“Like this.” He snatched an egg from the basket, cracked it on side of the bowl, and emptied the bright orange yolk and the clear sac surrounding it, using only one hand.
His smoothness made her laugh again.
“It might soon be quite dangerous here,” he said.
She cracked an egg and it exploded, the contents sliding along the outside of the bowl. She tried to pick it up with her fingers and punctured the yolk. “I’m hopeless.” More giddiness took her and she laughed again.
“Use two hands, Perry.” He demonstrated with another egg then watched her try again. “Yes. Like that.”
She whooped and giggled, and he laughed with her. Only a tiny piece of shell had slid into the bowl. “I shall master this yet.”
She gazed up at him. He was honorable, and kind. “You’re a good teacher, Fox.”
His eyes went dark.
“Will you truly tell my father everything when he arrives?”
“Perry—”
“And whatifFather would give his official blessing?”
Cold air touched her cheek.
“His official blessing for what?”
Her heart thudded to a halt. The egg in her hand dropped, bouncing into the bowl, whole and unbroken.
A thundering stag of a man, dressed in dark wool, had belied all of his size and crept through the door while she and Fox fumbled eggs. And she knew him.
Father had not sent minions. He’d come himself.
The Earl of Shaldon crossed the room and tossed his gloves onto the table.
Next to her, Fox froze, and said, “Sir.” The silence that followed was as cold as the wind off the water. Fox didn’t bow like a toady. Nor call Fathermy lord. Nor shout,We didn’t expect you.
One could never expect the Earl of Shaldon. Ornotexpect him.
She opened her mouth and words wouldn’t come. He was here for her. Somehow, he’d learned of her visit to a friend in the country from one tiny piece of intelligence crossing his desk, and he’d made his way straight to her hiding place.
She might, after all, run, and require Fox to come with her.
Father’s face was unreadable, as bland and devoid of expression as ever. “You have egg on your face, my dear.”
She rubbed the back of her hand on her cheek and felt the tight pull of the dried membrane. She didn’t remember touching herself there. Fox handed her the yellow towel from the basket and she rubbed at her cheek.
Father raised his arms, and behind him, Kincaid appeared, helping Father out of his coat. All the while, Father’s eyes stayed fixed on Fox.
“You’ll be hungry, Father. I am making eggs and a bit of ham.” She took a breath, trying to keep her voice from quivering. “Good evening, Mr. Kincaid. Was your journey a hurried one?”
“Rather.” Kincaid pulled bundled packages out of a saddlebag. “Are you sharing that cheese, my lady?”
She nodded. “Yes, of course. There’s a bit of toast also. And some brandy.”
Father and Fox stood, eyes still locked. A bottle of whisky appeared on the table, and Kincaid went off and came back with glasses. Only two, she noticed, and wasn’t that rude? He should offer some to Fox, the man who had saved her, who’d almost made love to her, who’d taught her to cook, and who wouldn’t marry her without Father’s blessing.
Her breath caught. “Fox.” She touched his sleeve, and made him turn his gaze to her.
An honorable marriage with her Father’s blessing. They might have that. It wasn’t impossible. “Fox, yes.”
