twinkled with intelligence and guile.
“Don’t be so saucy, Mr. Brownlow. We’ve only just met, and I don’t hold with overfamiliarity with men I don’t know anything about.”
“Ah well, we’ll have to rectify that, won’t we? What do you want to know about me?” He was moving about the kitchen as he spoke, working efficiently through the ritual of making the tea.
“I…I don’t know.” Polly felt flummoxed. As he neared the stove again, he unbuttoned his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair, then rolled up his sleeves to show strong, well-shaped forearms. “Who are you, really? Why are you here? And who’s your Mr. Ritchie when he’s all at home?”
“So many questions… Let’s have our tea, eh? And then maybe I’ll answer some of them.” He waggled his eyebrows at her in a way that made her belly tingle. “When’s your Cook coming back, by the way? Will she be long?”
“Oh, she’ll be a while. I think one of the stallholders is sweet on her, so who knows when she’ll be back. I don’t like to think of what they’re up to, an old bird like her…and Enid will just wander around willy-nilly if there’s nobody to supervise her.” Polly grimaced. “We’re not a very well-run household, are we?”
“There’s worse about, Polly. I wouldn’t worry.” He shrugged.
She barely knew him, and yet, suddenly, she loved the way he moved, so loose and so easy. He was originally a country man, she guessed, and he still had a free way about his body as if only yesterday he’d been out trudging fields and copses with broken gun over his arm. For a moment, she frowned at the piercing pang of yearning, remembering her lost Sam, who’d always loved the outdoors. It was cruel how he and Mr. Tommy had died in the same boating accident, leaving both her and her beautiful mistress lost and distraught.
“Wake up, Polly!”
She blinked, finding Jamie before her with a steaming cup of tea.
“Sorry, I was miles away.”
“In a happy place?”
Yes, it had been. But dwelling morbidly on the past wasn’t her habit, and like Miss Bea, she always tried to make the best of life and look forward rather than backward.
“It was once,” she said, “but me, I like to make every place I pitch up in the best I can.”
“Me too. Hitch up.” Taking his own cup, Jamie edged his way onto the narrow sofa beside her, and Polly’s last wisps of melancholy dissolved in the sudden excitement of his proximity.
Lord, but he was a forward so-and-so!
Polly wasn’t complaining though. He was handsome and he smelled lovely. She gave him an arch look and he waggled his eyebrows at her again as if he knew she thought he was forward but didn’t care.
“It’s a good philosophy is live for the moment.” He took a sip of his tea, then put the cup down on the floor beside him. “I like to take advantage of every opportunity. You never know what’s around the corner, do you, sweetheart?”
“True, very true.” Polly sipped her own tea, barely tasting it, then placed the cup on the shelf next to the sofa.
She did like to seize any opportunity. For happiness. For pleasure. Since she’d lost her Sam. She was a careful girl and didn’t take silly risks, but there were ways to enjoy oneself without treading the road to ruin.
And you know that, don’t you, Jamie?
She looked into his lambent eyes and knew he understood her without having to spell it out.
“You’re still worrying about your mistress, aren’t you?” he said unexpectedly. “But you shouldn’t. The boss admires your Miss Beatrice…and he wants her…but he’ll take care of her too. He’s like that.”
Polly opened her mouth to quiz him as to what exactly Mr. Ritchie’s intentions were, but no words came out, because Jamie lunged forward—and kissed her fair and square.
It was so sudden that her lips remained soft and pliant, quiescent with surprise. She blinked furiously, aware he was looking into her eyes as he kissed her, his
“Don’t be so saucy, Mr. Brownlow. We’ve only just met, and I don’t hold with overfamiliarity with men I don’t know anything about.”
“Ah well, we’ll have to rectify that, won’t we? What do you want to know about me?” He was moving about the kitchen as he spoke, working efficiently through the ritual of making the tea.
“I…I don’t know.” Polly felt flummoxed. As he neared the stove again, he unbuttoned his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair, then rolled up his sleeves to show strong, well-shaped forearms. “Who are you, really? Why are you here? And who’s your Mr. Ritchie when he’s all at home?”
“So many questions… Let’s have our tea, eh? And then maybe I’ll answer some of them.” He waggled his eyebrows at her in a way that made her belly tingle. “When’s your Cook coming back, by the way? Will she be long?”
“Oh, she’ll be a while. I think one of the stallholders is sweet on her, so who knows when she’ll be back. I don’t like to think of what they’re up to, an old bird like her…and Enid will just wander around willy-nilly if there’s nobody to supervise her.” Polly grimaced. “We’re not a very well-run household, are we?”
“There’s worse about, Polly. I wouldn’t worry.” He shrugged.
She barely knew him, and yet, suddenly, she loved the way he moved, so loose and so easy. He was originally a country man, she guessed, and he still had a free way about his body as if only yesterday he’d been out trudging fields and copses with broken gun over his arm. For a moment, she frowned at the piercing pang of yearning, remembering her lost Sam, who’d always loved the outdoors. It was cruel how he and Mr. Tommy had died in the same boating accident, leaving both her and her beautiful mistress lost and distraught.
“Wake up, Polly!”
She blinked, finding Jamie before her with a steaming cup of tea.
“Sorry, I was miles away.”
“In a happy place?”
Yes, it had been. But dwelling morbidly on the past wasn’t her habit, and like Miss Bea, she always tried to make the best of life and look forward rather than backward.
“It was once,” she said, “but me, I like to make every place I pitch up in the best I can.”
“Me too. Hitch up.” Taking his own cup, Jamie edged his way onto the narrow sofa beside her, and Polly’s last wisps of melancholy dissolved in the sudden excitement of his proximity.
Lord, but he was a forward so-and-so!
Polly wasn’t complaining though. He was handsome and he smelled lovely. She gave him an arch look and he waggled his eyebrows at her again as if he knew she thought he was forward but didn’t care.
“It’s a good philosophy is live for the moment.” He took a sip of his tea, then put the cup down on the floor beside him. “I like to take advantage of every opportunity. You never know what’s around the corner, do you, sweetheart?”
“True, very true.” Polly sipped her own tea, barely tasting it, then placed the cup on the shelf next to the sofa.
She did like to seize any opportunity. For happiness. For pleasure. Since she’d lost her Sam. She was a careful girl and didn’t take silly risks, but there were ways to enjoy oneself without treading the road to ruin.
And you know that, don’t you, Jamie?
She looked into his lambent eyes and knew he understood her without having to spell it out.
“You’re still worrying about your mistress, aren’t you?” he said unexpectedly. “But you shouldn’t. The boss admires your Miss Beatrice…and he wants her…but he’ll take care of her too. He’s like that.”
Polly opened her mouth to quiz him as to what exactly Mr. Ritchie’s intentions were, but no words came out, because Jamie lunged forward—and kissed her fair and square.
It was so sudden that her lips remained soft and pliant, quiescent with surprise. She blinked furiously, aware he was looking into her eyes as he kissed her, his
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