Page 8 of The Chef and the Countess (The Duke’s Bastards #2)

Celia squeaked, sinking lower in the tub. “How dare you burst in here? Please leave at once!” It was his house and business, but barreling into the room unannounced wasn’t polite.

Liam’s intense gaze made her heart skip a beat. He didn’t move, nor did his regard waver from taking in every inch of her naked state. Celia’s cheeks flushed from his heated scrutiny.

He let out a shaky breath. “I’ll be back after luncheon. We need to talk,” he ground out. Liam’s mouth turned downward. “I’ll meet you in your room— Countess .” He spat the last word, drawing out the s-sound. Then he turned on his heel and marched from the room, banging the door so violently, she jumped.

Countess.

He had learned of her identity before they even had a chance to discuss it. Celia had had every intention of informing him of her status—eventually. How had he discovered it? Of course, Doctor Hornsby. Liam Hallahan, for all his sullen ways, had taken her in, offered a warm bed, meals, and time to recover, and this was how she repaid him? Granted, she wasn’t well enough the first day to enlighten him, especially after his disparaging remark about peers.

But she’d had ample opportunity since then to broach the subject. Sighing, Celia reached for the pitcher and poured water over her head to rinse out the soap. Then she stood, grabbed the towel from the rack, and dried herself.

A knock sounded at the door more than two and a half hours later. Celia was dressed in the only other wool gown she owned, sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands folded in her lap. After her bath, she washed the clothes she had been wearing for the past week. They hung on a hook near the window.

Clearing her throat, she said, “Come in.”

Liam entered, closing the door behind him.

“I apologize for not telling you about my situation in more detail,” Celia said contritely. “I intended to do so soon. I reasoned it had no bearing on my present circumstances. What did it matter what title I held? I have no money and no present opportunity except what you offered. I am so grateful you took me in.”

Liam grabbed the chair and sat facing her. “I can’t have a countess working for me.”

“Why not? And I am not a countess but a dowager countess, a courtesy title. The new heir is married with children. He is a distant cousin of my late husband. I had no idea he even existed until just before my husband died.”

Liam folded his arms. “What’s the difference? You’re a peer.”

“I am a peer only by virtue of marriage, and now my husband is dead. My late father was a baronet, not part of the peerage. Dowager means ‘to endow’ and is related to having a dowry. Guess what? I did not have one. Therefore, I have nothing to live on. My so-called uncle could not be bothered to give Winterwood a dowry, and Winterwood could not be bothered to include me in his will.”

Liam shook his head. “That can’t be right. You must be entitled to something.”

“I have seen the books. The new earl and the solicitor, Mr. Sanderson, were forthright about allowing me to see the accounts. There is very little money. In generations past, peers owned vast properties with numerous tenants paying rent. As a dowager and according to the rules of the primogeniture, I would be entitled to an income from those rents. Alas, most peers no longer have tenants, Winterwood included. No dowry, no rental income from the estate, nothing for me.” Celia counted off on her fingers to punctuate each point.

Liam’s eyebrows shot skyward. “How did the earl live these past years?”

“He lived frugally. He had a few investments but left them to the heir—not to me. His will was twenty years old. Winterwood never bothered to update it once we married.” She shook her head. “Part of this is on me.”

“I don’t see how.”

“I should have demanded that my future was secure.”

Liam scoffed. “You were young, far too young to marry an old man. Your family should have protected you. Where was your aunt in all this?”

Celia exhaled. “She and my uncle fought on the exact point you raised. I heard the yelling. Ultimately, Aunt Etta had no say, and neither did I. I did not want to stay in that house. I accused my aunt of taking my uncle’s side. We did not part on the best of terms. Only years later did I realize she had no power to stop it—and neither did I. I planned on writing her when we returned from London on the first of December. We have been estranged long enough. But—” Celia shrugged.

“Doctor Hornsby has a few rooms you can stay in, in a small flat at the rear of his house in Gloucester Square. That address would be more fitting for the widow of an earl. You can stay there until your aunt returns from her holiday. Doctor Hornsby and I will see to your meals and the like.”

Celia shook her head. “No.”

Liam crossed his arms, giving her a dubious look. “No?”

“I thank you both for your generous offer, but it’s time I stood on my own two feet. I want to earn money, pay my way, and be independent for once. Surely, you must understand that. I have been handed off to men my entire life--no offense to you and the good doctor. No one here needs to know I’m a dowager countess. It means nothing. Not to me, and it shouldn’t mean anything to you. I want you to pay me a wage and take the cost of this room from the salary.”

