Page 33 of The Marquis, the Minx, and the Mistletoe
Fate was a cruel mistress.
"Good Lord," came that sweet voice, perhaps a bit sterner than to which he was accustomed, but welcome all the same. "What happened to you?"
He turned to see her in the doorway, a bit dirtier than she had been, her cheeks pink with exertion.
She walked into the room and stood over him, hands on her hips, and frowned. "Did you go outside without your overcoat again?"
"Only for a moment," he mumbled, feeling all at once like a chastened child.
"Well, a moment is all it took, evidently," she replied. "They've told me that we've done all we can to secure the house, but it feels rather alarming to simply sit and wait for nature to take its course, doesn't it?"
His lips twisted into a little smile, wishing for all he was worth that nature could have taken its course in a more amenable way today. "I suppose our tour will have to wait, or at least, be confined to the halls for today."
"Yes, I suppose so," she said with a sigh, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest. "I do hope the others are well. I will have to arrange for the servants who live in the township to stay here tonight. Hopefully we have the beds and the food in good order."
He inclined his head at her, a flicker of respect lighting within him. He already liked her very well as it was. Safe to say that he had been charmed effectively by Tia as a pampered miss with a lady's education and genteel sensibilities.
Still, seeing her like this, streaked with dust and worrying about the servants, struck him as the most enticing version of her he'd seen yet. Tendrils of her bone-straight black hair were loose around her face, some sticking to the slender column of her neck with the perspiration of her efforts, and her color was high from bustling around, attempting to be as much help as she could in a moment of unexpected crisis.
If he weren't soaked through, he'd have very likely been unable to resist hauling her directly into his lap and resuming what they had begun in the stables. He had never wanted someone so badly in his life.
The clatter of hailstones against the big, plated windows in the sitting room drew both of their heads to attention. It was dark as midnight outside, despite being hardly midday.
"I think we ought to move to one of the inner rooms," Sheldon said, coming to his feet. "Perhaps that little reading room from the other night will serve as a good venue for luncheon?"
She bit her lip, appraising him in his clinging, wet attire. "I think you ought to change into something dry first, Lord Moorvale."
"Then you will have luncheon with me?" he pressed. "We'll sit by the fire and regain our warmth."
"I will, of course," she replied with a flicker of her lashes. "I will have food brought to that little room. I could certainly do with some warming."
He nodded, giving her a quick smile before hurrying off to change. For all that he anticipated hot food in his belly and dry clothes on his flesh, he found himself driven more by the many scintillating ways he might interpret Miss Tatiana Everstead's desire to be warmed.
* * *
Sheldon foundhimself fussing over the presentation of their little dinner.
Did the plates look better on the table between the chairs? Or perhaps he should leave them on the dining cart until she arrived? Should the wine be poured in advance or ought he wait until she was seated so that the empty crystal glasses looked their best as she entered the room? Where should he put the candlesticks?
He was well aware that he was losing his mind.
When she did appear, he suddenly felt too stupid to speak and instead just gave her a dim-witted grin as she came into the room, her long, dark hair swinging in a loose plait to her waist.
"Oh, that smells wonderful," she said with a contented sigh, hugging her pelisse around her shoulders.
She had changed her clothes as well, he noticed, from her borrowed finery into a set of woolen homespun, a dark orange skirt and a cream-colored blouse that, paired with her hair as it was, uncurled and braided, gave her rather the effect of a farmer's daughter. It was an effect he did not know he enjoyed quite so much up until this particular moment.
"I ate a big breakfast, but I confess I am famished again," she told him, kneeling down to greet Echo, who was waiting for her by the fire. "Hello there, beautiful. I thought you'd be with your puppies in the kitchens."
"Ah," Sheldon said, coming at least briefly to his senses. "All the puppies at once are rather a lot. Besides, I like to think she prefers my company."
"Maybe it's mine she likes," Tia replied with a teasing glint in her eye, rising to her feet and smoothing her skirt over her thighs. "Or perhaps it is just the smell of chicken stew, in truth."
"It may very well be," he confessed, some of the tension going out of his shoulders as she curled herself into an armchair without even a glance at the wine glasses. He noted that she left her slippers neatly at the foot of the chair, tucking her stockinged feet into the expanse of the cushion.
"Eating in here seemed rather uncouth to the staff," Tia told him as he settled into his own chair. She reached for her bowl of stew and tore a hunk from the shared loaf of dark bread, still steaming from the oven, "But I reasoned with them that the dining room was simply too exposed to the elements, and in the end, they saw the sense in my argument. Believe it or not, I can be rather persuasive, when the occasion calls for it."
"Oh, I've no trouble at all believing that," he replied with a chuckle. The stew truly did smell divine, and the chill in his bones would most assuredly ease with something so hearty in his belly. The first bite was pure relief, melting the brittle anxiety that had taken up residence in his mind, somehow louder even than the chaos beyond the windows.
