Susan Stephens - Housekeeper at His Beck and Call

Liv’s heart lurched at the thought of anyone but her taking over the job of running the household at Featherstone, let alone anyone else living with Cade. She already felt quite protective of her position. Just thinking about Cade had prompted her body to react in a way that she couldn’t just brush aside. And anyway, physical reaction to Cade was a lot more fun than studying the single blanket on her narrow iron bed. The insistent pulsing between her legs made her sigh with pleasure, while the old grey frizzy thing that passed for a cover on her bed just annoyed her. It looked like old army issue, possibly dating back to the Great War. And that was only for starters…There was a single bar of dried-up soap on the cracked and rust-stained washbasin, along with a hand towel that had seen better days. Flimsy curtains drooped sadly at the windows promising the early morning light would flood straight through them, and the threadbare rug only added to the general air of dilapidation.

She stood back, hands on her hips, shaking her head. Featherstone Hall might have known its glory days, but this wasn’t one of them. She’d give Cade her improvements list when they met again at supper.

He did a double take when Liv walked into the kitchen. How could anyone look so sexy wearing that? Even in the ugly flat shoes her legs looked fantastic—until you noticed the wrinkles in her tights, that was. Forget the wrinkles—all thoughts of previous housekeepers were immediately expunged from his mind. All he could think of now was unpeeling Liv like a particularly ripe fruit, and then sucking on her until he was replete—which could take quite some time.

‘I hope you like red meat,’ she said, walking over to the fridge.

His heart sang. Folding the newspaper he’d been reading, he put it to one side. ‘I love red meat.’ He was prepared to cut her as much slack as necessary in the happy anticipation of the first proper meal he’d had in days.

‘If you’d care to relax in the library,’ she went on, ‘I’ll bring you a glass of wine—or beer, if you’d prefer?’ she offered, turning her pearl-white smile on him.

‘A beer would be fine, thank you,’ he said, exhaling with contentment as he left the room.

Having donned her apron, Liv flexed her fingers. She was ready to begin. She was determined to impress Cade, and this was the way to do it. She had been top of the cordon bleu cookery class at Miss Smythson’s finishing school for young ladies.

It would do it, Liv thought, determined, breathing steadily, in through her nose and out through her mouth to a count of three. Remembering Miss Smythson’s advice that a good cook was a calm cook and an organised cook, she had planned this meal like an army exercise, and now she was certain Cade couldn’t fail to be impressed.

She peeled and scraped and washed and mashed and pricked and patted and seasoned, and then cooked the perfect meat and the perfect vegetables for the perfect length of time. When she had finished she wiped her brow, and then wiped the edges of the plate with a fresh, clean cloth she’d had standing by for just this very moment. She stood back and let out her breath in one ragged stream. The dish was a triumph. For once she was right to feel confident.

She had brought him his beer in a wineglass, which he had decided to overlook on the basis that the scent that assailed his nostrils when Liv opened the door spoke to him of gravy and roast potatoes, mashed carrots and honeyed parsnips…

He didn’t have long to wait before disillusionment set in.

‘What’s this?’ he demanded, staring down at his plate. There was a minuscule offering piled in the centre that looked to him like a particularly small pea on top of an overlarge bun.

Liv’s face lit up. No wonder Cade was taken aback. She had decided to surprise him on this first night with her signature dish…a silky concoction consisting of slivers of beef spiked with horseradish cream, served with crisp threads of green pepper and onion. The whole dish took up no more room on the plate than a teacup; just arranging it was an art form in itself. There was a dot of mashed carrot to add colour and texture, and, of course, she hadn’t forgotten the single round of roasted parsnip no bigger than a five-pence piece to lend crunch. It was a triumph! She took in the astonishment on Cade’s face and realised she had never thought of herself as a proud person before, but she felt proud now as Cade continued to stare down at his plate in wonder. He was clearly overawed by her skill and expertise, not to mention the time and trouble she’d taken to find just the right ingredients, and then prepare them for him so well. It felt really good to be appreciated—

‘It’s not enough!’ Stabbing his fork into her glorious creation, Cade stuffed the whole of it into his mouth and swallowed it down in one gulp. Then he turned on her. ‘It may have escaped your notice, lady, but I’m no leprechaun. I’m a fully grown man who expects a proper meal—not this light bite for a fairy.’

Tears sprang to her eyes, which she held back. She wasn’t going to fail. Her mother always said she was a failure. It wasn’t going to happen again—not this time—not here with Cade. ‘I’m sorry.’ She wished her voice hadn’t come out in a whisper. She wished she didn’t want to bolt from the room. Somehow she kept her feet firmly pinned to the ground and told a lie: ‘Don’t worry, that was just a first course.’

Cade grunted acknowledgement and was still frowning as he pushed his plate away. ‘I don’t need this fancy food. You didn’t need to go to so much trouble.’

‘No trouble.’

He could see she was on the verge of tears and swiftly reined in. ‘What about all those lovely fresh ingredients you bought in town?’ he said, as if he’d just remembered them. ‘Make something simple you can prepare quickly.’

He wasn’t used to dealing with emotional women, but suspected if he said anything else half nice she would bawl her eyes out.

‘Will you have your main course now, or later?’ she asked him stiffly, pausing by the door. ‘Or I could give you a break, if you prefer?’

‘Liv.’ He was halfway out of his seat ‘—I’ll come with you—’

She held her hand up, stopping him. ‘No. I’d rather you didn’t.’

He subsided down again as she hurried from the room. He felt appalling, like the worst type of ungrateful layabout—like a man who didn’t know how to get off his backside and help when a woman was so close to tears. He shifted unhappily in his seat. Was he completely unaware of other people’s feelings—of Liv’s feelings? Had he really sat here like some arrogant, fault-finding plutocrat, allowing her to wait on him? He’d never felt this way about a woman—maybe because no woman had made him face what he’d become. So why Liv? What was it about her that stripped him naked and made him feel? Seeing the tears in her eyes and knowing he’d been the cause of them had really shocked him. He hadn’t always been like this. The battlefield had made him brusque and detached, because that was how you stayed alive, but this was civilian life, and he had better get used to it. He didn’t want to turn into a block of stone. He wanted to remember how it felt to laugh and soften, and share a smile. Liv had tried her best tonight, and he’d thrown it all back in her face. It was up to him to make an effort now, and he would.

Leaning back against the kitchen side, she bit her lip, trying not to cry, though all she wanted to do was howl in despair at how useless she was. Cade had laid her bare, exposing her weaknesses and forcing her to take account of how naïve she was—how shallow and inexperienced, and how very much she had to learn…about everything. And so she would make a start right here, right now. She wasn’t going to fail on this, her first night of employment. She would just have to try harder.