“First, the on-site staff do not pay for the rooms, so neither shall you. Meals are included. Second, we all pitch in, whether handling meal preparation, cleaning the cooking areas, or keeping the living area spotless. It means scrubbing floors and the like.”

Celia smiled. “That will not discourage me. I want to do this, Liam. I need to do it.” Her smile slipped away. “Since my parents died, I have been shunted off to school, married off to an old earl, and then dragged from my aunt’s house. Please do not send me to another place I do not want to go. I don’t want to be shut away any longer. I want to be free to live my life.” Her voice shook with each word spoken. It would be the equivalent of a death sentence if she were cloistered in a few rooms for weeks or months.

Liam looked away, as if her openness made him uncomfortable. “I must be off my head to even consider this. All right, then. I’ll pay you thirteen shillings a week.”

Celia’s heart soared. “Is that a fair wage? I have no way of knowing.”

“The wage I pay is better than you would find elsewhere. You will get a small cut of any tips the servers get.”

“Why?”

“You prepared the food they’re serving, so you will get a percentage. It’s only pennies, but it adds up over a week.”

“You are really going to hire me?” she whispered.

“Aye. You’re hired.”

Celia could not hold back her joy. She squealed, leaped to her feet, and threw her arms around Liam’s neck. The sudden motion caused him to shift, and Celia tripped over his leg and landed on his lap.

“Goodness. I nearly went head over ears,” she commented, still holding on to him for dear life. They stared at each other. Celia inhaled. Heavens, but this man was stunning. Those cheekbones! Liam’s enticing scent—it smelled as if he’d spent time in a forest--made no sense since he toiled in a kitchen. It must be his soap or cologne. However, there were faint aromas of inviting cooked food, like fried onions and bacon. She leaned in, nearly nestling in the strong column of his neck. She turned slightly, squirming in his lap.

“Don’t—do not move,” he rasped.

Liam was growing aroused. There was no mistaking that hardness, as she could feel it through her gown. A decided thrill tore through her. When had she ever experienced this with Carlton? Never. Sex had been perfunctory; she had never truly encountered this sort of fluttering before. It had to be desire.

Growling like an annoyed bear, he stood so suddenly that Celia almost fell to the floor.

Liam held her arm to keep her upright. “One rule you should know: I don’t get involved with the staff. We are employee and employer. Remember that.”

“Yes, Chef.”

He glared at her, probably to determine if she was mocking him. Celia wasn’t—well, maybe a slight teasing. Liam appeared rattled at their intimate proximity. Inwardly, she was pleased. A handsome man found her appealing? When had that ever happened? Never.

“Can we meet later tonight to discuss sandwiches and afternoon tea? I have many ideas I want to share with you,” she asked cheerily, giving him an eager smile.

“No. I have plans.”

The smile slipped away. Of course, he had plans; it was Saturday night. For all her silly daydreaming, she never imagined Liam had a personal life outside his restaurant. That punctured her burgeoning hopes and brought her back to earth. Just because a man became aroused at a woman’s nearness, that didn’t mean it meant anything it turned out. But it did show her how inexperienced she was around men of her own age.

“Of course. Tomorrow, then.”

Liam strode toward the door and gripped the handle. “You’re responsible for seeing to your meals. The staff is welcome to any leftovers at luncheon and supper.”

“Yes, Liam,” Celia whispered.

He departed, closing the door softly behind him.

Celia exhaled. So much for that.

* * *

Liam unlocked the door and entered his mistress’s parlor for their weekly tryst. Melanie McElhenny was a grocer’s widow who lived above the shop in Stepney. They had been intimately involved for over a year, meeting once a week at first. Lately, not so much. He told Celia that he had never been involved with the staff. His sporadic dalliances were always far from his business.

Celia was the first woman to threaten that self-imposed decree.

Melanie was nine years older than his thirty years and demanding in bed. Liam welcomed it as she became an outlet for his pent-up stress and passions. He matched her fiery desire and then some. But tonight, he’d come here to end it.

“We don’t have long,” Melanie whispered seductively as she glided toward him wearing a see-through pale blue peignoir. “My son will be home by ten tonight.” Bert, her twenty-year-old son and co-owner of the grocery, played in a darts league every Saturday night.

Liam took her hands and held them to prevent her from touching him. “I want to talk to you,” he said.

Her perfectly shaped eyebrow arched in question. “When do you ever talk? You hardly say anything.”

