now he’s paying me off. ‘It will be a loan. Just as soon as I have employment and a wage, I’ll repay him.’
Mrs Semple made a noise that might have been agreement, might have been disbelief. She was looking out of the window with a frown that wrinkled her brow.
‘Mrs Semple, I am not his mistress. What you saw last night—’
‘Was quite innocent on your side. Yes, I know.’ The housekeeper turned and smiled.
‘On both sides.’
‘He’s a man, and I doubt he’s been an innocent for many years, Miss Ellery. No, don’t bristle up, he’s no predator on decent girls, he won’t be after seducing you. Or worse. But, like I say, he’s a man, you are a woman, and a pretty one under all that drab clothing and bandages. If he didn’t take an interest I’d be worried about his health.’
A half delighted, half shocked snort of laughter escaped Tess. ‘You know Lord Weybourn very well?’
‘Since we were both six years old. My father was the Earl of Moreland’s estate manager. Alex is a good man. Stubborn as his sire, though.’ The frown was back.
‘You worry about him, don’t you? What has gone so wrong with his family?’
Mrs Semple’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘That’s his story to tell you. But I will tell you something. He is flagellating himself for leaving you somewhere that wasn’t safe for you. You’ll hurt his pride, if nothing else, if you make a fuss about paying him back for a few bits and pieces and a decent wardrobe of clothes.’
‘He wasn’t to know there would be any problem,’ Tess protested. ‘And he certainly wasn’t to blame.’
‘If he had taken you to the canal boat in time, then none of this would have happened, and I know you should have insisted and so on and so forth, but Alex Tempest has an over-developed sense of responsibility for all that care-nothing air he pretends to have. So are you going to make him miserable or are you going to swallow your pride and enjoy some decent clothes?’
‘I’ll swallow it,’ Tess conceded. I’m so far down that Primrose Path I may as well face the fact that I’m ruined and have a man buy me clothes. It was a pity I couldn’t be ruined properly while I was at it though... The thought caught her unawares and she scrabbled in her purse for a handkerchief to turn her gasp into a cough. ‘But nice clothes aren’t suitable for someone looking for a post as a governess.’
‘We’ll see. I suspect when Lord Weybourn puts his mind to it he’ll be able to steer you in the direction of something rather more elevated than your convent might have done.’ Mrs Semple’s gaze rested on her speculatively. ‘Hmm. Yes, I can see all sorts of possibilities.’ The frown vanished to be replaced with a mischievous smile. ‘Now let’s get this kitten settled and make a list of what you need. And call me Hannah, please.’
‘Where the blazes is my coffee?’ Alex enquired of thin air. The dining room was bereft of footmen, his coffee jug had been empty for ten minutes, there was no sign of his toast and the fire needed making up. He should have known it was too good to last, the peace and quiet and order that had reigned for almost a week since the departure of Tess and the kitten.
He wasn’t helpless and it wasn’t above his dignity to grapple with the coal tongs, but even so... With a sigh he got up, mended the fire and then gave the bell pull a prolonged tug. Silence. The hall, when he looked out, was deserted, the front door still bolted.
It was not unheard of for housebreakers to raid London houses, tie up the staff and make off with the silver with the owners none the wiser for hours. Breakfast time was a strange time to attempt it, though. Feeling slightly melodramatic, Alex retrieved his cane from the hall stand and walked softly to the service door under the stairs.
He was halfway down, wincing as a tread creaked, when he heard a thump and a clatter and took the remaining stairs in three strides. In the kitchen, her back to him, was a strange woman in a green gown. He could see the large bow of the voluminous apron that was wrapped round her, her glossy dark hair was topped by a large white cap; she had a badly bent toasting fork in one hand and the remains of half a dozen slices of bread around her feet.
‘You useless male object, you!’ she announced in tones of loathing.
One glance around the kitchen was enough to show Alex that he was the only male in sight. ‘Madam? If you care to tell me who you are I will endeavour to be of rather more utility.’
She whirled round, trampling the bread in the process. ‘Oh, no,’ Tess said flatly. ‘You.’
‘Me,’ Alex agreed and propped the cane unobtrusively in a corner. So not burglars, but an invasion that was far less easy to deal with. He told himself that the feeling in his chest was the after-effects of stalking burglars. Or dread. ‘What are you doing here—other than pulverising bread and breaking the kitchen equipment—and where is Mrs Semple?’
Tess moved into the light. Oh, my God, her face. The bruise was now multicoloured and she had the fading remains of a black eye. ‘And you are supposed to be resting that ankle.’ Alex trampled on the urge to scoop her up and make her lie down. She wouldn’t thank him for mentioning the way she looked, and thinking about it would probably only make it hurt more. And once I have my hands on her I may not be able to let go.
‘Hannah is very much under the weather and in bed with a headache, so I am attempting to make your breakfast. Everything was going well, wasn’t it?’ She tossed the toasting fork on to the table and frowned at him. ‘The ham and eggs? The sausage? The hot rolls? They were all perfect, I thought. Only there is no more coffee and Noel knocked the bread off the table the moment I had sliced it and I bent the toasting fork when I made a dive for it.’
‘Where are MacDonald and Phipps? Or Byfleet, come to that?’ One end of the table was laid for four breakfasts with plates at various stages from egg smeared to laden but scarcely touched.
‘MacDonald has run out for coffee and bread. I sent Phipps to the lodging house with some medicine that Hannah asked for. Byfleet has gone to Jermyn Street, I think. Buying shirts.’ That was delivered in a rapid mutter from a crouched position on the floor where Tess was retrieving broken slices of bread.
‘Dare I ask why he needs to buy shirts at this time in the morning?’ The nape of her neck was exposed, soft and pale and vulnerable, begging for his lips. Alex took the toasting fork, braced the wrought iron handle against the tabletop and leaned on it. It was more or less straight when he squinted down the length. His brain was more or less in control of his animal instincts, too.
Tess stood up with her hands full of bread, flinched when she found herself facing the prongs and looked round for somewhere to deposit her load.
‘On the fire,’ Alex suggested.
‘Throw food on the fire? I can’t do that. Sister Peter says it goes straight to the devil if you do that.’
‘And you believe her?’
‘Of course not.’ Tess found the slop bucket and tossed in the broken slices. ‘But it’s like not walking under ladders and tossing salt over your shoulder—one just gets into the habit.’
‘And
