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The next moment the door to her dining room was open, and the man himself was striding in.

Cleo looked up.

“Contracts to discuss,” he said briskly. Sure enough, he had a sheaf of papers tucked under his arm. But in his hand . . .

“Are those kippers?” she asked, knowing the answer, because who could mistake that smell?

“Yup,” he said, sounding insufferably American. He pulled up a chair and put the kippers on the table between them. “Once I realized that you’d never tried them, I couldn’t allow that pitiful situation to continue. As a friend. Though my valet had to offer the chef a handsome bribe; I gather his French sensibilities were offended.”

Robbins was hovering beside the door. “Miss Lewis?”

“It’s all right,” she said resignedly. “Mr. Addison is a business acquaintance. I suppose I shall allow him to share my breakfast. You may return to the corridor.”

“Actually, I’d be grateful if you would run down and ask the kitchen to brew my morning coffee,” Jake said. “A pot, if you would.”

“Very well,” Cleo said, nodding to Robbins.

He left, and Jake turned back to Cleo. “Kippers and coffee were made by the Almighty to go together.”

Cleo wrinkled her nose. “Fusty beans and oily fish.”

“American drink, and British breakfast,” he said, his eyes glinting. “As I said, made by the Almighty to—”

“Never mind that,” Cleo said hastily. “What are you doing here, Jake?”

“I’ve decided to acquire a factory, but the process of title registration of the deed is unfamiliar to me, as it’s spelled out in the principles of property and succession. I was hoping you could help.”

Cleo brightened. She had been reading contracts since her father passed her the first one at the age of twelve. “Of course!”

“Excellent,” Jake said. He began cutting the kipper into pieces.

“I might try one bite,” Cleo told him, wrinkling her nose again. “It smells.”

“Smoky and delicious,” Jake said.

“When it comes to kippers, you can find adjectives?”

“Mouthwatering comes to mind.” He eyed her, and just like that, desire quivered in the air between them.

“Jake,” she said warningly, putting down her fork.

He sighed. “No kissing. No brandy.”

“Exactly,” Cleo said. “This is dangerous enough, the two of us eating breakfast without a chaperone.”

“You don’t care about your reputation, and besides, Germain’s prides itself on allowing no gossip to escape their front door. I have the feeling that adultery accounts for a good portion of their profits.”

“My grandfather cares,” Cleo said. She gave Jake a wry smile. “It’s become increasingly clear to me that my mother’s rash behavior hurt my grandfather deeply. Likewise, my grandmother, when she was alive.”

Jake nodded. She watched as he plucked a piece of toast from the rack, cut off a square, buttered it, and piled a piece of kipper on top.

“That is remarkably ill-mannered,” Cleo informed him.

“As ill-mannered as when you put your elbow on the table last night?” he retorted.

She almost put out her tongue but recollected her dignity just in time. “Not in the same category as piling fish on top of bread.”

Jake held out the square of buttered toast and kipper. “Taste.”