Adam smiled. "As a matter of fact, it's the first thing he's done that meets with my satisfaction."
"Sir?"
Adam waited while the clock on the mantel chimed seven times, then focused his attention on his private secretary. "It's seven o'clock in the morning."
"Yes, sir," Max answered with a puzzled look on his face.
"Max, why am I sitting down to a breakfast of scrambled eggs at seven o'clock in the morning?" Adam asked. "When I ordered it to be served at half past eight?"
"The household runs on a schedule, sir," Max replied stiffly.
"Yes, it does," Adam agreed. "But not at the expense of its owner. I'm eating scrambled eggs because I don't like kidneys, blood pudding, or ptarmigan, and the steak I ordered isn't on the menu. Nor is the coffee I drink."
"Sir?"
'This household will be run to suit me." Adam's voice held an unyielding note of steel resolve. "Me. Adam McKendrick. No one else. Is that clear?"
"It is very clear. But I fail to understand the reason for your displeasure, sir." Max faltered for a moment, then cast a speculative look at Adam. "With the exception of Her—Giana's—unfortunate accidents with the china, the household has been run to suit you."
"Really?" Adam quickly finished eating his scrambled eggs, then laid his fork aside and pushed back his chair and stood up. "Let's go see."
"Sir?" Max was clearly taken aback.
"Let's take a look," Adam reiterated. "We'll start with the kitchen." He turned and led the way out of the dining room, down the corridor to the kitchen, where he stopped in the doorway and stared at the cook. He was male and, from the looks of it, French. "Where's Mrs. Dunham, the cook I recommended Mrs. Langstrom hire?"
"Mrs. Dunham was a local woman who cooked local fare," Max explained. "She did not cook in the French style."
"I know," Adam said. "She cooked good, plain, hearty fare. That is why I recommended that Mrs. Langstrom hire her."
"I'm sure she is a wonderful cook," Max said, "but the food she cooks is not the sort of food Her—to which we were accustomed. We were among the staff of the countess of Bro-cavia, which set an exquisite table. That is why Isobel—I mean Mrs. Langstrom—hired Monsieur Henri."
The temper Adam had been struggling to contain exploded. "Henri!"
"Oui?" The chef glanced up as he answered.
"Do you speak English?" he asked in French.
"Non."
Adam exhaled and slowly counted to ten, then asked if Henri could make coffee. "Est-ce que vous pouvez faire le cafe?"
"Oui," Henri replied in his native tongue, "but, there isn't any."
Adam ordered, "Find some, or find someplace else to cook, because from now on I expect a pot of hot coffee every morning. Understand?"
"Oui." The French chef nodded to show his understanding.
Adam turned to Max. "Find Mrs. Dunham and hire her back right away."
"Sir, how will I explain to Henri?"
"Explain that from now on, Henri and Mrs. Dunham will share the kitchen duties. For breakfast, I'll expect a variety of Scottish and French dishes. Mrs. Dunham will prepare luncheons and tea and Henri will be responsible for dinner and desserts. Larchmont Lodge will offer its owner, guests, and staff a choice of fare."
"Chef Henri will not be happy," Maximillian warned. "He prefers to be in control of his kitchens."
"And I prefer to be in control of my household," Adam replied. "If you can't manage to run it to my satisfaction, without countermanding my orders, I'll find a staff who will." With that, Adam turned and stalked out of the kitchen, his long legs eating up the distance as he left the kitchen and made his way to his library.
Maximillian followed close on his heels, managing to cross the threshold before Adam slammed the door in his face.
"Out!" Adam ordered.
"Sir?"
"That will be all, Max," Adam said.
"But, sir ..."
Christ, but he was tired of having all of his instructions and decisions questioned and circumvented! "Please leave, Max." Adam struggled to rein his temper in. "I want a few minutes alone."
