“It certainly has to be easier than it is now, with everything on the floor.”
Caroline scowled at him. “I'm doing you a tremendous favor. If you cannot be grateful, at the very least you could contrive not to be quite so un-grateful.”
“Very well, I profess my undying and eternal gratitude.”
“That didn't sound terribly sincere,” she muttered.
“It wasn't,” he admitted, “but it will have to do. Here we are.” He set her down on a sofa. “Shall we elevate your leg?”
“I don't know. I've never twisted an ankle before. Is that what one is meant to do?”
He nodded and piled soft pillows under her leg. “It reduces the swelling.”
“Bother the swelling. It's the pain I'd like to reduce.”
“They go hand in hand.”
“Oh. How long will I have to remain like this?”
“At least for the rest of the day, I should think. Perhaps tomorrow as well.”
“Hmmph. That is perfectly dreadful. I don't suppose you could fetch me a spot of tea.”
Blake drew himself back and looked at her. “Do I look like a nursemaid?”
“Not at all,” she replied, clearly holding back a giggle. “It's just that Mrs. Mickle has gone to the village after preparing that lovely breakfast, heaven only knows where your butler is, and I don't think your valet fetches tea.”
“If I can fetch it, he damned well can, too,” Blake muttered.
“Oh, good!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Then you'll get some for me?”
“I suppose I must. And how the devil have you come to be on such good terms with my servants in only one day?”
She shrugged. “Actually, I've only met Mrs. Mickle. Did you know she has a nine-year-old granddaughter who lives in the village? She bought her the loveliest doll for her birthday. I should have loved a doll like that when I was a girl.”
Blake shook his head in amazement. Mrs. Mickle had been working for him for nearly three years, and she'd never mentioned that she had a grand-daughter. “I'll be right back with that tea,” he said.
“Thank you. And don't forget to make enough for yourself as well.”
He stopped in the doorway. “I won't be joining you.”
Caroline's face fell. “You won't?”
“No, I…” He groaned. He'd done battle against some of the world's most devious criminals, but he was powerless in the face of her frown. “Very well, I'll join you, but only for a short while.”
“Wonderful. I'm sure you'll have a lovely time. And you'll find that tea does wonders for your disposition.”
“My disposition!”
“Forget I mentioned it,” she mumbled.
Mrs. Mickle was nowhere to be found when Blake reached the kitchen. After hollering for the house-keeper for a minute or so, he remembered that Caroline had said she had gone to town.
“Dratted female,” he muttered, not sure whether he was referring to Caroline or Mrs. Mickle.
Blake put some water on to boil and scrounged around in the cupboards for some tea. Unlike most men of his station, he knew his way around a kitchen. Soldiers and spies often had to learn how to cook if they wanted to eat, and Blake was no exception. Gourmet meals were quite beyond his repertoire, but he could certainly manage tea and biscuits. Especially since Mrs. Mickle had already baked the biscuits. All Blake had to do was set them on a plate.
It felt very strange to be doing this for Caroline Trent. It had been a long time since he'd taken care of anyone save for himself, and there was something comforting about listening to the teakettle squeak and howl as the water boiled. Comforting and yet at the same time unsettling. Preparing tea, tending to her twisted ankle—they weren't terribly intimate acts, and yet he could feel them pulling him closer to her.
He fought the urge to smack himself in the head. He was growing overly and stupidly philosophical. He wasn't becoming close to Caroline Trent, and he certainly had no desire to do so. They'd shared one kiss, and it had been an idiotic impulse on his part. As for her, she probably hadn't known any better. He'd bet his home and his fortune that she'd never been kissed before.
The water came to a boil, and Blake poured it into the china teapot, taking a sniff of the fragrant aroma as the tea began to steep. After placing a small pitcher of milk and a bowl of sugar on the tray, he picked up the service and headed back to the drawing room. He didn't really mind getting the tea; there was something rather soothing in performing the occasional mindless task. But Miss Trent was going to have to get it through her stubborn little skull that he wasn't going to play nursemaid and fetch her every whim and desire while she was living at Seacrest Manor.
He didn't want to act like some lovesick puppy, he didn't want Caroline to think he was acting like a lovesick puppy, and he certainly didn't want James to see him acting like a lovesick puppy.
It didn't matter that he wasn't the least bit lovesick. James would never let him live it down.
Blake turned the last corner and headed into the drawing room, but when his eyes fell upon the sofa, there was an empty spot where Caroline should have been, and a rather large mess on the floor.
And then he heard a rather sheepish voice say, “It was an accident. I swear.”