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Abigail frowned. “Jamie!”

“Well, she isn’t! She’s never done it before, has she? We always—”

“Hush!” Abigail whispered fiercely. She was afraid that Jamie was about to say that they’d always had their own servants. He was so stupid sometimes, even if he was only five.

Jamie looked at her with wide eyes, and then they both looked at Sir Alistair.

He was hunched down, scratching the dog under her chin. Abigail noticed that his hand was missing two fingers. She shivered in disgust. Maybe he hadn’t heard them?

Jamie rubbed his nose. “She’s a right nice dog.”

The dog tilted her head and waved a great paw in the air as if she’d understood Jamie.

Sir Alistair nodded. “That she is.”

“I’ve never seen one so big.” Jamie began stroking the dog again. “What kind is she?”

“A deerhound,” Sir Alistair said. “Her name is Lady Grey. My ancestors used hounds like her to hunt deer.”

“Coo!” Jamie said. “Have you ever hunted deer with her?”

Sir Alistair shook his head. “Deer are rare in these parts. The only thing Lady Grey hunts anymore is sausages.”

Abigail carefully bent and touched Lady Grey’s warm head. She made sure to stay far enough away from Sir Alistair so that she didn’t accidentally brush him. The dog licked her fingers with a long tongue. “She’s still a nice dog, even if it’s only sausages she hunts.”

Sir Alistair turned his head so he could see her out of his good eye.

Abigail froze, her fingers clutching Lady Grey’s wiry fur. She was so close to him that she could see lighter bits of brown like a star around the center of his eye. They were almost gold-colored, those bits. Sir Alistair wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t frowning anymore, either. His face was still horrible to look at, but there was something almost sad about it, too.

She drew in her breath to say something.

At that moment, the outside kitchen door blew open. “Who’s ready for tea?” Mama asked.

HELEN STOPPED SHORT at the sight of Sir Alistair kneeling with her children by the hearth. Oh, dear. She’d rather hoped he’d not discover their return until after she’d made some tea. Not only might a meal pacify him, but she could also use a bite or two before confronting Sir Beastly. Shopping was much harder work than she’d first supposed.

But a respite was not to be. Sir Alistair rose to his feet slowly, his worn boots scraping on the hearth’s flagstones. Goodness! She’d seen him just this morning, but already she’d forgotten how tall he was—how big in general, really, especially standing next to Abigail and Jamie—and how intimidating. That was probably why she was just a little bit short of breath.

He smiled, and the expression made the back of her neck tickle. “Mrs. Halifax.”

She swallowed and tilted her chin. “Sir Alistair.”

He prowled toward her, athletic, male, and rather dangerous. “I confess your presence in my kitchen is something of a surprise.”

“Is it?”

“I believe”—he circled behind her, and she twisted her neck to try and keep him in her sight—“that I dismissed you just this morning.”

Helen cleared her throat. “About that—”

“I’m almost certain, in fact, that I saw you leave in a carriage.”

“Well, I—”

“A carriage I hired to take you away.” Was that his breath against the back of her neck?

She turned, but he was several paces away, by the fireplace now. “I explained to the driver that you’d made a mistake.”

“I made a mistake?” His gaze dropped to the basket she carried in her hands. “You’ve been to the village, then, madam?”

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