Page 159 of The Ladies Least Likely

“We’ll save some of this for us and put the rest outside for our friends. Perhaps they won’t break into the house if we offer them food.”

“More likely to make them break in, I’d think.”

He sniffed a jug of wine on the table, then set it aside.

Best not to offer wine to a hungry crowd, unless it were well watered.

He located a cask of small beer and worked it open.

With no great skill but eventual success, Harriette started a fire in the cast iron stove and wiped her hands in satisfaction.

“If my aunt could see me now,” she chuckled. She stepped into the scullery and a minute later returned, lugging a large iron stock pot filled with water.

“Did that come from the cistern?” Ren asked doubtfully. “I wouldn’t?—”

“A bit of a boil and it’ll be fine,” she answered. “I’ve a fancy for a nice hearty soup. And a quaking pudding to go with? It’s the only kind I know how to make,” she added when he opened his mouth to reply. He shut his mouth.

“That’s more than I know how to make,” he said instead.

“My aunt tried to teach me how to cook,” Harriette said cheerfully as she retrieved a large wooden bowl, wiped it out, and began cracking eggs.

“All of us in the household are supposed to take turns. In truth Sorcha does all the cooking. Melike does the housework, Darci keeps the garden, and Natalya—” She reflected, egg in hand. “I’m not sure what Natalya does.”

“And you?” He tapped the beer, drew a sample, and tasted.

“Princess and I are the providers. We bring in the money to support us all.”

The kitchen warmed quickly with the great stove working, and Ren stood guard while Harriette carried a large tray of food to the door in the Blinder Wall.

A group of the prisoners they’d seen earlier had taken shelter in a neighboring carriage house, and Harriette ransacked the Manor’s linen closet for blankets and pillows.

Ren delivered a jug of small beer with several mugs and set a candle in its dish near the door.

The wraiths regarded him with watchful, wary eyes, noting his limp, but none spoke to him, so he said nothing in return.

Harriette left another platter of food and a candle in a bowl beside the wall to beckon the weary and nourish other refugees, and then at his bidding she closed and locked the gate.

“What now?” he asked, returning to the kitchen after taking a turn about the house to make sure the doors were locked and the windows secure.

The furniture in the ground floor parlors was under Holland covers, and none of the beds in the first-floor rooms were made.

Harriette raided the linen closet again.

“I lit a fire in the master’s chamber,” Harriette said with a yawn. “At least, I think it’s the master’s chamber. We can take our supper there—and thanks be there is a supper. I just have to manage it up the stairs, that’s all.”

“Let me,” Ren said.

“No, you needn’t do the stairs when?—”

“Come here.”

She followed him to the servant’s staircase.

The device he had designed was still there: the small wooden platform attached to ropes, and the pulley looped over the stair railing high above leading to the cramped servant’s rooms in the attic.

He tested the pulley, which gave a squeak and a groan, and Harriette watched in wonder as he placed the serving tray with its cold meats, bread and butter, cheese, and assorted jellies on the platform.

“Now you run up the stairs and take the tray when it reaches the top. I’ll bring it back down and then send up the wine.”

She laughed as she started up the stairs, keeping pace with the platform as he pulled on the ropes and the tray rose up the shaft running alongside the stairwell. The sound of her laugh thawed the tight knot of worry and concern that had been bound within Ren’s chest all day.

“This is delightful! Your invention?”

“I wish I could say mine alone, but I patterned it on something my tutor had seen in France. They call them dumb waiters.”

“Brilliant,” she announced when she reached the first-floor landing. The wooden platform swayed as she relieved it of its burden. “Send up dishes and the best wine, milord.”

“Whatever the blasted steward left,” Ren promised.

He entered the bedchamber with the wine to find Harriette had laid a small side table with their makeshift feast. A white linen cloth, still creased from being folded in the cupboard, bore jasperware plates and silver cutlery that needed a polish.

Wax tapers glowed softly in their candlesticks.

She moved along the mantelpiece above the fire, lighting more candles, and Ren watched her hungrily.

Her stays and pockets lay folded neatly on a chair against the wall, along with her shoes and stockings.

From somewhere she’d located a loose morning gown and thrown it over her shift.

Bare feet peeked out beneath the worn, wide hem.

Her hair, unpowdered, had come out of its coil, and red glints caught the candlelight.

The shadowy shape of her body through the white linen and the sight of her bare feet, high-arched, perfectly shaped, with mother-of-pearl toenails adorning each adorable toe, made his gut tighten and his groin grow heavy.

He was alone with Harriette. Completely alone.

No chaperone, no servants, no family. No one.

They were alone, she was in undress, and the rest of the world was leagues away, along with its follies and dangers and riots and promises.

Nothing existed but they two, the original man and woman, the only beings on earth.

“You’ve made a rather romantic little tableau.” Ren’s voice felt rough in his throat. He coughed it clear.

His breath caught as she turned to face him.

The shape of her breasts was clearly outlined as she hugged her arms to her, and as she blew out the spill, a waft of smoke curled alongside her face and her small, knowing smile.

The enchanting puckers at each side of her mouth beckoned as she moved toward the small table and its inviting feast.

“We’re alone.”

“Yes, I’d noticed that.” He cleared his throat again.

“Ren. I think I should tell you I’ve made a decision.”

She rounded the table and stood before him. She smelled like the rose water and nutmeg she had added to the pudding. He stood perfectly still as she stood on tiptoe and whispered into his ear.

“I want you to make love to me tonight.”