Elisabeth Fairchild by Valentine's Change of Heart Read Free Book Online

wanting a sip of our local brew. It is quite famous in this part of the country.”
    Mrs. Olive eyed the exchange with pursed lips and worried eyes.
    Wharton clicked open the clasps on the box, and threw back the lid. “A pot of hot water,” he repeated, still polite, but with an undeniable edge to the words, as hard as the glint in his eyes.
    “Just a wee dram, my lord?” The tap man was persistent.
    Mrs. Olive looked as if she were mightily tempted to say something, perhaps to box the tap man’s ears. But her master did not appear to be the sort of fellow to bear lightly interfering servants. She bit down on her lower lip, and balled the corner of the tablecloth in her lap.
    I remember mama holding tongue, that same fear in her eyes. The fear of father’s temptation.
    Felicity fell very still, watching her father, just as Elaine had once watched her own father, tongue caught between her teeth, tension riding her jaw. Hoping against hope.
    Wharton’s voice rose only slightly, and yet his tone and manner were not to be argued with. “I’ve a very good Darjeeling here, my good man, and would indulge my party in a cup as we eat your best meat pies, sausages, bread and butter, vegetable sides, and apples, have you any.”
    The tension that had gathered in the room dissipated in an instant, like the steaming breath of the horses led past fogged windows.
    “Ah!” The tap man’s brows rose. “Of course, my lord. If you will, we have a fine cauliflower, and taties and ham.”
    He went away happy with all that had been ordered.
    His lordship stood by a window, gazing outward, the muscles of his thighs still tensed, as if he were prepared to . . . run? Do battle? Elaine could not be sure. What she was sure of was that Mrs. Olive warmed her hands by the fire with a most satisfied expression, humming a little tune under her breath.
    Impatient with the wait, as only a child can be, Felicity asked Elaine, “Are you hungry? I am quite famished. Hear my stomach growl?”
    “Sounds as if you’ve a dragon hiding in there.” She patted the child’s tummy with a chuckle. “I am not quite so hungry as that, but should very much like a hot drink.”
    “Papa has tea.”
    He glanced their way, a quick, distracted glance, the set of his shoulders changing, tension dissipating.
    “And do you know how fortunate you are to be treated to such a luxury?” Elaine felt a need to move, to stir the frozen energy of the room. She bent over the box of tea. “Do you realize how far these very special leaves have come to bring us gustatory pleasure?”
    Lord Wharton’s gaze lingered, not a monster, but a man, a man who would drink tea rather than risk inebriation.
    “Gustatory?” Felicity repeated the word with precision.
    Lord Wharton spoke. “The pleasure . . .” He stopped, raised one brow.
    Words died in Elaine’s throat. Yes, pleasure. A rogue would know much of pleasure. All kinds of pleasure. Lord Wharton might be man rather than monster, but he was still a rather dangerous man--one guided, perhaps controlled, by pleasures if even half of his history was to be believed.
    “It means pleasure?” Felicity pressed.
    Elaine forced herself to look away from that suggestive eyebrow, cleared her throat, licked her lips, focused her attention on her pupil. “The pleasure of taste,” she clarified.
    “Is that what gustatory means?” Mrs. Olive gave a chuckle. “I always thought it something rude.”
    And he? Does he think it rude? Think me rude? Rude and willing and interested in other pleasures? How rude and willing and interested is he?
    “Tea comes from China, does it not?” Felicity asked.
    “Very good. Also from Japan, and India,” Elaine found safety in facts, in her role as governess. “Do you know why it has so many names? So many flavors?”
    “Papa says one must be careful to buy it from a reputable source.”
    “Quite right.” She risked a look in papa’s direction. He would seem to have lost interest in them.