he was gone.
