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If ever there was a poker face, Fernsby wore it now. “I can neither confirm nor deny, sir.”
He didn’t need to admit it. That twinkle Dane had never seen before confirmed it all.
But now Dane had Fernsby right where he wanted him. “You need to help me. Because I’m afraid I’m going to screw up the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He added, more emphatically, “I absolutely can’t screw this up.”
Fernsby, never one to swear, muttered, “Crikey,” in an East End accent Dane had never heard before. “I’m afraid you’re already screwing this up, sir,” he added with a completely straight face, as if he hadn’t just insulted his boss.
Although Dane sometimes wondered who was the boss and who was the employee, since Fernsby usually did whatever he wanted.
“Thank you very much, Fernsby,” he said dryly, almost as dryly as Fernsby would say it himself. “I’m well aware that my romantic skills are rather lacking.”
“Lacking?” Fernsby croaked, one eyebrow raised. “Shall we say nonexistent, sir?”
Dane harrumphed like Fernsby often did himself. “I’ll admit I haven’t had many examples.” His parents certainly hadn’t taught him anything about love, except to make him realize he wasn’t going to get it and should certainly stop expecting it.
“Shall we say no good examples?” Fernsby belatedly added, “Sir.”
“True,” Dane had to concede. “I’m not sure I know how to romance a woman. Especially not Cammie.” The women he’d dated hadn’t required romance. And he wasn’t sure he could give Cammie the romance she deserved. “There’re her emotions to worry about.” He absolutely didn’t want to hurt her. “I’m not equipped with the proper skills.” And he did not mean sexually.
Fernsby, once again the staunch and proper butler, said in his highly cultured British voice, “I’m very glad you came to me, sir. I will help you.” That stretching of his lips couldn’t possibly be a smile. “This is the task I’ve waited years to perform.” He held up a hand. “Leave it to me, sir. I know exactly what to do.” He narrowed his eyes. “You just need to say yes to anything I propose.”
Fernsby might do anything he wanted to do, but he’d never before ordered Dane to do his bidding. This, however, was a special case.
Dane said, “On any other subject, I’d tell you to go pound sand. But this is about Cammie. If you think you can find a way to make her mine, I’ll do whatever you suggest.”
* * *
Fernsby closed the door. Then he did a little jig. He never jigged in front of anyone. But this deserved two jigs.
He was quite aware that Dane hadn’t said he was in love with Cammie. But Fernsby had known the man’s feelings for years. How those two hadn’t figured it out themselves was beyond him.
Yet Fernsby well knew that Dane hadn’t mentioned love, using the euphemism of romance instead, because he was afraid of it. Because he didn’t believe he possessed the skills to love Camille the way she deserved. After learning how his parents had abandoned their children to a series of nannies and flown off to God only knew where, Fernsby had realized long ago that none of the Harringtons had a clue about love or how to be good examples of it.
Thus, Dane had always held himself aloof from love. After fifteen years, Fernsby knew it all. There wasn’t a single time Dane had left for an evening out with a female companion that he hadn’t claimed the date was no big deal. It wasn’t only because of Camille either. Dane Harrington was afraid to open himself up to love. Afraid it wouldn’t be reciprocated.
It was Fernsby’s job to show his employer that he needn’t be frightened of love, especially when it came to Camille.
He rubbed his hands together with glee. Because what he’d told Dane was the absolute truth. This was the job he’d been waiting for all his life.
And he never failed.
Well, perhaps once.
But he certainly wouldn’t this time.
Chapter Nineteen
Seated at his desk in Pebble Beach only two days later while Cammie was out for a walk with Rex, Dane beckoned Fernsby in when he knocked on the doorjamb. “What can I do for you, Fernsby?”
Impassive as always, Fernsby said, “It’s not what you can do for me, sir, but what I can do for you.”
He paused for effect, forcing Dane to ask, “And what is that?”
“I’ve heard back from Britain’s Greatest Bakers, and I’ve made it through the first round.” Fernsby seemed neither elated nor downcast. As always, he showed no emotion at all.
Dane wanted to clap, but instead he merely said, “Congratulations, Fernsby.”
“Thank you, sir.” His butler went on, “They need to see how I appear on camera, so they’ve asked to interview me.”
Dane wasn’t sure how this was something Fernsby could do for him. Rather, it was the other way around. “So you need a couple of days off?”
