Page 10 of Sir Durham’s Disarming Asset

Zeph looked up at the huge glass dome ceiling and the trees above that swayed in the morning breeze. “Lovely.”

“It is, Miss Butler.” Mrs. Pratt preened, proud of the house and her station. “You must come and take your tea here at any time. Allow me to present you to our cook. Miss Butler, Mrs. Jensen.”

“How do you do, ma’am?” Zeph admired the looks of the gangly young cook who, from the aromas of scones and bacon, knew what she was about. Zeph’s mouth watered.

Rafe took Zeph’s plain brown pelisse and led her to sit at a tall, high table. “I often dine here. The warmth and the company are calming.” He arched a dark brow, and his mirth tickled her.

“I will come often, then,” she assured him.

Mrs. Pratt acted like a mother hen, flitting about. “Do sit. I will fetch tea and coffee. A moment, please.” And off she went to gather up china and wares for their breakfast.

“You look at ease,” Zeph told him. “I am pleased you can finally relax. I never wished to be such a burden.”

He reached across the table and took her hand. His, as ever, was big and warm and strong. “Never use that word with me, eh?”

She gave him a little shrug and a toss of her short curls. Was she acting the coquette? “I was your traveling companion. Now I am your niece. Do you have one? Really?”

“No.” He unbuttoned his frockcoat and fingered the tin buttons on his very ugly navy waistcoat. “A nephew.”

He had always been so cryptic and told her little of his personal life. She must draw him out. “You have a brother, then?”

“Had. He passed away. Loved his wine more than life itself. I am left with his son, my nephew, whom I try to raise to behave with a modicum of good sense.”

“I have all reason to believe that he will be a model man.”

Rafe burst out in laughter. “You think highly of me, Miss Butler.”

She let her eyes rest on his. “Give me one reason why I would not, Sir Raphael?”

“You caught that title, I see.”

“You not only change the subject, you try to evade me. I did not know you were knighted.”

“You did not need to know.”

“What else do I not need to know?” She would be dogged in the matter of learning about his marital status. He wore no wedding ring, but then, what had he done for his personal needs all these years? She could see the few strands of gray at his temples, the lines fanning from his gorgeous black eyes. “Were you ever married?”

“I thought of it…once. Never signed the papers.”

“The lady did not suit?”

“Not at all.”

She folded her hands in her lap. “You are picky.”

His green eyes turned to obsidian stone as they locked on hers. His smile held the heat of a thousand suns. “Very.”

Mrs. Pratt approached with a tray of cups and saucers, pots, and a pile of scones. “Cook is working the eggs for you. It will be only a moment. If you will excuse me, I will get Lucy to make the beds.”

At the word “beds,” Zeph met Rafe’s gaze. Part of her was thrilled that she would have more privacy than she’d had heretofore. Yet part of her yearned for Rafe’s arms around her at night, iron bonds against the cruelty of the world. His whispered words soothing her to dreamless sleep. Awakening to find him near.

The housekeeper understood that Rafe and she would not sleep together. She did not question it. She did not look amiss. Had he saved other women? Hot jealousy set Zeph’s teeth on edge.

Well…that was new. She fought down her sudden and unusual envy that he might have aided another woman, held another, kissed another’s ear and whispered of bright tomorrows. She wanted him for herself, but rampant desire had her body tingling with warmth as she watched Mrs. Pratt pour her a cup of tea.

Rafe paused, as if he held his breath, then scraped his forefinger over his lips.

Zeph had never seen him do that before.