Page 74 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
Stepping forward, he took a petal between his fingers and rubbed it. He should see about acquiring a gardener. Then she could have flowers all around the house, inside and out.
He jerked back his hand. She didn’t need flowers here. She would be leaving soon. She wasn’t a permanent resident.
Yet as he headed toward the kitchen, he couldn’t deny that he’d become accustomed to having a housekeeper about. He’d have to hire one. But even as he made a mental note to do so, he knew he would find her lacking simply because she wasn’t Phee.
As Phee dragged the brush through Daisy’s mane, she marveled at her own contentment, amused that she had fought so hard against believing she was actually a servant. While none of her cooking lessons seemed to bring forth any memories, she was mastering the task, and she could scarcely wait to serve this evening’s meal to Drake. She was purchasing little odds and ends for the residence, but she wanted to speak with him about purchasing more. She wanted to make his residence more homey—even if it meant more dusting and tidying for her. She didn’t mind it so much, well, most of it, anyway. The windows still needed cleaning and she didn’t fancy the scrubbing and polishing of floors. She would suggest they hire someone to assist her as the chores increased. It seemed only fair.
“Is that your brush you’re using?”
Jumping only a little at the brusque tone, she turned to Drake. His shirt was mostly unbuttoned, his feet bare, his hair tousled, his jaw shadowed. She loved him like this, when he came down to begin preparing his bathwater, before he tidied up. Although if she were completely honest, she loved to look at him just as much when he was tidied up. Scoundrel, rake, or gentleman. He always fascinated her.
“I just finished bathing her,” she told him, “and I wanted to get the tangles out of her mane. I didn’t see that I had any other choice except to use yours and I didn’t think you’d appreciate that at all.”
“It’s silver.” He said the words in a manner that suggested they explained everything.
“Well, yes, I’m quite aware of that. I know it was costly, but—”
“You’re using it on a horse? Ahorse?”
“Her mane was so snarled. I was feeling badly about it. You’ve set up a trough for her water. You feed her. I wanted to pamper her for a bit.”
“Why didn’t you say something? I could have purchased what you required.”
“You were already abed. I’d finished my chores, and it just hit me that I wanted to do it. Besides, she’s already cost you a fortune. I didn’t want to be a nuisance.”
His eyes widened. “You? Not be a nuisance? That is like saying the sun does not shine.”
“Well, thank you very much for that.”
“You don’t use a lady’s brush on a horse.”
Was he going to rant about it forever? She’d had quite enough of it.
“And your hands. You’re carting buckets of water after I told you not to.”
“They’ve healed,” she said. Rough and a bit callused but healed.
He didn’t seem to be listening to her, he was so caught up in his own fury. “You don’t think things through,” he carried on. And on. And on. As though she’d done something monstrously unthinkable.
She hefted the pail that contained the leftover water she’d planned to use on Rose. Doing exactly as he accused, she didn’t bother to consider consequences or ramifications as she tossed the contents at him.
His diatribe came to an abrupt halt as he jerked back, blinking at her while the water dripped down his face, caught in the stubble at his jaw, soaked his shirt and trousers.
She released a small laugh. “I didn’t mean for it all to hit you. I only wanted a bit—”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re going to pay for that.”
With a low growl, he charged. She shrieked, dropped the bucket, and ran. Or intended to run. She’d barely taken three steps before he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder.
“I’m not a sack of potatoes!” While she tried to sound indignant, it was a little difficult to do when she was laughing. She didn’t know why it struck her as funny. Perhaps because he was always so somber and serious that she had rather enjoyed catching him unawares and eliciting such an unexpected reaction from him.
“You’re going to be adrenchedsack of potatoes,” he said, striding across the grass with purpose in each step.
Pressing her hands to his back, she lifted herself just enough to cast a quick glance over his shoulder, to determine his destination. The water trough? Surely not. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I believe I would.”
His hand came to rest on her bottom. The world suddenly went topsy-turvy, grass, sky—
