Page 51 of The Countess Caper

Tessa shrugged.

“And why is it a secret at all?” Tessa shrugged again. Roarke sighed. “I should have sent an actual army.”

They continued to walk side by side in a companionable silence until Tessa broke it. “Why are you here, Roarke?”

“I woke up and you were gone. You ran away from me.”

Tessa did not reply. Roarke didn’t look at her, but his expression darkened.

“I didn’t like it.”

Chapter Sixteen

Mrs. Pompadour, with her preternatural abilities, was not surprised to see Roarke, and in fact had just rolled out the tea cart. Paulette shadowed her anxiously. She looked ready to bolt. Or break down in tears.

Tessa narrowed her eyes at the housekeeper. “Did you know he was coming?”

Mrs. Pompadour shook her head. “I did not.” She bobbed a quick, efficient curtsy. “My lord.”

“Mrs. P,” he returned. He didn’t say anything else. She didn’t seem bothered and so clearly knew him well enough not to be offended. Or cowed. Paulette was another matter. The tremble started in her hands and traveled right up to her mouth.

The others trailed in from all corners of the house. Lennox cradled Parsley in his arms, where she snored with surprising force for a wee thing barely a month old.

“Is that little Parsley?” Roarke asked.

“If you wake her, I will hobble you,” Lennox replied. He paused. “My lord.”

Roarke only grunted in response. Earls had maimed and killed for less irreverence than that. Paulette squeaked as if she was about to witness a murder.

Mrs. Pompadour clucked her tongue. “We’ll have tea,” she said. It sounded more like a warning.

She stepped aside, waiting for Tessa to pour. She had not poured tea like a proper viscount’s daughter for her guests in years. In fact, she’d been eleven, and it was for a strict, unsmiling governess. And later for George when her aunt was on holiday, and he needed someone to act as a proper lady of the house for his smirking, pretentious friends.

She had not been encouraged to stay and drink the tea.

Still, she didn’t know why she felt so nervous. They did not bother with tea etiquette at Magpie House—in fact, had not even had proper tea for the first two months. Rue and Holly did not care who poured; Bryony was scarcely to be seen. But Roarke was here now, sitting like a calm boulder in a spindly chair. Tessa couldn’t help sneaking glances at him. At the way the light fell on his strong jaw, the lines at the corner of his green eyes. The way he took up space without even trying. The way he noticed the new, smooth floorboards under his shoes and did not comment but seemed pleased.

Tessa went back to pouring tea. Spilled a little, rolled her eyes at herself. Mrs. Pompadour began to hand them out. Paulette assisted, keeping her eyes down any time she passed Roarke. She tripped and nearly launched a full cup of tea into his lap. He caught it, righted it in her hand. She blanched and started to babble, eyes glistening.

Mrs. Pompadour sighed then waved her away. “Go on and see to the meat pies, Paulette.”

Paulette curtsied too deeply and fled.

Rue, Holly, and Daphne sat side by side on a settee with lopsided cushions and eyed Roarke like Tess’s old governess might have—stiff-backed, suspicious, sharp. Well, that was Rue. Holly and Daphne tried not to look as nervous as they clearly felt. Marigold wandered in and stole a plate of biscuits. She looked exhausted.

It was not a particularly comfortable tea.

Tessa cast about for a topic of conversation that did not include housebreakers, murderous viscounts, or leaking roofs. Once upon a time she would have remarked on the fine early autumn weather, the apple harvest, the latest opera, someone’s newly acquired horse or brooch or house.

She was clearly out of practice.

Now she just really wanted to know of anyone was willing to help her repair the flue in the chimney in the hideous yellow parlor.

Or if Roarke was really here just because she had left him.

If he thought about their night together as often as she did.

Which was every day.