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“Outbuildings,” I echoed.
“Guest houses. We have…a few of them on the property.”
Right, I said, starting to realize there really was an entire world separating us. I normally wouldn’t have given a damn about that, but…twenty-three motherfucking bedrooms!
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, and I heard the panicked plea in his voice for me not to close off on him. His lips were parted, and he looked at me in such a heated and affectionate way that it made my toes curl.
I ran my hands through his hair, Harry’s eyes closing at the comfort. “You can appear prideful.”
“On occasion.” The tug of amusement was back on the side of his mouth.
“One might say, prejudiced.”
“No,” he argued. “I think that one better fits you.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he was probably correct.
“Okay. Well on that note, shall we leave it there?”
“Of course.” I leaned down and kissed him, his hands parting my robe and moving to my ass.
I moaned into his mouth but pulled away. “Come,” I said and held out my hand for him to take. “I’m going to put that pristine and batshit-crazy expensive kitchen to good use and cook for you.”
Harry did as I asked. As we headed for the door, a book stood out from a shelf, one that was not in line with the others, as though it had recently been read and not put back properly. My pulse kicked into a sprint. Lady Chatterley’s Lover.
“Faith?” Harry asked, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and kissing my cheek. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I said, so confused it felt like a fog was invading my head. I pushed the fog aside. It was coincidence. It had to be. There was no way Harry…
I turned to look at him. All prim and proper and very British. He was a damn viscount for heaven’s sake. There was no way he was in any way tied to NOX. It was impossible. My pulse calming, I took his hand and pulled him to the kitchen.
I opened the cupboards, searching for the right equipment and ingredients. Harry poured us both a glass of wine and sat at the breakfast bar, never taking his eyes away from me. “Ah-ha!” I said, finding the pasta maker and the ingredients I needed. I placed them on the counter where Harry sat. “Why on Earth do you have all this stuff if you don’t cook?” I asked, beginning to prepare the bowl with the ingredients for fresh pasta. Tortelli de Zucca, my favorite.
“I’m loathe to tell you,” Harry said and took a huge gulp of his wine. The more alcohol he consumed, the more relaxed he became.
“What?”
He grimaced. “I have a chef that comes in four times a week while I’m at work. He prepares my meals for me.” He pointed to the pasta roller. “That is why all this is here. I asked him what he needed. He gave me a list. I have no idea what most of these are.”
“Harry,” I said, pausing to place my hand over his. “That is the poshest thing you’ve ever said.”
“You are correct. Although I could hear myself muttering ‘where is my favorite pocket square?’ the other day and immediately thought that if you were there, I would never have heard the end of it.”
I laughed, pouring the flour, sending a cloud of white into the air. I blew it out of my face and was sure it was now in my hair.
“Faith, you are the clumsiest person I have ever met.”
“I know,” I said, once the cloud had disappeared, and continued cooking. “I like to think it’s sexy in a roundabout way.”
“Sexy clumsy,” Harry agreed and raised his glass.
“Sexy clumsy.” I began kneading the dough. “So, you said at my parents’ you went to Eton?”
Yes, I was using this as an excuse to find out more about him. He was a damn locked file. I needed to crack it open. Harry’s lips twitched; he knew exactly what I was doing. “Harry, you had dinner with my parents. They told you about me and all my colorful ways. Give me something here. We’ve just fucked like rabbits.” I pointed at him with my rolling pin. “One of whom had a massive cock. And although that is a good thing, the other rabbit will be stinging for days, thus deserves some kind of compensation.”
“Thus?” Harry said dryly. “You just said ‘thus’.”
“Answer my questions or pasta shall be denied.”
Harry held his hands up in surrender. “Don’t threaten that. Please. I’ll tell you anything you need to know.”
“Eton. Go.”
“I was sent there when I was eleven. For high school as you say here in America.”
“Did you like it?”
“It wasn’t bad.” He ran his fingertip around the rim of his wine glass, losing himself in the memories. “I just missed home. I missed…”
