Page 56 of The Countess Caper

She produced a basket of currant buns with a dramatic flair. She drank tea. She smiled. She let the cacophony of the house soothe her.

As stated, perfectly fine.

“What’s happened?” Roarke demanded.

Tessa blinked up at him from stirring too much sugar too forcefully into her tea. They hadn’t been able to afford sugar for months now. “Pardon?”

He scowled. “Your face is funny.”

She set down her spoon. “Pardon?”

“Not funny,” he amended, suddenly hearing himself. He waved a hand. “You’re pretty as sunshine; you always have been.”

He said it as if it was a thing he had said to her a hundred times before. As if it was a given. “Um.”

Rue grinned around a mouthful of currant bun. “Sunshine, is it?” She plucked another bun from the basket and went to stuff it in her pocket for later. Mrs. Pompadour slapped her hand. More astonishingly, Rue let her. “It’s for Holly,” she grumbled.

“Holly is only eating stewed celery today,” Mrs. Pompadour replied.

“With salt,” Holly added cheerfully, over her plate of stringy green mush.

“That can’t be good for the baby.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Roarke said, his eyes still narrowed on Tessa. “Something’s happened.”

“Nothing happened.”

“You went to the village.”

“I often go to the village.”

Rue snorted at that. “You do not.”

“Traitor,” Tessa murmured.

Roarke sat back in his chair, taking up all of the available space at the table. In the room. In the whole bloody house. Did he have to exude such calm strength, such unflappableness? It was perishingly difficult to think when those clear green eyes settled on her as if she was the one taking up all of the space. “Tessa, what happened in the village?”

“Was it Mrs. Harris?” Holly asked, reaching for more salt.

Tessa wrinkled her nose. “No.”

“Of course it was,” Rue said. “What did that fussy old cow say now?”

“Nothing. Let’s have more tea.”

“Oh, that bad, was it?” Rue said, and she and Roarke exchanged a glance. “Was she at the bakery?”

Tessa sighed. “No. She was at Madame Colette’s. I wanted to find some fabric to make Parsley a toy rabbit.”

Marigold’s eyes shone. “Oh, Tessa, how kind. She’ll love it.”

“You said you wanted to,” Roarke repeated softly. “Which means you didn’t. Why not?”

She scowled back at him. “Are you a detective now? A Bow Street Runner?”

“Mayhap I should hire one. This house has more secrets than a gaming hell.”

Tessa rushed to change the subject. “Madame Colette would not sell to me. It doesn’t matter. I can use the curtains in my room.”