If she only knew. He cleared his throat but made no comment. He forced himself to gaze around the little cottage. There was no kitchen dresser, only the table and chairs. A pity. His belly was empty.
The rustling by the fire ceased. “You may turn around now.”
He braced himself before looking, but Lady Georgina was covered in furs. He was glad to see her lips were pinker.
She freed a naked arm from the bundle to point at a robe on the other side of the fireplace. “I’ve left one for you. I’m too comfortable to move, but I’ll close my eyes and promise not to peek if you wish to disrobe as well.”
Harry dragged his gaze away from the arm and met her clever blue eyes. “Thank you.”
The arm disappeared. Lady Georgina smiled, and her eyelids fell.
For a moment Harry simply watched her. The reddish arcs of her eyelashes fluttered against her pale skin, and a smile hovered on her crooked mouth. Her nose was thin and overlong, the angles of her face a bit too sharp. When she stood, she almost equaled his own height. She wasn’t a beautiful woman, but he found himself having to control his gaze when he was around her. Something about the twitching of her lips when she was about to taunt him. Or the way her eyebrows winged up her forehead when she smiled. His eyes were drawn to her face like iron filings near a lodestone.
He shucked his upper garments and drew the last robe around himself. “You may open your eyes now, my lady.”
Her eyes popped open. “Good. And now we both look like Russians swathed for the Siberian winter. A pity we don’t have a sleigh with bells as well.” She smoothed the fur on her lap.
He nodded. The fire crackled in the silence as he tried to think of how else he could look after her. There was no food in the cottage; nothing to do but wait for dawn. How did the upper crust behave when they were in their palatial sitting rooms all alone?
Lady Georgina was plucking at her robe, but she suddenly clasped her hands together as if to still them. “Do you know any stories, Mr. Pye?”
“Stories, my lady?”
“Mmm. Stories. Fairy tales, actually. I collect them.”
“Indeed.” Harry was at a loss. The aristocracy’s way of thinking was truly amazing sometimes. “How, may I ask, do you go about collecting them?”
“By inquiring.” Was she having fun with him? “You’d be amazed at the stories people remember from their youth. Of course, old nursemaids and the like are the best sources. I believe I’ve asked every one of my acquaintances to introduce me to their old nurse. Is yours still alive?”
“I didn’t have a nursemaid, my lady.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks reddened. “But someone—your mother?—must’ve told you fairy tales growing up.”
He shifted to put another piece of the broken chair on the fire. “The only fairy tale I can remember is Jack and the Beanstalk.”
Lady Georgina gave him a pitying look. “Can’t you do better than that?”
“I’m afraid not.” The other tales he knew weren’t exactly fit for a lady’s ears.
“Well, I heard a rather interesting one recently. From my cook’s aunt when she came to visit Cook in London. Would you like me to tell it to you?”
No. The last thing he needed was to become any more intimate with his employer than the situation had already forced him to be. “Yes, my lady.”
“Once upon a time, there was a great king and he had an enchanted leopard to serve him.” She wiggled her rump on the chair. “I know what you’re thinking, but that’s not how it goes.”
Harry blinked. “My lady?”
“No. The king dies right away, so he’s not the hero.” She looked expectantly at him.
“Ah.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.
It seemed to do.
Lady Georgina nodded. “The leopard wore a sort of gold chain around its neck. It was enslaved, you see, but I don’t know how that came about. Cook’s aunt didn’t say. Anyway, when the king was dying, he made the leopard promise to serve the next king, his son.” She frowned. “Which doesn’t seem very fair, somehow, does it? I mean, usually they free the faithful servant at that point.” She shifted again on the wooden chair.
Harry cleared his throat. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable on the floor. Your cloak is drier. I could make a pallet.”
She smiled blindingly at him. “What a good idea.”
He spread out the cloak and rolled his own clothes to form a pillow.
Lady Georgina shuffled over in her robes and plopped down on the crude bed. “That’s better. You might as well come lie down as well; we’ll be here until morning, most likely.”
Christ. “I don’t think it advisable.”
She looked down her narrow nose at him. “Mr. Pye, those chairs are hard. Please come lie on the rugs at least. I promise not to bite.”
His jaw clenched, but he really had no choice. It was a veiled order. “Thank you, my lady.”
Harry gingerly sat beside her—he’d be damned if he would lie down next to this woman, order or no—and left a space between their bodies. He wrapped his arms around his bent knees and tried not to notice her scent.
“You are stubborn, aren’t you?” she muttered.
He looked at her.
She yawned. “Where was I? Oh, yes. So the first thing the young king does is to see a painting of a beautiful princess and fall in love with her. A courtier or a messenger or some such shows it to him, but that doesn’t matter.”
She yawned again, squeaking this time, and for some reason his prick responded to the sound. Or perhaps it was her scent, which reached his nose whether he wished it to or not. It reminded him of spices and exotic flowers.
“The princess has skin as white as snow, lips as red as rubies, hair as black as, oh, pitch or the like, et cetera, et cetera.” Lady Georgina paused and stared into the fire.
He wondered if she was done and his torment over.
Then she sighed. “Have you ever noticed that these fairy-tale princes fall in love with beautiful princesses without knowing a thing about them? Ruby lips are all very well, but what if she laughs oddly or clicks her teeth when she eats?” She shrugged. “Of course, men in our times are just as apt to fall in love with glossy black curls, so I suppose I shouldn’t quibble.” Her eyes widened suddenly, and she turned her head to look at him. “No offense meant.”
“None taken,” Harry said gravely.