“I’m not hungry,” I reply. “I just need coffee.”
Breakfast this morning will be served in the dining room, as always after a formal dinner with guests. But I’m not ready to face the horde and their speculative looks, not that I particularly care what they think or feel the need to explain myself.
One of the perks of being at the top of the family tree.
Isla pauses at the entrance to the family kitchen, effectively blocking my way. “Portia keep you awake last night?”
“You know better than that.” With a sigh, I fold my arms. Portia was in a room far, far from mine; Chrissy never was very fond of her. Not that she’s in her room now because after breakfast, I was informed she’d left Kilblair already but had left a note. The note was, understandably, terse and informed me that after I disappeared last night, she’d asked John to take her home this morning. So her apology, and final goodbye, will need to be postponed for a while.
“Are you going to let me pass,” I say next, “because when I say I could kill for a coffee, I’m not entirely sure it’s a hyperbole.”
Her gaze flicks over my face. “You haven’t shaved,” she announces with a frown.
“I’m aware.” I run my hand over my bristled chin. “When in Scotland . . .”
“Fine,” she retorts in an irritable tone as she pivots and thunders her way into the family kitchen.
I might be at the top of the family tree, but that’s not to say everyone agrees with me.
“You’re not joining our guests?” she asks, or more likely suggests. I shake my head as she turns to the sink, sliding her retort over her shoulder. “Why? Are you worried you might find another of your conquests in there, wearing an apron?”
“That’s unfair, Isla.” I know she doesn’t like Portia, but I sensed no animosity towards Holland last night. And she knows I’ve never dallied with a member of staff before. It’s not a question of it being “them and us”. I just respect the status quo and value their help far too much.
Well, that and I’d never met Holland before now.
I wonder what would’ve happened if we hadn’t met in London first.
“If you aren’t going down to breakfast, why should I?” she retorts, patently ignoring my rebuke as water explodes from the tap. She begins to rinse a cup as though it owes her money.
“Because you have a much better sense of decorum,” I answer carefully as she turns and thrusts the dripping cup at me. Shaking the excess water from it, I slide it under the spout of the coffee machine.
“Fine. I’ll show my face at breakfast, but—”
Leaning my hip against the kitchen worktop, I tap my ear feeling a wee bit smug. For something that was so ridiculously expensive, it does (thankfully for this purpose) make a lot of noise.
I can feel Isla practically fuming as I turn my back on her to retrieve my coffee. “I’m sorry. You were saying.”
“I’ll go down to breakfast,” she grinds out. “But you will make time for me this morning. My office or yours?”
“Either.” I shrug, unconcerned. “But first, tell me where I can find Holland. I need to speak with her.”
“No.” Her reply sounds more like ha! “And I think you’ll find she prefers being called Holly.”
“What do you mean, no?” I glower her way, my voice dropping to the tone I use when I’m playing the arsehole duke. The rest I ignore as inconsequential. Holly she may be to others. Holland is how she’ll always be to me.
“Oh, get over yourself, Sandy.” As quick as a flash, she snatches up a sugar lump from the nearby pot, unceremoniously dropping it to my coffee cup. The dark liquid sloshes, spilling over the edge onto my brogues. “Something to sweeten your mood.”
“You should take a dose of your own medicine,” I mutter. “Now, where can I find Holland?”
“It’s on the continent,” she answers, her voice clear and bright. “In between Belgium and Germany, I believe. Shall I pull out an atlas for you, just to be sure?”
“Fine. I’ll look for her myself.”
“I never thought I’d see you turn into our father,” she murmurs, snatching up a teaspoon from the countertop as though to study it.
The barb is well-aimed. Bad enough that I’d thought it myself first.
“I am not having this conversation with you.”
She snaps the spoon back where it rattles against the marble. “Don’t think for one moment that it went unnoticed when you locked yourself in the library last night. As if that wasn’t bad enough, you disappeared after the poor girl following dinner, leaving me to deal with your guests, I might add. I have never been so embarrassed, and I recently found my husband inside of my fucking nanny!”
“Don’t say something you’ll regret.” I really have no defence for my actions, but I can’t regret them.
“What? Like you’re no better than him?”
I thought for a moment that she might say something to the detriment of Holland. She can complain about me until the cows once home, and she has done since we were old enough to talk. I’m glad I was wrong.
“Is that what you truly think?”
“Please don’t tell me you’ve done something foolish, Sandy.”
“That’s quite a broad definition,” I murmur, staring into the dark brew.
“You haven’t already screwed her.” She’s not asking, but she is worried.
“Are you concerned about her good name or ours?”
“We haven’t got a good name,” she huffs out a response, skirting around me crisply as she makes for the door. “My study is closer. There’s less chance we’ll be overheard.”
“You want to do this now?”
“Breakfast can wait,” she answers sharply, turning right as she makes her way to our mother’s old study. Putting down my cup, I follow her and find Gertie trotting along in my sister’s wake.
“I take it you’re hiding her from me this morning,” I murmur, closing the door behind me.
“No, but I will if I have to,” she replies, keeping her eyes on her beloved dog. Gertie waddles off to a well-worn corner of the rug, circles once, then twice, before she settles down. “I hear the Duffy’s are expecting another child soon.” Isla’s head comes up sharply. “Perhaps she can go home with them. Tomorrow.”
“Except this isn’t 1820.” I settle myself onto the sofa in favour of allowing her to place the desk between us. Coffee and Holland were what I required this morning. It seems I’m only to get my hands on one of the two. “I think you’ll find Holland gets to decide where she’d prefer to reside.”
“And you think that’s here, with you on the prowl? I think you flatter yourself, especially after the position you put her in last night.”
Except I didn’t put her in any of the positions she didn’t want to be. At least, not after dinner. The way she’d looked lying across the desk made me think the image of her should be hanging in a museum, all creamy skin, and languid dark eyes. I thought for certain she’d protest when I lifted off her dress, but she hadn’t. And I’m all the luckier for it, though when I’d held out my hand, my fingers had trembled, desperate as I was to touch her.