No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(15)

Finally, he leaned close. “Lady Juliana?” he said.

She took a deep breath and continued sleeping.

“My lady?” he said a bit louder. He didn’t want to scare her, but he couldn’t let her continue to sleep. It would be time for dinner soon, and he had questions for her before he left for the night. “My lady,” he said a bit louder. He’d been surrounded by boys for the last hour, and she smelled nothing like boy. She smelled of freshly cut roses, a scent so light and pretty it reminded him of his father’s country estate on a spring morning. Perhaps it was the soap she used to clean her hair. He leaned a bit closer to sniff it, and she opened her dark eyes and looked at him.

He pulled back immediately, standing at strict attention.

“Oh!” She sat straight and blinked as though she didn’t know quite where she was. Then she lifted an arm and brushed the hair from her face. Neil could imagine her doing so when she first woke in the morning, and he had the sudden urge to be in her bed and see for himself. She’d changed out of her ball gown and now wore a muslin gown of yellow with reddish-pink flowers. The neckline was higher and the sleeves longer, so it didn’t show as much flesh.

Not that he’d been hoping to see any. He looked away and then, because she wasn’t Draven or Wellington, relaxed his posture.

“I apologize for startling you. The boys and I fixed you something to eat.”

“You… I’m sorry. What did you say?”

He moved to the side and indicated the tray. “We made you tea and toast. It’s not much, but I have limited resources.”

In fact, he wanted to speak to her about the lack of any foodstuffs in the larder. But first, she needed to eat.

She stared at the tray, and he wasn’t certain she’d heard anything he’d said. She rose slowly and stalked toward the tray as though she were a cat and it a dangerous, unidentified object. Finally, she stopped before the food and stared down at it. Then she looked up at him. “You made this?”

“Walter and Charlie made it. I supervised.”

“Walter? How did you convince Walter to do anything but sulk?” She put a hand to her heart. “What did you do to him?”

“Not what I would have done had he been about five years older.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “The boys are fine. The kitchen is clean, and I am on my way to inspect the dormitories.”

“You persuaded the boys to cook and clean?” She still hadn’t so much as lifted the teacup.

“In a manner of speaking. Do you plan to drink that tea before it becomes cold?”

She looked down at the tray as though seeing it for the first time. Then she lifted the teacup and tasted it. She nodded her approval and nibbled on the toast, licking a drop of butter from her plump bottom lip. Neil gritted his teeth.

“This is very good. Thank you. I…I don’t know what to say. I am certain neither your father nor mine intended you to cook for me or play nursemaid to a dozen orphans.”

He shrugged. “I was in the army, my lady. I follow orders, and my orders were to make certain you are safe and well. If that means I feed you, so be it. I’m not helpless. I didn’t have a batman for much of my service, so I learned to take care of myself. Not only can I cook and clean, I can also do laundry.” He narrowed his eyes. “Though I’ll want more than a thank-you if I have to wash the boys’ drawers. Now, yours”—he winked—“I’ll do for free.”

Her cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink, and she took a rather large sip of tea. Fortunately, it had cooled and she didn’t burn her mouth. “I have a washerwoman come once a week to wash the clothes and linens. Your services in that arena will not be required.”

*

She would have thought he’d look more relieved, but he merely nodded. He had a way of nodding that made her feel as though she were a soldier. In fact, everything he did was done with precision and in an orderly fashion. He stood straight and tall, hands clasped behind his back in a not-quite-relaxed stance. He didn’t so much as shift his weight as he stood. He was perfectly still, the occasional head nod or gesture done with a brusque authority.

With his sultry good looks and sea-blue eyes, had she met him on the street, she would never have guessed he was a soldier. But now she could hardly imagine him as anything else. Only that sweep of dark hair brushed back from his forehead suggested any tolerance for a lack of strictness and order.

“Did your teacher resign?” he asked, and she realized she’d been staring at him. Again! She wanted to sink onto the long, apple-green couch and wait for her wobbly knees to stop shaking. Instead, she studied her toast intently and tried to think of something besides running her hands through that thick hair. Teacher… He’d mentioned a teacher.

“Oh, Mrs. Fleming?” She glanced up at him, and he frowned.

“You had better sit down and eat more toast.”

“I’m perfectly fine. I was merely thinking of…something else.” Her lips on his temple, his eyes meting hers… She cleared her throat. “Yes, she did resign. But”—she raised a finger—“I have a plan.”

One of his thick brows rose slowly. “Do you?”

“I have written to my former governess and asked her to come and help until I can find a permanent teacher. I thought if she could keep my sister and me in line, these orphans will be easy for her.”