In Bed With The Devil | Herophine

Chapter Eleven - The Breakfast

"My apologies," he said. "I can't eat when a headache is upon me, and now that I'm feeling better, I have an appetite." He glanced at the hallway clock. "We have a couple of hours before daylight. Will you join me for a bit of breakfast?"

She had every intention of being proper and saying no, but she heard herself say, "Yes."

Thank goodness, her mouth was wise enough to snap shut before she added that she'd enjoy it very much. As his butler didn't seem to know who she was, she thought she'd be spared from inciting gossip.

To her surprise, after he escorted her to the kitchen, he didn't wake the cook. Instead, he sat Josephine in a chair at the servant's table, found some cloths, and took her hand in his.

"I thought we were going to eat," she said, while he unwrapped the bandage.

"We will." When he'd removed the wrapping, he studied her hand. "It doesn't look too bad. Does it hurt?"

"It aches a bit, but nothing I can't live with."

He raised his eyes to hers and she was struck by the force of his gaze, as though he had the power to peer into her heart.

"Last night you lied to me when you said it wasn't hurting."

"It wasn't that bad, truly."

"It was bad enough to bleed."

"It seems rather ungrateful to be put out with me after I worked to make your pain go away."

His mouth twitched slightly. "I suppose you make a valid argument."

Very gently, he began to wrap a clean strip of cloth around her hand.

"We'll be alike now," she said. "Both of us with a scar on our hand. Yours is from prison, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I noticed that Mr. O'Reilly has one. Yours is very different."

"Mine shamed me. I tried to slice it off. Only served to make it more noticeable."

Her stomach grew queasy at the thought of him taking a knife to himself. How desperately he must have wanted to be rid of it. "Were you in prison long?"

"Three months."

"What was your offense?"

He gave her a cocky grin. "Getting caught."

He stood and she grabbed his wrist. "What did you do?"

"I stole some cheese. It's not easy to run with a block of cheese. Lesson learned: steal smaller items."

Turning away, he said, "I'm very skilled at making a ham and cheese omelet. Interested?"

"As stealing it was your downfall, I wouldn't think you'd care much for cheese."

"I'm very fond of cheese. Why do you think I tried to steal some?"

She watched as he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over a chair. He began rolling up his sleeves.

"You're really going to cook it yourself?" she asked.

He gave her a self-deprecating smile. "I keep odd hours. I often can't sleep. It would be unfair to ask my cook to maintain the hours I prefer keeping."

"But that's the whole point of having servants. They're supposed to be at your beck and call."

"They're available when I need them. Presently, I don't." He lit the wood already stacked in the stove. "You see? My cook keeps things ready for me." He looked at her, lifted a brow. "Omelet?"