Page 36 of A Figure of Love

“Good night, Mr. Lockheart.” But he’d already turned away and his silk robe receded down the hall and disappeared around the corner in a flash of silver.

Back inside her room, Serena couldn’t help wondering if it had all been a dream. But when she looked in the small mirror that hung beside the door her eyes sparkled and her lips were swollen and bruised, just as if she’d been thoroughly kissed.

Chapter Ten

Serena went down to breakfast almost three hours later than usual. Part of that was because she’d not gone back to sleep until dawn. The other part was because she hoped to avoid encountering Mr. Lockheart, a foolish impulse as she would have to see him again eventually.

But the breakfast room was empty when she arrived and Jessup was examining the contents of the chafing dishes when she entered.

“Good morning, Jessup. I am sorry to keep you waiting. A pot of coffee, please,” she told the footman—Raymond—before going to fix herself a plate.

“Only Mr. Lockheart has been down and he left just after first light.”

She looked up from the fresh dish of eggs Jessup must have just brought. “Oh?”

“He will not be back until tomorrow. He said to inform you he has gone to acquire some necessary materials for next week.”

“Ah.” Serena felt the relief of a prisoner who has received a temporary reprieve.

“He informed me Master Oliver is to have his dogs with him wherever he chooses and requested I advise as to the best place to feed them.”

Serena grimaced. “Oh, poor Jessup. It’s like the duke’s house all over again.”

Jessup permitted himself the ghost of a smile. “If I may say so, Mrs. Lombard, I have quite missed having dogs underfoot.”

Serena laughed. “You lie majestically, Jessup. But thank you for your offer. I will send Oliver down to the kitchen later and you must feel free to instruct him.”

“Very good, ma’am.”

The door opened. Instead of the footman bearing coffee it was Mr. McElroy. Serena had to force a smile. She’d not been alone with the Irishman since that night outside Mr. Lockheart’s window.

“Good morning, Mr. McElroy.”

He grinned and bowed, as if they’d never been anything but the most cordial of friends. He was a dangerous man and Serena doubled her intention to avoid him and his friend.

“Coffee, if you please, Jessup.”

The butler left the room and McElroy slumped into the chair across from her.

“You are not hungry?” she asked.

He gave a mock shiver. “Coffee first, food later. That is the civilized order of things.” He glanced at her plate. “I see you subscribe to a different theory?”

She blushed, suddenly aware of her more than healthy appetite. “I’m afraid I have a weakness for food—especially when it is as well-prepared as it is here.”

“We all have our weaknesses.” His eyes slid down her torso and her face became hotter. He was a very attractive man but an air of dissipation clung to him that diminished his good looks and charm. Not to mention the memory of his behavior two nights ago.

The footman arrived with her coffee first and Serena poured them both a cup.

“You are kindness itself, madam.” He raised the cup in a toast.

“I understand you are the owner of a brewery, Mr. McElroy.” Too late she realized the error of her words. When would she have learned such a thing other than last night? Late last night, as the men had not returned from their journey until long after dinner.

His eyebrows rose and he looked arrested. “Do you now?” He glanced around the room, as if Mr. Lockheart might be lurking someplace. “Did Gareth just leave?”

The door opened and the coffee the Irishman had ordered arrived, followed by Jessup bearing a dish of something or other.

“Black pudding, sir.”