“Here you are, Father. Happy birthday.” He smiled and handed a flat parcel to the earl, who set down his whisky and took it with both hands.
“For me?” His blue eyes twinkled like a child’s.
“No, it’s not for you. It’s for the other man in here celebrating a birthday.” Jonathan resumed his seat and watched his father tear into the wrapping.
“Oh, Jon.” His father’s eyes widened as he removed the last of the paper. In a gilt frame, Jonathan had enclosed a charcoal drawing of his mother. She reclined on a chaise lounge in her sitting room, and Jonathan was pleased he had been able to capture her personality so well.
“It’s perfect, son. Thank you.” His father tore his eyes from the drawing and smiled at Jonathan. “When did she sit for this?”
“When you were in Edinburgh a few weeks ago. You remember she said she could not go with you?”
The earl grunted. “Yes, I do. I was most annoyed, as I recall.”
“She wanted to go, but I told her she had to sit for the portrait. She was very anxious for your return.” He smiled and his father chuckled.
“As was I. I cut short my trip by two days.”
“I had a feeling you might, so I worked fast.”
“It’s beautiful, Jonathan, it truly is. I will treasure it, both for the subject and the creator.” He rose and squeezed Jonathan’s shoulder with affection, before walking to the bell pull and giving it a tug.
“What are you doing?” Jonathan asked.
“I was going to ask Fairfax if Cook was still awake. I’d like to thank her for that wonderful meal.”
“Surely it’s too late, Father. It can wait until tomorrow.”
His father raised his eyebrows. “I’m not going to force her down here if she’s retired, Jon.” Before Jonathan could reply, the door opened and Fairfax stepped in.
“You rang, my lord?”
“Yes, I did, Fairfax. Is Cook—I’m sorry, what is her name?”
“Mrs. Milsom, my lord.”
“Excellent. Has Mrs. Milsom gone to bed yet, Fairfax?”
“I don’t believe so, my lord. She was mixing dough for bread the last time I looked into the kitchen.”
“Wonderful. Please ask her to come up.”
“Yes, of course, my lord.”
Jonathan stared into his whisky glass during this exchange, trying to figure out how he could leave the room before she arrived, only to have his father call to him after Fairfax closed the door. “Jonathan?”
“Yes, Father?”
“Why the sudden interest in the kitchen staff? You’ve never paid any attention to them before.”
“Why is everyone making me out to be such an insensitive brute?” Jonathan got up and started to pace. “It’s not as if I treat the servants as inhuman!”
His father chuckled and eyed Jonathan over the rim of his glass. “You doth protest too much, methinks. No one ever accused you of any such thing. But you have always left the hiring of the kitchen staff to your mother and never paid much attention to the results.” Jonathan went to the window and looked out, inwardly squirming under his father’s scrutiny.
“What is it, I wonder, that has you so worked up over Mrs. Milsom?” his father mused behind him.
Jonathan spoke to the window, refusing to turn around. “Nothing, Father. I just wondered where she came from, is all. You must admit her arrival was somewhat out of the ordinary.”
“It’s been months, Jonathan. Her cooking is exemplary, and there’s been no indication she is anything other than a talented cook. I certainly have heard nothing against her on a personal level.”
Jonathan was saved from the need to respond by a knock on the door. He turned to see Fairfax enter, followed by Mrs. Milsom. After a terrified glance at Jonathan that affected him like a hit to the gut, she looked down at her feet.
“Mrs. Milsom, my lords,” Fairfax intoned, and left the room.
The earl stood and strode over to Mrs. Milsom. “Mrs. Milsom!” He raised a hand to pat her on the back, and she ducked like an abused dog. The earl was so surprised by her cowering beneath him he just stood there with his arm in the air.
Jonathan rushed over and knelt beside her. The woman’s face was entirely drained of color, and her eyes were wide.
“Good Lord. What happened to you?” he whispered.
She shook her head, obviously too scared to speak.
