A search of the ground floor revealed no trace of his hostess, although he discovered a pretty but rather spineless picture of her in the dining room. It was still early—he’d never adjusted to London hours of sleeping until noon—but he knew she’d risen before him. In the drawing room, she’d tidied away the remains of their informal dinner, and the curtains were open to the pouring rain outside.
Selfishly he was grateful for the awful weather. While the deluge kept them trapped, the delectable Miss Warren was all his.
When he descended to the kitchens, he found her standing at the table, slicing the ham. A smile of sheer delight spread across his face. “Good morning, Cinderella. Lovely day.”
She glanced up with a wary expression, the barriers that had become so rickety back in place. A plain white apron covered last night’s dress, and she’d bundled that extravagant hair away from her face. The severe style suited her, revealing the pure bone structure and graceful neck.
“I do so loathe a man who is witty before nine in the morning.”
Actually his comment hadn’t been sarcastic. The mere sight of her turned the rainy morning radiant. “Good God, lassie, you’re putting me off the idea of breakfast. Cheer up.”
Her lack of welcome couldn’t dampen his happiness at seeing her. He’d never been in love before. He’d never imagined love could strike a man harder than a rock falling on his head. Harder, and with the same lack of warning. But watching the slim, golden-haired woman lit by stark gray light through the high windows, he admitted the inescapable truth. He was head over heels with Charlotte Warren.
He bent to pat Bill, who scampered up to greet him. Charlotte swiveled around to check the sausages, frying on the stove behind her. The kitchen smelled marvelous. Spicy meat. Coffee.
Coffee…
Lyle looked around and spied a pot on the bench. “May I?”
She didn’t turn. “Go ahead.”
By the time he’d poured two cups, she’d set a plate of sizzling sausages and eggs on the table. “Please start.”
Love clearly sharpened the appetite. But he waited until she sat before he took the chair opposite and began to eat. “Miss Warren, this is magnificent. I’d marry you for this breakfast alone—you don’t even have to throw in your father’s wine cellar.”
She glowered as she lifted her knife and fork. “It’s not nine o’clock yet.”
He was buttering his second piece of toast before he noticed that she wasn’t attacking her meal with the same gusto. “Too much claret last night?” he asked sympathetically.
“No.”
Lyle sat back in his chair and finished his coffee. “Then what is it?”
She rose with a sigh and scraped the rest of her breakfast into Bill’s bowl. “It’s rained all night and the low-lying fields will be underwater. I’m worried about the livestock.”
Any impulse to jocularity faded. The trouble in her eyes made him want to fight monsters for her. “I’ll go out and check.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s raining buckets, and you’re a guest.”
“An uninvited guest. All the more reason to put me to work.”
“Nevertheless, it’s not your problem. You’re welcome to sit in Papa’s library while I’m out. There should be plenty in there to keep you entertained.”
“I don’t need entertainment. I need to help you. Your problems are mine, my love.”
Charlotte must be worried indeed. She didn’t snap him down and proclaim her independence. Instead she glanced up at the windows. “It will be vile out there. Believe me, you’ll regret your gallantry.”
“Och, I won’t melt, lassie. In Scotland, we’d call this weather a heavy dew.” Not quite true. “Don’t be a wee goose, Charlotte. You’ll work better and faster with a partner.”
To his surprise, a faint smile eased her expression. “A big brute like you might come in handy.”
“We brawny laddies have our uses, you know.”
“I feel I’m taking advantage.” She removed his empty plate, venturing close enough for him to catch the fresh scent of her skin. Lavender soap. Desirable woman. The fragrance was even better than sausages and coffee.
A grunt of laughter escaped him. “Make it up to me later, when I promise any advantage taken will be mine.”
He was pleased to hear the cutlery rattle against his plate. She wasn’t so worried that she missed the promise in his statement. Still, her shoulders were straight and her tone pragmatic when she untied that devilish titillating apron. “I’ll accept your offer, then. Thank you.”