“Guid day, leddies.” He took them all in with a glance, then looked to the inn mistress. “Ma’am, yer husband begs ye set a kettle o tar on the fire for sealing the boards.”
“Now the man’s sending the Quality on his errands instead of Ned. Where’s that boy got to?” Mrs.
Milch released Kitty’s hands.
“Gane tae the smithy tae retour the saw.”
Emily looked up. “Have you finished the stable roof already?”
“Aye, miss. Moony haunds, as ye be at weeman’s work here.” He glanced at the dough-covered table and smiled.
Kitty had to look away. Women’s work . He approved of ladies baking bread, she understood possibly three out of four words he spoke, yet his smile took her breath.
Oh, God, what was going on inside her? How could she swing from one extreme to the other?
“I am astounded at the difficulty of this task,” Emily commented. “But Mrs. Milch is a very competent teacher after so many years laboring at it.”
Kitty swallowed over her lumpy throat. “My lord, is y—” His gaze shifted to her.
“—y-your—” Her tongue failed.
An exceedingly uncomfortable silence filled the kitchen.
His mouth quirked slightly to the side. Kitty could not spare a thought to care that Emily stared at her now, or that she had never stuttered before in her life. If only he would talk more and look less she might make it through this without embarrassing herself completely.
“Is your horse all right?” she managed beneath his dark regard.
“Aye, lass. Ma thanks.” His expression remained pleasant as he broadened his attention again to include them all. He was a casual flirt. One might believe he had not in fact kissed her thoroughly on a stair the night before. But she knew his reputation, and he had no doubt kissed her because he imagined he knew hers. “Leddies, ye dae us all a fine service far the holidays.”
“There’ll be no goose,” Mrs. Milch muttered.
“Who needs goose when fine ladies are about such noble work?” Mr. Cox announced at the earl’s shoulder, casting a pleased glance about the chamber.
“There is nothing noble in baking bread, Mr. Cox,” Emily stated. “The poor labor at such work and they are barely compensated for it.”
“I have labored my whole life, Lady Marie Antoine,” he said brightly, moving to Emily’s side.
“Yet I have never had the pleasure of baking bread with a lady. I beg to assist.”
“Have you baked bread at all, sir?” She seemed truly curious.
“Why, no.” He laughed.
“Then you’d best put on an apron as well.” Mrs. Milch shook her head sorrowfully.
“You must remove your coat first,” Emily instructed.
“Certainly not in the presence of ladies.” Mr. Cox cast Kitty a playful grin and tied the cloth around his elegant coattails. “My lord, will you join me with our fair companions in this charming domestic task?”
Lord Blackwood shifted his booted feet at the threshold.
“A’ll best be leaving that tae those mair fitted.” He bowed, cast Kitty the swiftest and most enigmatic glance, and disappeared.
Kitty pulled in steadying breaths, every iota of her tingling nerves drawn to follow him.
“Mr. Cox,” she spoke to fix her feet in place, “is Mr. Yale still in the stable?” She couldn’t care less. She only wanted to know where the earl was going now. It was impossible. Grown women did not feel this way. But perhaps this was her punishment for the dishonest program she had pursued for so many years, no matter that the man she had helped bring to justice was in fact very bad.
“He has gone to the pub with the carpenter who helped us patch up that roof. Nasty business.
Nearly caught Blackwood on the shoulder.”
“He only said his horse was in the way of it,” Emily said.
“He was grooming it.” Mr. Cox set his fingertips to the dough. “Odd for a gentleman of his distinction to care for his own cattle, I say. But the nobility will have its eccentrics,” he added with a confiding smile.
Emily pointed at the round of dough. “You must put the heels of your hands into it, Mr. Cox. Like that.”
Kitty’s heart pattered. She wiped her palms on a cloth.
“Will you excuse me?” she muttered. Mrs. Milch was sufficient chaperone for Emily, a chaperone like the one Kitty ought to have had in the stairwell the night before. Emily dug into the dough anew and Mr. Cox studied her actions. Mrs. Milch did not look away from the pot of sealant. Kitty fled.
She must escape the inn, if only for a few moments. She needed cold air in her lungs to clear her clouded head. It was vastly unwise to fixate on the Earl of Blackwood, his breathtaking jaw, his skillful caress.
In the parlor Ned stood with one of the dogs. The boy’s head came up and something gold glimmered in his palm.
He grinned. “Sky’s fair clear today, milady.”
She could barely think to put together words. “It seems so.” She went toward him. Distraction of this sort was exactly what she required.
The dog snuffled his hand.
“Are you feeding treats to the animals, Ned?” She tried to smile, but her lips felt wobbly like the rest of her.
“No, ma’am. It’s only a trinket I found a fortnight since on the road down a’ways at Shrewsbury.”
His brows perched high under jutting hair. He turned his hand upward. A painted cameo covered his palm, a portrait set in a gold frame of a young woman with gold ringlets and a pleasingly dimpled cheek.
“How pretty she is, and how sad her beau must be to have lost it.” Kitty smiled, nerves jittering recklessly. Distraction, it seemed, was not helping matters.
“Reckon.” Ned tucked the cameo in his pocket, tugged his cap, and went with the dog out into the yard, where the earl had presumably gone returning to the stable. She could go out there and… No.
She would brave the icy rear stoop where she might press her fiery cheeks into a handful of snow to calm her heated nerves. Then perhaps she could throw herself into the snow entirely to cool the rest of her. She hurried toward the rear foyer for her pattens and cloak.
Lord Blackwood stood in the nook behind the stair, shoulders against the wall, one large hand covering his face. He dropped his arm, met her gaze, and a hard breath left him.
“My lord, what are you doing here?” An atrociously inelegant greeting. Now she had lost all propriety and civility. Falling, it seemed, would not be pretty.
“Catching ma breath, A think.”
Low light slanted into the foyer; she could not clearly make out his expression. But she could sense him well enough. His entire person seemed to breathe of the outdoors, of rugged, untamed northern wilderness, which was profoundly silly since his estate was quite close to Edinburgh and anyway he mostly lived in London.
She stepped toward him; indeed, she could not prevent herself from doing so. He seemed to flatten his shoulders to the wall.
“It must have been dreadfully unpleasant work.” She had nothing to say to him really. “Terribly cold. Did you go up on that roof?”
“Aye.” His jaw looked tight. Kitty imagined tasting it. She should have done so last night. Foolish oversight. Her breaths shortened.
“I understand that you were in the stable when the accident occurred.”
“Aye.”
“You were tending to your horse?” How could she get closer without appearing ridiculously obvious? Her very skin tingled to touch his.