He realized he would get no information out of her, so instead he gave his father a meaningful look. Uncharacteristically meek, the earl sat in his chair, folded his massive hands in his lap, and watched expectantly. Jonathan would have laughed if he hadn’t been so concerned about Mrs. Milsom. He pulled the woman to her feet and deposited her in the settee on which he had been sitting. He grabbed a snifter off the sideboard, filled it with brandy, and held it out to her. She looked at it as if she had never seen such a thing before.
He nodded. “Go on, drink it. You’ll feel better, I promise.”
She took the tiniest of sips. Jonathan watched the muscles in her neck as she swallowed. Her skin was so pale he could almost see through it. She looked unbelievably vulnerable, and he found it almost unbearably erotic. Mentally kicking himself, he took a deep breath and sat beside her, careful not to touch her, although every fiber of his body ached to do so.
“Feeling better?” the earl asked, jolting Jonathan out of his fixation on Mrs. Milsom’s lovely throat.
She nodded and took another sip of brandy.
Jonathan turned his head away, only to notice his father scrutinizing him. He looked down at his feet since he couldn’t look at Mrs. Milsom again.
“I asked you to come upstairs simply to thank you for the wonderful meal you prepared in honor of my birthday,” the earl said kindly.
Jonathan risked another glance at Mrs. Milsom. She raised her head, and her lips formed a shy smile. Still she said nothing.
The earl continued as if this were not the most bizarre interview he’d ever had with a member of the household staff.
“How did you know that veal and ham pie was my favorite?”
Mrs. Milsom swallowed again.
Jonathan watched the muscles work in her graceful neck, and he was suffused with a desire to caress it. He felt himself stirring inside his trousers. He thought of Abigail and what she would do to him if she knew he was even thinking such a thing, and he felt the pressure ease. This was ridiculous. He had never had such a reaction to a woman before, let alone a servant.
Mrs. Milsom found her voice at last. “Lady Longley told me, my lord. She gave me a list of your favorite dishes and asked me to make as many of them as I could.” She gave another shy smile and set the brandy down on the table to the left of the settee. “I apologize for my behavior as I entered the room, my lord. I...I can’t think what came over me.”
That was a bald-faced lie, Jonathan thought. She was well aware of what had come over her. He only wished he knew what it was.
“That is quite all right, madam. My wife is always telling me that I am so large that I terrify people. The apology is mine to make.”
She nodded and rose to her feet. “Thank you. I am very glad you enjoyed the meal, my lord. It was my pleasure to prepare it.” She curtsied again, clearly hoping to be dismissed. The earl just studied her with an intense gaze, which he then turned on Jonathan.
Jonathan could not begin to imagine what he was going to do next. He certainly did not expect what his father did do, which was to rise from his chair and give a shallow bow to the cook. “The pleasure was all ours, and I am honored to have you in my household. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe my wife is waiting for me.” He gave Jonathan a look he was unable to interpret and left the room.
****
Theodora’s heart sank as she watched the earl’s retreating back, and she was left alone with Lord Caxton. He smiled in what she suspected he thought was a non-threatening manner. Oh, Lord, she thought. The viscount held out his hands, palms facing toward her.
/> “I won’t touch you, I promise.” He stood and walked a few steps away from her and then turned to face her again. The new distance between them helped her to relax, but only a little. He could close the gap in a second, if he chose.
“Please, sit down. I’ll stay over here.” He gestured toward the settee, but she shook her head.
“I prefer to stand, my lord.”
Lord Caxton shrugged. “As you wish, Mrs. Milsom. Would you care to tell me what happened in your life that you would cower like a dog when my father raised a hand? I realize he is a large man, but your reaction was a trifle overstated. Rather like certain other occasions on which we’ve met.”
Theodora shook her head. “I am sorry for that, my lord. It was not my intention to offend him.”
