Page 24 of A Figure of Love

Serena poured herself a cup and added a little milk, selecting one of the cream-filled cakes even though she had promised to exert some restraint when it came to her teas. In the weeks she had been here the magnificent food had begun to tell and her gowns were all a bit snug, even with all the activity that took up much of her days.

She looked up to find both men watching her. “Mr. McElroy tells me you have returned to the area to inspect a brewery?” she asked her employer.

“That is correct. It is possible we may consider investing in it.”

“Do you consider any kind of business?”

“Our decisions are based on a variety of factors that all contribute to the health of a business.”

“We also bury a potato on the west side of a building during a full moon before we make up our minds,” McElroy added.

Serena had a mouthful of cake and almost choked on it. Mr. McElroy winked at her.

Mr. Lockheart sighed. “I came to see how the work was progressing and bring the horses.”

“Horses?” She glanced from man to man, “I saw only the one.”

Lockheart sipped his tea before answering. “We brought six in all. One among them should be suitable for your son.”

“You brought a horse for Oliver? But—”

“Jessup informed me you had rented two horses from the livery stable in the village. He indicated that,” there was a slight hitch, “your son was an accomplished rider.”

Serena realized her mouth was open and shut it. She looked at the Irishman, who was managing to smirk and drink tea at the same time. Lockheart’s eyes were as unreadable as the moon and not dissimilar in color. He had cut his hair since last she’d last seen him and she would have sworn his face was slightly thinner, as if he had been ill or not eating well. She shook her head to dismiss the thought. The horses, she reminded herself.

“That is very kind of you, Mr. Lockheart. I assure you, you needn’t—”

He waved one hand and a flicker of something that looked like irritation crossed his face. “It is something I wished to do, so I did it. There is no need to thank me.”

Serena blinked at his rather abrupt tone.

The silence was so loud it clanged like a bell.

McElroy’s chuckle broke it. “You’re doing it again, Gare.”

Two bright strips of red appeared like slashes over Lockheart’s high, sharp cheekbones.

He sighed. “I apologize, Mrs. Lombard. It was not my intention to be discourteous.” Lockheart’s shapely lips flexed into a frown. “I’m afraid you will find my manners are often . . .wanting.”

“Quite savage, really,” the Irishman added, popping an entire cake into his mouth and managing to smile around it.

Serena could not decipher the look Lockheart cut his friend. But when he turned back to her, he wore the same undecipherable expression. “Yes, savage is perhaps more accurate. Fortunately today I have Mr. McElroy nearby to apologize or translate for me.”

Unabashed, the Irishman nodded. “Mr. Lockheart just made a joke, Mrs. Lombard. You may laugh now.”

Serena couldn’t help laughing and the tension drained from the room.

“I believe I’ll need another of those fairy cakes, ma’am.” McElroy presented his plate and Serena transferred a delicate pastry onto it with two forks.

The Irishman raised his eyebrows at the method of serving but made no comment.

“Would you care for more tea, Mr. Lockheart?”

His response was to bring his cup to her. She refilled it, handed it back, and smiled up at him. His disconcerting eyes were on her, serious and unreadable, his handsome features bland. Serena swallowed and wondered if he noticed the hitch in her breathing, which to her was as noisy as the rasp of a saw.

“Thank you.”

“I understand this is a first for you, Mrs. Lombard?” McElroy’s question seemed to come from a long way off.