The water came to a boil, and Blake poured it into the china teapot, taking a sniff of the fragrant aroma as the tea began to steep. After placing a small pitcher of milk and a bowl of sugar on the tray, he picked up the service and headed back to the drawing room. He didn't really mind getting the tea; there was something rather soothing in performing the occasional mindless task. But Miss Trent was going to have to get it through her stubborn little skull that he wasn't going to play nursemaid and fetch her every whim and desire while she was living at Seacrest Manor.
He didn't want to act like some lovesick puppy, he didn't want Caroline to think he was acting like a lovesick puppy, and he certainly didn't want James to see him acting like a lovesick puppy.
It didn't matter that he wasn't the least bit lovesick. James would never let him live it down.
Blake turned the last corner and headed into the drawing room, but when his eyes fell upon the sofa, there was an empty spot where Caroline should have been, and a rather large mess on the floor.
And then he heard a rather sheepish voice say, “It was an accident. I swear.”
Chapter 8
quaff (verb). To drink deeply; to take a long draught.
I have found that when a gentleman grows ill-tempered, oftentimes the best antidote is to invite him to quaff a cup of tea.
—From the personal dictionary of Caroline Trent
Freshly cut flowers were strewn on the floor, a priceless vase was overturned but thankfully not broken, and a wet stain was seeping across Blake's very new, very expensive Aubusson carpet.
“I just wanted to smell them,” Caroline said from her position on the floor.
“You were supposed to stay still!” Blake yelled.
“Well, I know that but—”
“No ‘buts’!” he roared, checking to see that her ankle wasn't twisted in some hideous fashion.
“There is no need to shout.”
“I'LL SHOUT IF I—” He stopped, cleared his throat, and continued in a more normal tone. “I will shout if I damned well please, and I will speak like this if I damned well please. And if I want to whisper—”
“I'm sure I catch your meaning.”
“May I remind you that this is my house, and I can do anything I want?”
“You don't need to remind me,” she said agreeably.
Her friendly and accepting tone needled at him. “Miss Trent, if you are going to remain here—”
“I'm extensively grateful that you're going to let me stay,” she interjected.
“I don't care about your gratitude—”
“Nonetheless, I'm happy to offer it.”
He gritted his teeth. “We need to establish a few rules.”
“Well, yes, of course, the world needs a few rules. Otherwise, chaos would ensue, and then—”
“Would you stop interrupting me!”
She drew her head back a fraction of an inch. “I believe you just interrupted me.”
Blake counted to five before saying, “I'll ignore that.”
Her lips twisted into something that an optimistic person might call a smile. “Do you think you might lend me a hand?”
He just stared at her, uncomprehending.
“I need to get up,” Caroline explained. “My—” She broke off, not about to say to this man that her bum was getting wet. “It's damp down here,” she finally mumbled.
Blake grunted something she doubted she was meant to understand and practically slammed the tea service, which he'd clearly forgotten he was still holding, down on a side table. Before Caroline had time to blink at the crash of the tray against the table, his right hand was thrust in front of her face.
“Thank you,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster, which admittedly wasn't very much.
He helped her back to the sofa. “Don't get up again.”
“No, sir.” She gave him a jaunty salute, an act which didn't seem to have any sort of improving effect on his temper.
“Can't you ever be serious?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Saluting me, knocking all of my books down, little paper birds—can't you take anything seriously?”
Caroline narrowed her eyes, watching him wave his arms wildly as he spoke. She'd only known him a few days, but that was more than enough to know that this burst of emotion was not characteristic. Still, she didn't much appreciate having her attempts at friendship and civility tossed back in her face like so much dirty bathwater.
“Do you want to know how I define serious?” she said in a low, angry voice. “Serious is a man who orders his son to rape his ward. Serious is a young woman with no place to go. Serious is not an overturned vase and a wet carpet.”
He only scowled at her in response, so she added, “And as for my little salute—I was just trying to be friendly.”
“I don't want to be friends,” he bit off.
“Yes, I see that now.”
“You are here for two reasons, and two reasons only, and you'd best not forget that.”
“Perhaps you'd care to elucidate?”
“One: You are here to aid us in the capture of Oliver Prewitt. Two—” He cleared his throat and actually blushed before repeating the word. “Two: You are here because, after abducting you through no fault of your own, well, I owe you that much.”
“Ah, so I am not supposed to try to help around the house and garden or in any way be friendly with the servants?”
He glared at her but did not reply. Caroline took that response as an affirmative, and she gave him a nod that would have done the queen proud. “I see. In that case, perhaps you'd best not join me for tea.”