Lord Caxton stepped closer, and she backed up. He held up his hands in front of his chest again, and stopped. “Sorry, sorry.” He muttered something which sounded very like “Good God, it’s like gentling a horse.”
Theodora fiddled nervously with her skirts and wondered how long it would take her to feel normal again. To feel she could talk to a man without wondering if he was going to hit her. Her eyes filled unexpectedly with tears, and she blinked.
Lord Caxton’s features softened. “Please tell me. I want to help.” She simply shook her head, unable to speak.
He began to pace. “I know you are afraid of me, perhaps of all men, given your reaction to my father. I know that I am drawn to you. I cannot help but want to know you, to help you. You look so scared sometimes.” He stopped pacing to look at her. “Except now, when you just look inexpressibly sad. And other times, when you are clearly annoyed with me. I admit I much prefer annoyance.”
She blinked again and said nothing.
When he came toward her, she could not move away.
“Please,” he whispered. He gently placed his palms on her shoulders. They were so warm, she could feel the heat of him pulse through her body.
Without conscious thought, she moved into the circle of his arms and rested her head on his chest. She could not remember ever feeling so safe, knowing this was perhaps the least safe thing she had done in a long time.
He stroked her hair, murmured words she could not hear. He placed a kiss atop her head, tipped up her chin with his hand, and slowly brought his lips to hers. She closed her eyes. His lips were soft and tasted of brandy. His kiss was gentle, like feeling a whisper. But then suddenly it wasn’t gentle, it was insistent, and his tongue filled her mouth.
She reacted instinctively. Her own tongue tangled with his. She didn’t think, she could only feel, and this felt...better than she had ever imagined. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and they deepened the kiss, until she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began.
She mewled in protest as he broke contact and moved slightly away. Her lips were damp, her eyes still closed, and she heard him say, “Mrs...Um, what is your Christian name?”
Her eyes opened, and his face was directly in front of her own. “What?” she murmured.
He smiled like a cat that has just lapped a bowl of cream. She dimly realized what she had just done, but was apparently incapable of coherent thought.
“I think that I should know your Christian name, after that.”
“Um, Th…” She stopped, mentally shook the cobwebs out of her brain. No, that was not it. “Matilda.”
He cocked his head to one side and looked at her. “Matilda. Somehow it doesn’t suit you.”
She saw the speculation in his eyes, and somehow it gave her strength. “Perhaps not, my lord, but it is my name.”
He frowned. “So, we are back to ‘my lord,’ are we?” He put his hands on her shoulders again and drew her close to him, but she squirmed out of his grasp.
“That should never have happened, my lord, and you know it. I shall hand in my notice tomorrow.” She turned away, but he grabbed her arm and turned her to face him.
“Oh, no, you can’t do that. My mother would kill me, and I...” He shrugged. “Well, I would be very sorry indeed. Please don’t go. I will behave myself.”
She scowled in disbelief.
He chuckled. “I will! It will be difficult—you are a strangely appealing creature.”
She scowled again.
“But I will do it! I promise. Please. Just don’t leave.”
The last time he said “please” in that tone she had jumped into his arms. The man was irresistible. Almost. She looked at him, at his earnest eyes, and hardened her heart.
“Fine, I will stay. But,” she entreated, “don’t come near me again.” She spun around and ran out of the room, narrowly missing a figure at the foot of the stairs. She muttered, “Excuse me,” to whomever it was and hurried toward the back stairs and down to the kitchen, away from the viscount. But she could not outrun her heart.
****
Jonathan watched her and willed himself not to run after her. He had to find out why she was so afraid, and he needed to do it soon. He didn’t know if he would have the restraint to stay away from her. He sighed, then walking back to the settee, he picked up his forgotten glass from the table and drained it.
At the sound of a discreet cough behind him, he sighed again. “Yes, Fairfax?” He did not need to turn around. That cough could only belong to their very proper butler.
“My lord, if I may?”
