Page 11 of The Mistletoe Dare

He shot her a contemptuous look. “No doubt you imagine me murdering the wildlife with my bare hands, but no, my lady. I do not hunt.”

The bitterness of his tone took her aback, and Georgie looked at him with interest. “You certainly look capable of doing that,” she admitted. “But I do not understand why you should think I imagine you doing so.”

“Do you not?” he said, and she wondered if he was really sneering at her, or if it was the scar at his lip that just gave that impression. She ignored his comment and concentrated on piling jam onto one half of the roll.

“I like to cook. It gives me pleasure, both to make things and to see people enjoy the results. Obviously, I do not need to do it, but I find it… soothing.”

“Soothing?” he repeated. “What in God’s name do you need soothing for? You’re young and rich and beautiful. A charmed life, I would think.”

Georgie glanced at him, wondering why he seemed so dreadfully cross with her when he did not know her at all. Though she noted he thought her beautiful and was alarmed by the little jolt of pleasure the words gave her. He was a peculiar fellow, this duke.

“Indeed, a charmed life. I am very fortunate, but so are you, I think.”

His lip curled. This time it was deliberate, she was certain.

“Indeed,” he echoed, a private note to his voice she could not decipher.

A footman appeared at her elbow to refill her cup of chocolate and she smiled, recognising the handsome young man. “Good morning. Roberts, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my lady,” he said, beaming at her, clearly pleased to be remembered.

“How are you settling in? You had not long been here when I last visited. Are you happy?”

Roberts flushed with pleasure at her inquiry. “Oh, yes, my lady. The duke and duchess are most kind and everyone has been very welcoming. I’ve been fortunate.”

“And how is your mother? She was unwell, I think? I do hope she has recovered.”

Roberts gaped at her in astonishment, but nodded. “Yes, my lady, she is fit as a flea—I mean, she’s well, thank you. She’ll be that made up to know you asked after her.”

“Well, then I am glad on both counts,” Georgie said, before thanking him for the chocolate.

Roberts moved away down the table and Georgie once again felt the weight of the duke’s scrutiny. Heavens. Now what? She looked at him and raised her eyebrows.

“You ought not be so familiar with the staff,” he said, his voice cold. “It causes problems.”

“Problems for whom?” she demanded, matching his icy tone. “Not me.”

“No. For them. For if they do not know where the line is, they overstep and jeopardise their situation.”

“Perhaps in your employ, not in my mother’s, nor my Aunt Prue’s,” she retorted.

He made an impatient sound. “They are not your friends. They work for you.”

“That does not mean we must treat them as if they do not exist,” Georgie snapped, her temper rising.

Her mother had instilled that lesson into her. Georgie knew, as her mother had discovered in her time, that it was not done to thank servants, or even acknowledge the fact that they existed. As the daughter of a vastly wealthy self-made man, the aristocracy had not accepted her mother, viewing her as an imposter in their select ranks. The ton had reviled her for her lack of breeding and laughed at her befriending the staff, implying that like was drawn to like. Despite this, she had refused to follow their lead and blend in by acting as they did. She had always known the names of her staff and whether they were happy or well, and as much about their families and situations as they wished to share. She also thanked her staff for a job well done. Every one of Georgie’s father’s great estates ran like clockwork, and the staff were happy and well-treated. That was down to her mother, so this pig-headed, mean-spirited duke was not about to change her mind or her ways.

“They will not respect you if you speak so freely with them. They’ll take advantage. Did you not see the way that boy looked at you?”

Georgie blinked at him. “What way?” The duke made a disgusted sound and threw his napkin down on the table as he stood.

“Ignorant child,” he muttered under his breath.

Georgie flushed. “I am not the least ignorant, and you are rude and unkind, and I don’t care if you are a duke, you are not a gentleman.”

Rochford snorted at that, staring at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. “No. I’m not.”

He stalked out of the breakfast parlour without another word, leaving Georgie to seethe in his absence.