Page 46 of Desperately Seeking Seduction

“Seymour doesn’t control my fate the way he does yours. Besides, I was seduced into an assignation with an older woman.”

“That’s not true.”

“You knew I couldn’t resist the temptation of a private sampling of your best preserves,” Philips suggested with a course laugh. “I won’t resist tomorrow, either. I’ll be waiting again when everyone’s still abed.”

“You’ll wait a long time for anything from me again,” Mrs. Derry warned. “Not without the banns being called.”

The man merely laughed.

Winston had heard enough to know Mrs. Derry was in an impossible position and bound for disappointment from someone like Philips. Winston glanced around. She couldn’t shout out the woman’s name, but a noise of some sort in the kitchen could separate them.

There was a copper roasting pan on a nearby work surface and Winston sent it sailing across the room to land under a far chair, out of harm’s way, and then hid herself.

“Let me pass. Someone’s out there!” Mrs. Derry whispered in a panicked voice as she emerged from the larder alone. “Who’s there?” she called, smoothing down her apron.

After a moment of hearing nothing in reply, Philips emerged, smirking, and skulked off quickly down the hallway and disappeared without another word.

Once assured he was gone, Winston emerged from hiding and cleared her throat.

Mrs. Derry gasped to see Winston standing so close. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Nothing, Mrs. Derry. But is there something I can do for you?” Winston tipped her head toward the larder doorway rather than voice her concern out loud.

Mrs. Derry gasped again and took a step back, misunderstanding her concern as likely something highly improper.

Winston shook her head. “How long has that scoundrel been seeking you out?”

The woman looked puzzled. “What man?”

“Philips. He imposed upon you,” Winston suggested gently. It wasn’t easy to be a woman in a male-dominated society. That was why she didn’t try. Male servants definitely had the upper hand in the servant realm. Philips should be made to own up to his lecherous actions and marry her though.

“I don’t know to what you are inferring but I won’t have it in my presence,” she said, bristling with indignation.

Winston admired her for a moment, but it was clear the woman was disturbed by the encounter she’d just had with Philips in the larder. She did not have the look of a woman in love, either. Winston lowered her voice. “You should tell someone that he’s bothering you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mrs. Derry assured her, but she looked worried. She probably thought Winston would tell on her.

“Or at least speak with the housekeeper about it. She could help you avoid further incidents like that,” Winston murmured, jerking her thumb toward the larder.

The cook’s eyes narrowed. “You should return to your duties and cease meddling in the affairs of the kitchen,” she snapped.

Winston understood only too well that the woman feared exposure for carrying on any sort of relationship with a fellow servant. Even if she had wanted the attentions of the footman Philips initially, she would be the one to suffer for it eventually if he’d no honorable intentions toward her. At best she’d suffer a marriage, but most likely she’d be cast out of a position of long-held trust. Philips wasn’t a member of staff here, and in Winston’s opinion, he didn’t seem the type to want to marry, especially an older lady like Mrs. Derry.

Winston retreated, for now, but vowed to keep an eye on Philips whenever she could.

She pulled a face and looked up at the ceiling briefly to curse the sense of honor that had been drilled into her from birth. She’d made a promise to her father as a boy to protect those weaker than her from mistreatment. The cook needed her help whether she wanted it or not.

Winston headed into the servants’ staircase, satchel slung over her shoulder again, and returned to her employer’s chambers, only to find Lord Stratford in the room already, sitting in the armchair facing the door.

He looked up when he saw her, and she smiled until she remembered her satchel was still hanging over her shoulder. She set it down quickly behind a chair, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “Lord Stratford,” she murmured, walking toward him.

He glanced down at the satchel. “Explain why you have that?”

“Cuthbert will return soon,” she explained. “I wanted to be ready.”

“You were not ready two days ago,” he said, eyes narrowing on her face. “In fact, I had the distinct impression you might never want to leave my side, given recent events.”

“You did not offer me a permanent position.”