Jonathan did turn then. Based on the butler’s expression, this was likely to be a lengthy and somewhat painful conversation. Jonathan sat in the chair his father had occupied earlier, but he did not bother to ask Fairfax to sit. The man would never do so in his presence.
“I believe I saw Mrs. Milsom leave the room just now?”
“Obviously you know it was Mrs. Milsom, Fairfax, or you would not be here. What is it you wish to say?” Jonathan tried to mask his impatience.
“She was in here with you? Alone?” Fairfax’s disapproval was palpable.
“Yes. We were talking.” Jonathan wanted to squirm in his chair under Fairfax’s stern gaze. He felt like a boy, when he was caught by Fairfax stealing a bottle of wine from the cellar.
“I see.” Fairfax pursed his lips.
“My father was aware that we were talking.”
Fairfax did not comment. Instead he stepped further into the room. “My lord, if I may.” Jonathan nodded, and the older man continued. “Not long after she arrived here, I came across Mrs. Milsom in the servants’ hall, huddled in a ball on the floor. Crying. I did not know then why, but after seeing nearly the same expression on her face this evening, I am beginning to understand.”
Fairfax’s eyebrows were hunched in disapprobation, and Jonathan wanted nothing so much as to find a rock to crawl under. That must have been the day they’d been alone in his mother’s sitting room.
Fairfax continued. “I believe Mrs. Milsom left London in such a hurry because she was fleeing something, or someone. I also do not entirely believe Milsom is her real name, or that she was ever married.”
“Oh, I know she was married.” Jonathan muttered. Her response to him tonight was not that of an innocent, and her character such that it was clear she was not a wanton. No, she had been married, and she had known passion. And pain.
Fairfax cocked his head. “Perhaps. Are your parents aware of your...attraction to the cook?”
Jonathan stood. “What are you implying, Fairfax?”
“Please forgive me, my lord, but I do not think your continued attentions are in Mrs. Milsom’s best interest, nor are they proper.” Fairfax held his ground.
Jonathan was impressed despite his anger. In any other house, such an outrageous statement would get him dismissed without a reference.
Jonathan sighed, his anger dissipated, and resumed his seat. “Fairfax, sit down.” He did not even need to look up to know that Fairfax was bristling with offense at the suggestion. “Yes, I know, but sit down. Please.” He was using that word more tonight than he had uttered it all year.
The butler finally perched on the edge
of the settee, his back ramrod straight.
“Tonight, when Mrs. Milsom came into the drawing room, Father stood to greet her and raised a hand in the air. I think he was going to pat her on the back. You know how he is.” Jonathan stood and paced; somehow he found it hard to keep still. “Mrs. Milsom went into a kind of crouch, as if she were afraid Father was going to hit her. The notion is completely absurd. Father can’t even bring himself to swat his mount. But how was she to know that?”
Jonathan looked over at Fairfax, who was listening intently. He nodded at Jonathan to continue.
“I went to her to make sure she was all right. She made an excuse. Not a very good one, but she denied there was anything wrong. I suppose Father had a sense she might talk to me—at least I think that’s what he was trying to say—so he left me alone with her.”
Fairfax regarded him with an inscrutable gaze, the same one he had employed when Jonathan was a boy and had been caught doing something foolish.
“Yes, all right, Fairfax. I will admit that I am attracted to Ma...Mrs. Milsom. There is something so vulnerable about her, and she is undeniably beautiful.” Jonathan was afraid to look at Fairfax, so he continued to pace. “I want to help her, Fairfax. Truly, I don’t want to harm her in any way.”
“Of course you don’t want to harm her, my lord. I apologize if I suggested otherwise. I simply wanted to ensure that you were aware of my concerns. I see now that you are, and that you share them.” Fairfax rose, seeming more at ease. He walked to the door, and then turned toward Jonathan.
“I believe Mrs. Milsom thinks well of me, my lord. Perhaps I remind her of someone she cares about. In any case, I will try to get her to confide in me.”
Stirring Up the Viscount Page 8