Max opened his mouth to protest, but Adam cut him off. "Perhaps I was remiss in not explaining my purpose in renovating Larchmont Lodge. But I plan to open it as a gentleman's club. A place of refuge for men of wealth and stature—businessmen, aristocrats, and world leaders—to come to—" Adam broke off as a slight noise caught his attention. It sounded as if someone had drawn a quick breath. He turned toward the sound and noticed a triangle of black silk on the carpet behind the leather sofa. There it was again, another almost imperceptible noise, only this time it sounded like a mouse crawling across the open pages of a book. Adam suspected it might be a very big mouse—one who stood nearly six feet tall in her stocking feet. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
The older man blanched. Max had heard it, too. "Do I understand, sir, that you intend to open the doors of Larchmont Lodge to the public?" Max asked.
Max sounded as if Adam had just announced that he intended to assassinate the queen. "I intend to open the doors of Larchmont Lodge to the well-paying public." Although the links required another six months or so of work to become established, Adam had decided to extend an invitation to preview the lodge to a few select guests during the week of the Cowes Regatta. "The best way to turn this pile of stone into a profitable enterprise is to convert it into a place where the rich and famous can rest and relax far away from the pressures of everyday life. I hope it will be a place men will come to hunt and fish, to ride and walk the moors, to golf or lounge around playing cards or reading. I've already issued private invitations for the week of the Cowes Regatta." He gave a little snort. "You needn't worry about riffraff, Max. They won't be able to afford to holiday here."
Adam waited until the private secretary regained some color in his face before he waved him back over the threshold. "Thank you, Max, that will be all." He closed the door to the library, barely missing the highly polished toes of Max's shoes.
Adam turned the key in the lock, then closed his eyes and leaned against the door, resting his forehead against its cool, wood grain surface. His body ached from hours spent overseeing the construction of the golf links and from hours of instruction in the game of golf. For what was the use of building a golf links to entice the richest and most powerful men in the world if he didn't know how to play the game with them? His head was pounding from too much drink, too little sleep, and no coffee. He pushed away from the door and eyed the long leather sofa.
Adam glanced at his desk where a packet of mail and a pile of neatly ironed newspapers lay stacked on the blotter just as Max had left them. He should attend to his correspondence, but he couldn't concentrate on the mail or the newspapers with an aching head. He had to admit the sofa was more enticing than the mail. A brief nap would do him a world of good. Besides, Adam reasoned, he hadn't planned to get up before half-past eight anyway. But there was the small problem of George. What to do about her? Adam covered a yawn with his hand, then slipped the key to the door inside his waistcoat pocket and stretched out on the sofa. She was the interloper. Let her wait. He just needed to close his eyes for a few moments. ...
Chapter 16
A Princess of the 'Blood Royal of the House respects the privacy and the property of her subjects.
—Maxim 803: Protocol and Court Etiquette of Princesses of the Blood Royal of the House of Saxe-Wallerstein-Karolya, as decreed by His Serene Highness, Prince Christian I, 1864.
Giana leaned against the back of the long leather sofa and reread the article printed in the bottom corner of the front page of the Times of London. Shocked by the deaths of Their Serene Highnesses, Prince Christian and Princess May of Saxe-Wallerstein-Karolya at the hands of anarchists, Britain's Queen Victoria had sent a special envoy to Christianberg, the capital of Karolya, to assist Prince Victor, the prince regent, in the investigation of the murders and in negotiating the return of Her Serene Highness Princess Georgiana
, who had been taken hostage and was currently being held for ransom by the anarchists, whom it was believed were in league with the late prince's private secretary.
She had stumbled across the newspaper while cleaning the McKendrick's office, and although she had been taught to contain her curiosity and ignore the reams of official documents she saw lying scattered across the surface of her father's massive desk, Giana couldn't ignore a newspaper article about her family. Not when it affected her future and the futures of the men and women who had risked their lives in order to save her.
