in my home, please do remain indoors. I have no wish to be responsible for whatever havoc you wreak upon London without my supervision.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. He’d stood when she did, and as she looked into his face, he had the gall to smile at her. He looked like a movie star, his cleft chin pronounced against his white collar, but he was the most arrogant ass she’d ever met.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to mind my Ps and Qs. I won’t be here to bother you much longer anyway.”
She slammed the dining room door shut behind her. It didn’t help. If Mrs. Knightsbridge continued to refuse to help her locate Wilhelmina and insisted on trying to make her into Mike’s ideal woman, she was going to have to change him into someone that Jamie could spend three minutes with comfortably. Right now, at 120 seconds, she was ready to clock him.
***
Micah sank back into his chair, not as happy at having bested her verbally as he thought he’d be. He felt, actually, rather disappointed in himself. Bracing his forehead in his palm, he groaned. He’d not intended that. But the letter from his ex-mistress, Collette, that had arrived that morning had eradicated his already thin patience. Miss Marten’s quite pointed barbs had shattered the last shreds of his control, causing him to fire back when he should have remained silent. Clearly his talent with the fair sex did not extend to his uninvited houseguest.
“That was a good job, wasn’t it, lad?” Micah said to Baron, whose nose was now propped on the earl’s knee. “How was it in her bed, then?”
The greyhound said not a word but gave a pointed look to his lordship’s plate. With a sigh, Micah laid the porcelain on the floor, so Baron could have at the scraps of his breakfast.
“You spoil that dog, my lord.” Mrs. Knightsbridge bustled into the dining room, smiling fondly down at the hound.
“As do you, Mrs. Knightsbridge.” Micah stood, rounding the corner of the table to block the housekeeper’s path. “Pardon me, but I’d like a moment of your time.”
She turned to him, head tilted slightly. “Of course, my lord.”
Micah clasped his hands behind his back and stood tall. “I should like to know what you think of Miss Marten.”
A slightly nervous smile crossed Mrs. Knightsbridge’s face. “Well, my lord, I think she’s a wonderful young lady. Quite spirited and beautiful, not at all in the common way.”
“Yes. A bit too far out of the common way,” Micah said with a bit of sarcasm. “Her tales are a bit fantastical, are they not? Colorful musical objects; traveling through a magic bureau from hundreds of years in the future?”
The housekeeper bit her lip and glanced away. “It is quite a tale. Do you know, I think I hear Cook calling me? Do pardon me, my lord.”
In any other household, with any other peer of the realm, a servant would never dismiss herself without leave. But Micah only quirked a smile as he watched the little round woman scurry from the room in the opposite direction from the kitchen. Mrs. Knightsbridge had always been more like a mother to him than a housekeeper, so he said nothing about her odd behavior. In truth, she behaved oddly more often than not.
Baron looked up from the now-clean plate and whined.
“You greedy cur, you have eaten more than your share.” Micah ruffled the dog’s ears as he rounded the end of the table and placed the plate back on it. He’d think about what Mrs. Knightsbridge had said. Perhaps he owed the uncommon Miss Marten an apology. She was obviously unfamiliar with his home and his time, whether or not it was through a fault of her own. He’d extended her his hospitality, and so far, he’d been a most ungracious host. If she left his home, what would become of her? As a gentleman, he could not, in good conscience, toss a young woman onto the mean streets of London. The thought was insupportable, and he chastised himself as he picked up his letters. One fluttered back to
She narrowed her eyes at him. He’d stood when she did, and as she looked into his face, he had the gall to smile at her. He looked like a movie star, his cleft chin pronounced against his white collar, but he was the most arrogant ass she’d ever met.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to mind my Ps and Qs. I won’t be here to bother you much longer anyway.”
She slammed the dining room door shut behind her. It didn’t help. If Mrs. Knightsbridge continued to refuse to help her locate Wilhelmina and insisted on trying to make her into Mike’s ideal woman, she was going to have to change him into someone that Jamie could spend three minutes with comfortably. Right now, at 120 seconds, she was ready to clock him.
***
Micah sank back into his chair, not as happy at having bested her verbally as he thought he’d be. He felt, actually, rather disappointed in himself. Bracing his forehead in his palm, he groaned. He’d not intended that. But the letter from his ex-mistress, Collette, that had arrived that morning had eradicated his already thin patience. Miss Marten’s quite pointed barbs had shattered the last shreds of his control, causing him to fire back when he should have remained silent. Clearly his talent with the fair sex did not extend to his uninvited houseguest.
“That was a good job, wasn’t it, lad?” Micah said to Baron, whose nose was now propped on the earl’s knee. “How was it in her bed, then?”
The greyhound said not a word but gave a pointed look to his lordship’s plate. With a sigh, Micah laid the porcelain on the floor, so Baron could have at the scraps of his breakfast.
“You spoil that dog, my lord.” Mrs. Knightsbridge bustled into the dining room, smiling fondly down at the hound.
“As do you, Mrs. Knightsbridge.” Micah stood, rounding the corner of the table to block the housekeeper’s path. “Pardon me, but I’d like a moment of your time.”
She turned to him, head tilted slightly. “Of course, my lord.”
Micah clasped his hands behind his back and stood tall. “I should like to know what you think of Miss Marten.”
A slightly nervous smile crossed Mrs. Knightsbridge’s face. “Well, my lord, I think she’s a wonderful young lady. Quite spirited and beautiful, not at all in the common way.”
“Yes. A bit too far out of the common way,” Micah said with a bit of sarcasm. “Her tales are a bit fantastical, are they not? Colorful musical objects; traveling through a magic bureau from hundreds of years in the future?”
The housekeeper bit her lip and glanced away. “It is quite a tale. Do you know, I think I hear Cook calling me? Do pardon me, my lord.”
In any other household, with any other peer of the realm, a servant would never dismiss herself without leave. But Micah only quirked a smile as he watched the little round woman scurry from the room in the opposite direction from the kitchen. Mrs. Knightsbridge had always been more like a mother to him than a housekeeper, so he said nothing about her odd behavior. In truth, she behaved oddly more often than not.
Baron looked up from the now-clean plate and whined.
“You greedy cur, you have eaten more than your share.” Micah ruffled the dog’s ears as he rounded the end of the table and placed the plate back on it. He’d think about what Mrs. Knightsbridge had said. Perhaps he owed the uncommon Miss Marten an apology. She was obviously unfamiliar with his home and his time, whether or not it was through a fault of her own. He’d extended her his hospitality, and so far, he’d been a most ungracious host. If she left his home, what would become of her? As a gentleman, he could not, in good conscience, toss a young woman onto the mean streets of London. The thought was insupportable, and he chastised himself as he picked up his letters. One fluttered back to
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