Fortunately, the west wing of the manor had been spared and was inhabitable. She had spent the last couple of hours helping the exhausted servants to prepare two rooms for Edward and herself and finding accommodations for those servants who had been displaced. Now that she had ordered the servants to get some rest and Edward slept in his provisional room, she was headed to seek her own bed.
“Josephine,” Michael’s voice, a bit hoarse from all the smoke he had inhaled rescuing them and then helping with the continued efforts to put out the fire, called from behind her, skittering over her senses like the brush of velvet on a cold day. She had not known he was still here. With all the chaos, she hadlost sight of him and assumed he had left with the fire brigade after the fire had been put out. Once again, he had surprised her.
He had been indefatigable. Carrying buckets of water into the places where the fire hose’s stream could not reach, clearing debris, organizing the servants. But the image that was engraved in her mind was that of him descending from the nursery, walking down backward, his feet planted on the wall while the muscles of his arms bulged as he controlled his descent. So much power and athleticism. So much command of his own body and everyone around him. But by now he must be exhausted as well.
“Yes?” She turned toward him. The perfectly turned out gentleman he usually appeared to be was nowhere in sight. His hair was mussed, his face streaked with soot and sweat. His shirt was smudged, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, and the opening at the neck showed a tempting triangle of chest with a smattering of hair. She remembered the texture of those hairs. Could almost feel them under her palm. Oh yes, she much preferred this rumpled Michael to the austere duke he presented to the world.
“The servants have prepared a light meal. You should eat something,” he said, walking toward her.
“I’m surprised anyone dared to light a fire in this house after what just happened.”
“People are practical, and the kitchen is intact. Come, it’s laid out in the breakfast parlor.”
His appearance might be disheveled, but his tone was very much that of a duke. Or an officer. Command came naturally to him, as he had proven today. She just had never seen this facet of his.
“I would rather go to sleep. I’m exhausted.” It was true, but the real reason she wanted to get away was different.
During the fire, her state of undress had not even registered. Her mind had been focused on what needed to be done. Butnow that the emergency had passed, she was acutely aware that she was wearing her nightclothes. What’s worse, she didn’t have anything else to wear. The few gowns she had acquired since her departure from the harem had all burned. She needed to procure clothes, but at the moment, her sleep-deprived brain could not handle the task.
“I know, Josie. But you need to eat something too. Come with me. If you fall asleep at the table, I promise I’ll carry you to your bed.”
Her nickname on his lips delivered a pang to her chest while the suggestion of taking her to bed weakened her knees. Maybe their exhaustion was loosening their tongues and their inhibitions. She knew the latter was said in jest, but the image of him carrying her to her bed stirred something in her belly. The kiss she had impulsively given him came to mind, adding to the flutter of her nerves and the tension between them. Did he feel it too? One quick look and she knew he did.
Would he expect to be invited into her bed now? After that kiss and the undeniable awareness between them, it was possible. But no, this was Michael. Honorable, reliable, trustworthy.It is not his trustworthiness you should worry about, but the effect he has on you,her conscience whispered, unbidden.
There was no help for it, though. She could not avoid him. Did not want to. He offered his arm, and she placed her hand on it.
The breakfast parlor had been unaffected by the fire, and she felt her spirits lift a bit at the seemingly small act of having a properly set table with food on it. The fare might be simple indeed, just some tea and fresh milk with toasted bread, butter, jam, and slabs of ham and cheese, but at the sight of it, her stomach grumbled. Michael was right, she needed sustenance.
Despite the awareness between them, they sat down to eat in companionable silence, both of them occupied with serving themselves and consuming the food. Neither of them sought tofill the silence, maybe too tired to do so, or too comfortable with the peaceful quietude of the early morning.
A clatter of hurried footsteps disrupted the peace a moment before an obnoxious voice could be heard coming from down the hallway.
“Oh, goodness gracious! What on earth happened here?”
Josephine dropped her head on her hand and audibly groaned. Of all the people…
The interlopers burst into the breakfast room unannounced and uninvited in a blatant disregard for polite manners.
“You! What have you done?” Cousin Margaret shouted in her irritating nasal voice.
“Good morning, Cousin Titus, Cousin Margaret. I’m afraid you have not arrived at a good time, as we suffered an accident last night and are still recovering.”
She tried to maintain as much dignity as she could muster, although it was hard, bedraggled and dressed in her nightclothes as she was. Cousin Titus ran his gaze up and down her frame and she shrank. Pulling the lapels of her robe closer together.
“You have been in charge here for less than a month, and already you have burned half of the property to the ground! If this doesn’t prove that you are not capable of—”
“Lady Josephine, would you do the honors and introduce these newcomers?”
Despite being disheveled and the worse for wear after an entire night of battling a fire and performing heroic rescues, Michael’s tone was distilled aristocratic hauteur, his clipped words and freezing accent leaving no doubt as to his displeasure.
Titus whipped his head about quickly, shocked to be confronted. It would be comical if she were not so tired and scared and utterly wretched. They had barged in so focused on her that they had completely overlooked the imposing figure ofthe man standing to the side. He took notice now but unwisely decided to disregard him.
“And who might you be, sir?” Titus asked with a superior sneer.
“Your Grace,” she addressed Michael, shamelessly using his title to intimidate her cousin. “This gentleman is Titus Everleigh, my cousin. And this is his wife, Mrs. Everleigh. Cousin, this is Michael, the Duke of Aycliffe.”
“Aycliffe!” She had to bite the inside of her cheek to prevent the smug smile that wanted to break out at seeing her cousin flounder, undecided between blustering on or offering an abject apology. “I… that is… I’m confused as to what are you doing here?”