Giana swallowed her tears and bit back a sob. Victor had accused Max of being in league with anarchists who were supposed to have murdered her parents and kidnapped her! But the anarchists were a figment of Victor's imagination. Victor had murdered her parents and was trying to murder her, and now he had enlisted the help of her godmother's government in finding her.
Giana glanced at the date on the paper. It was more than a fortnight old, and although this edition had been lying on the top of the stack, she didn't know whether or not it was the most recent one. McKendrick had arrived before she had had time to look through the rest of the stack. She had grabbed the newspaper and hidden behind the sofa to read it. She hadn't intended to eavesdrop on his conversation with Max any more than she had intended to neglect her household duties by reading the newspaper instead of cleaning the library, but there had been no way to avoid overhearing the McKendrick's conversation with Max.
And the conversation she had overheard was as shocking as the newspaper article. She was so shocked by what she'd heard she hadn't been able to prevent a gasp of surprise—a gasp that had almost led to her discovery. Adam McKendrick intended to open Larchmont Lodge to the public—to the wealthy male public. Time was running out. The regatta was only a few weeks away. If she didn't think of some way of reaching Balmoral or of delaying the preview, there would be no place for her to hide.
Giana bit her bottom lip. Max had been horrified by the news and must be beside himself with anxiety for her safety. To think that the one safe place they had been able to find was about to become a haven for the very men she was trying to avoid! She needed to talk to Max, needed to consult with the rest of her entourage before they panicked. She needed to come up with a plan.
Unfortunately, she couldn't do anything until she made her way out of the library without waking McKendrick. McKendrick. Giana ground her teeth together and looked up at the ceiling. She hadn't expected McKendrick to remain in the library. She had expected him to follow Max out the door, but McKendrick had slammed the door almost in Max's face and decided to take a nap. A nap! Who would have thought that he'd decide to take a nap so soon after breakfast?
Folding the newspaper as quietly as possible, Giana lifted her skirts and tucked it in the waistband of her drawers. She didn't like the idea of borrowing McKendrick's newspaper, but she needed to show it to Max, needed to share her fears with the one person who had as much to lose as she did. Giana took a deep breath, screwed her courage to the sticking place, and crawled around the sofa.
The McKendrick—Adam—was sleeping soundly. His breathing, deep and even. Giana knew she should keep moving, but she couldn't help but stop and look at him. At Adam McKendrick. At the man who had given her her first kiss.
She liked, the way he looked when he slept, liked the way his dark eyelashes fanned against his cheekbones and the way his nostrils flared ever-so-slightly as he breathed. And Giana especially liked the way his lips remained slightly parted. His lower lip was slightly plumper than his upper lip, but both were exquisitely shaped. Giana leaned closer—close enough to study the subtle pattern of lines on his lips. She remembered the taste and touch and feel of his lips on hers, his warm breath, and the way he had used his tongue to tempt and torment her. Had there ever been anything quite as enticing as the soft, rough feel of Adam McKendrick's tongue mating with hers?
Fighting an almost overwhelming urge to press her lips against his, Giana took one last look and began the long crawl across the library. She inched her way across the Aubusson carpet, past his desk and the last wall of bookcases to the door where she reached up and stealthily turned the brass doorknob.
But the door didn't open. It was locked. She felt for the key that had been in the lock when she entered the room. It was gone. Giana pushed herself to her knees and stared through the open keyhole. She was locked in the library with Adam McKendrick. There was no way for her to escape unless she located the missing key—and Giana wasn't at all sure she wanted to. But duty compelled her to look.
She tiptoed over to his desk and began looking for the key.
She searched his desk from top to bottom, carefully opening each drawer and rifling through the contents in a futile search for the key. She had never plundered through anyone else's private belongings, and the idea that she was invading his privacy made her feel slightly queasy. And the fact that she failed to locate the key to the library door only served to increase her queasiness.
If the key was not to be found in the McKendrick's desk, then it had to be on his person. Giana tiptoed back to the sofa and knelt beside it. She slipped her hand beneath his jacket and began a stealthy search of his pockets.