“Well, tonight is different. Sit.” He released her hands and pointed at the sofa.

She did and glared at him questioningly. “Well?”

Liam sat in the chair opposite. “I’ve enjoyed our time together. But I was upfront with you at the beginning. I wanted nothing serious.”

Melanie nodded. “Neither do I, love. We agreed on that.”

“It’s time to bring this to a close.”

Melanie sat back in the chair and crossed her legs. Her mouth turned downward. “You met someone?”

“Maybe. She’s caught my attention. If I’m involved with someone else, I can’t consider anything with her.” Liam couldn’t believe he had spoken those words aloud because it was against his core to become involved with an employee, let alone the widow of an earl. But the most surprising aspect? Admitting aloud that Celia attracted him.

“You’re throwing me over for who? Some little mousy waitress in your pub?” Her voice raised.

Liam had hoped the conclusion of their involvement would be cordial and respectful. Wishful thinking.

“It doesn’t matter who it is. This is the first woman I’ve met in years who’s interested me. I want to get to know her better.”

“Oh, really?” Melanie snapped.

“Why are you acting like this? What do you care?” Liam was growing annoyed at Melanie’s petulance.

“I wanted to be the one to end it,” she said, pouting.

“Then go ahead. End it.”

Melanie picked up a cushion and threw it at him, clipping him in the head. “Then go. I’m glad we’re over. I can’t wait to get away from you and your stench of kitchen grease, onions, and chicken fat. Because of that, I have to strip the sheets from the bed after every time you come here. You disgust me.”

Liam couldn’t muster up enough interest to reply to the vitriolic insult. But he was insulted. He had been looked down on his entire life—his poor upbringing with his perpetually sick mother, his living on the streets for two years until Walter took him in. He stood, giving Melanie a pitying look. She was on the verge of tears, and she looked—hurt. Liam had never wanted to hurt her, but it appeared as if he had. She cared more than she had let on, and he should have sensed it. Liam stood. “Goodbye, Melanie. Be well.”

He exited the flat and gently closed the door. He stood outside in the hallway, feeling terrible. Then he heard it—loud sniffling. His heart squeezed in compassion. Yes, he had a heart. Sometimes, he wondered if it functioned, as he often kept it closed off and hidden except for his restaurant “family.” Even then, he rarely showed any weighty emotions. This affair had not been supposed to end like this.

Liam reentered the flat. Melanie still sat in the chair, wiping a few tears from her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Mel. I had no idea,” he said softly.

Melanie laughed brokenly. “That I cared for you? Neither did I until you tossed me aside. Don’t worry. It’s not love, merely an infatuation which will dissipate with time.” She exhaled shakily. “I was hurt, and I lashed out. I didn’t mean what I said.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Liam’s mouth. “There’s probably truth in the account. Just as an engine machinist probably smells of oil, a cook would emanate food odors.” He placed the key on the table. “I forgot to leave this.”

“Does she work at the restaurant? This lady that has captured your regard?”

“Temporarily. I’ve got a rule about fraternizing with the employees. I’ll keep my feelings to myself for the time being—not that I even know what feelings are involved.”

Melanie gave him a sad smile. “Oh, Liam. When it comes to the heart, rules are made to be broken. The best of luck keeping those emotions to yourself. It’s not always easy. Eventually, a woman will know. She’ll sense it.”

Liam came to stand by her chair, took her hand, and kissed it. “Thank you for making my life less lonely.”

“We had a mutual need,” she whispered. “So, thank you .”

Liam released her hand, bowed slightly, and then quit the room without looking back. He slowly descended the stairs and stepped onto the walkway, pulling his peaked cap lower on his forehead and tightening his wool scarf around his neck. It was blasted cold out, but he would go for a walk, regardless. Liam needed to think.

What was at the forefront of his mind?

Celia, the dowager countess. He cared about what might happen to her and wanted to protect her from further harm. Her cheerful disposition despite her downfall, her eagerness to learn new things and become independent—God, he admired that. When she had landed in his lap… Liam nearly moaned aloud, remembering his swift and aching response. There was no way she could have missed his erection, considering the way she wriggled about. How would he resist the temptation, especially after seeing her naked in the tub? All luscious curves… He would never get that breathtaking scene from his mind. It would haunt his fevered dreams for many nights to come.

What Liam wanted most of all was to pull her close and kiss her senseless—until he ceased to breathe. And that temptation might be the hardest to ignore.