Page 72 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“That is likely where you are least safe,” Oscar said under his breath, and she wanted to box his ears for being more right than she cared to admit.

“Move along, or when we return home I will have my father send you packing,” she told him.

He grunted. “After this escapade, your father will send me packing one way or another.” He cast a final warning glance at the earl, then took the bowl of bread and left.

Eve looked at Lord Rushton. “I had not thought of that.”

He snatched a hot bun from one of the pans and began buttering it. “Had not thought of what?”

“The consequences Oscar might suffer as a result of—”

Lord Rushton looked up at her, unabashed amusement in his eyes. “Of you kidnapping me?” He bit into the roll.

She leaned against the counter. “Yes.”

“Miss Crenshaw, I must say, this bread is the finest I have ever eaten.”

“I’m glad you like it, my lord. What will Oscar do?”

“How about some of that stew?”

Eve frowned. “What?”

“The stew.” He stuffed more of the roll into his mouth and reached for one of the bowls sitting on the counter.

She reached the bowl first and ladled soup into it. Eve imagined Oscar employed in a household where the master beat his servants. The first time the man lifted a hand to Oscar—or anyone else, for that matter—Oscar would lay the man flat on his backside and end up in Newgate for his trouble.

“I’ll never forgive myself.” She handed the full bowl to the earl.

He took a whiff of the rising steam, then released the breath. “Oscar will be all right.”

“He has been in our household since I was a girl. This is all my fault.”

Lord Rushton set the bowl on the table, then grabbed another roll and buttered it. “There is no denying that.”

Eve shot him a disgruntled look. “You started it.”

“No, madam. Your sister started it.” Before she could think of a fitting reply, he said, “Oscar is a fixture in your household, then?”

“Yes.” Eve couldn’t imagine her home without him.

Lord Rushton popped the last of the roll into his mouth as he swung a leg over the bench seat. He sat down and swung his other leg over the bench. “If your father lets Oscar go, I will hire him.”

Eve broke from her thoughts. “What?”

He swallowed the stew he’d spooned into his mouth. “I will employ the brute.”

“Brute?” she echoed.

“He is a very large man and he did hit me very hard. Brute.”

She wasn’t sure if the satisfaction in his voice came from his assessment of Oscar or his delight with a palatable meal.

He took another spoonful of stew and followed that bite with a large chunk of roll. “This is really quite marvelous,” he said through the indecent mouthful.

Eve took two steps and plopped down on the bench beside him, her back to the table so she could see his face. “Really?”

“Really what?”