Page 76 of A Rogues & Gentlemen Christmas

“I’m grateful for dry clothes, Mr Hardy, I assure you.”

He nodded, put the tray down on the kitchen table, and pulled out a chair for her.

“Come and eat,” he said. “It will help to warm ye. I’ll heat some soup, too.”

“There’s no need to go to such trouble—”

“’Tis no trouble, though it’ll not be what you’re used to.”

“Good,” she replied with some force, startling herself as much as him. She blushed and looked away, busying herself with cutting a slice of cheese from the platter he’d set down.

The food was excellent. Perhaps it was simply the relief at being safe and warm, but Grace had tasted nothing so wonderful in her life. The cheese was sharp and crumbly, and there were generous slices of ham with a rich smoky flavour. Mr Hardy returned to the table, covered a huge slice of brown bread with thick, creamy butter, and handed it to her. Grace stared at it for a moment before tearing off a small corner. She closed her eyes as she chewed and sighed with pleasure.

“My housekeeper, Mrs Tucknott, is an excellent baker,” he said, his rumbling voice recalling her to the table and her manners.

“She is,” she said, smiling. “I can make bread too,” she added, with no little pride, before blushing as she realised how foolish she sounded. “It’s the only thing I can make.” The amendment was made with rather more humility as she realised such a boast would hardly impress him. “And not as well as this.”

“I didn’t know such fine ladies could cook.”

Grace looked down at her plate. “My father and brother wouldn’t approve,” she admitted, as a prickle of fear slithered down her back. “But our cook was a God-fearing woman and didn’t approve of idleness. I’d get lonely all by myself when everyone was away, so I would spend time in the kitchens for company. I pestered her into teaching me.”

She looked up to find him staring at her hands and slid them under the table, disconcerted by the quality of his gaze. He got up then and went to the fireplace, ladling out a bowlful of soup for her before setting it down on the table with a spoon.

“That will warm ye up,” he said, pushing the bowl towards her with an encouraging smile.

Grace remembered how he’d warmed her so far and felt the heat scald her cheeks as she averted her gaze from his face. It had felt good, the sure touch of his hands on her feet, warming her so gently. She dared another glance at him, intrigued by this rough fellow, who was far more civilised than the men she knew, men who would claim to be above Mr Hardy. They believed themselves of a higher rank, gentlemen, and Grace wondered at the nature of a word that could describe a man who was anything but gentle.

The man beside her fitted the true meaning better than any she’d met before.

“I’m sorry. My manners won’t be what you’re used to,” he said, sitting back in his chair.

The words had been gruff and apologetic, and Grace realised he had misinterpreted her blush.

“No,” she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “They’re not. You’re by far the kindest and most well-mannered person I’ve ever met.”

He frowned at that, curiosity and concern colouring his expression as he leaned towards her. The lamplight caught his eyes and Grace could see that they were brown, a deep, rich colour like chocolate, and flecked with gold. A kind man, said a hopeful voice in her head, one that won’t hurt you.

“When ye arrived, ye asked if they’d followed. Ye were frightened out of your wits. Who was it, lass? Who had ye running through the dark all alone on a night like this?”

Grace hesitated. From what she could see of the house she sat in, it was as neat as a pin and well kept. The man’s clothes were not those of a gentleman, but they were good quality. A farmer he might be, but he appeared to be a successful one. Would money tempt a man like this? Would he return her to her brother, hoping to gain a reward? The idea made her heart skip and her stomach clench, and she jolted as he reached for her hand and covered it with his own.

“I’ll not let anyone hurt ye,” he said, his words fierce, a promise in them that she wanted to believe. “Not even if they’re your kin. You have my word.”

She tore her gaze from the massive hand holding hers with such tenderness to stare up at him. Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked hard.

“Ah, don’t cry,” Ned murmured, raising his other hand to wipe away a tear that spilled down her cheek with his thumb.

Grace gasped at the intimacy of his touch and he sat back at once, withdrawing both hands and looking mortified. “I’m sorry. Please, forgive me. I… I ought not have—”

“No,” she said in a rush, regretting the loss of his warm hand and the promise of safety. “No, I’m… I’m not offended, only… surprised. I’m not used to such—”

“Aye,” he said, sounding disgusted. “Like I said, I’m no gentleman, and my manners aren’t what you’ll be used to.”

“You’ve been a perfect gentleman, Mr Hardy, but like I told you, I’m not used to such kindness,” Grace said, determined he not misunderstand her.

He looked puzzled by that and leaned a little towards her once more. “But a woman of such beauty, surely you’ve men tripping over themselves to be kind to ye?”

She stared at him. He thought her beautiful. The idea made something warm and fluttery uncurl inside her. “My father did not let me socialise. He… He was a solitary man and preferred to live quietly. He died in September, and since then my brother… m-my brother—”