Adam moaned in his sleep and moved his head against the arm of the sofa. He smoothed his hand over the fabric of his waistcoat and his fingers met hers. He closed his hand over around her wrist. "Looking for something, Miss Langstrom?"
The sound of his voice startled her. Giana jumped back, upsetting a table and the lead crystal vase of hothouse flowers sitting on it.
"Oh!" She grabbed for the vase, but Adam was quicker. He reached behind his head and caught hold of the vase seconds before it hit the ground or spilled its contents over his head.
"Is it me?" Adam chuckled. "Or do you have something against fragile household objects?" He righted the vase, then caught hold of Giana's hand before she could do further damage.
"I-it is you," Giana replied. "I am not normally so clumsy. But I become clumsy around you."
Her honest answer surprised him. When she tried to withdraw her hand, Adam wouldn't let go. He let his gaze roam over her. His seat on the sofa gave him a unique view of the underside of her black silk and white cotton pinafore-covered breasts. They were magnificent. "Why do you think that is, Miss Langstrom?" he asked.
"I think it is because you kissed me."
Adam lifted an eyebrow at that. "You were breaking the china and the crockery before I kissed you."
Giana answered him with her most mysterious smile. "Why do you think that is, Mr. McKendrick?"
"I think it's because you were trying to get my attention," he teased. "Because you were hoping I'd kiss you."
She opened her mouth to deny his charge or protest it, but she was too honest to deny the truth. She swallowed hard, inhaling the scent of him. She loved the way he smelled and the way he tasted and she did want him to kiss her. She did want to taste him again.
Adam watched as she parted her lips until her mouth formed a perfect circle. A perfectly kissable circle. "Are you waiting for more of my kisses? Is that why you locked yourself in the library with me?"
"I did not lock the door, sir. You did," she pointed out. "I was seeking the key."
"What are you doing in here?"
He gave her hand a little tug. Giana lost her balance and fell forward, sprawling across his chest. "I appear to be locked in."
Adam turned his most devastating grin on her. "You are locked in," he told her. "The question is why."
Her china-blue eyes widened in surprise, and her pink, pouting lips were slightly opened and quiet, for a change.
"What's the matter?" he asked, placing his hands on her waist and pulled her closer to his face. "Cat got your tongue? No? Maybe that's because 1 have," he murmured sympathetically an instant before his mouth found hers.
Giana inhaled the spicy sandalwood scent of him, allowing it to engulf her as she felt the exotic touch of his tongue on hers. She felt the heat
of his body penetrating through her pinafore and her dress, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his mouth. She tasted him, feeling the rasp of his tongue against her teeth as it slipped between her lips into her mouth. She felt the urgency of his mouth and she echoed it, moving her lips under his, allowing him further access. Giana experienced the jolt of pure pleasure as her tongue mated with his.
Adam caressed her back through the fabric of her dress. The fabric hampered him, frustrated him. He wanted to feel the softness of her flesh beneath the layers of clothing. He wanted to move his hands over her, count her ribs, and test the weight of those wonderful, pear-shaped breasts, but all he could really feel was fabric. Too much fabric, masking the curves pressed against him. He moved his hand down her back, over one firm buttock, to the back of her thigh. Fumbling with her skirts, he reached beneath them, then ran his fingers under the lace of her drawers, caressing the bare flesh of her knee while his mouth ate at hers. Over and over again.
The twin pinpoints pressing into his chest were hard and tight and driving him mad. Adam reversed their positions, shifting his weight until George lay on the sofa. He stopped kissing her mouth long enough to roll her onto her back, then began pressing warm, wet kisses against her line of her jaw, her neck, and beneath one ear.
Giana gasped when Adam's probing tongue explored the contours of her ear. She was hot, breathless, light-headed. She whimpered.
Adam took that as a sign of encouragement. He became bolder, slipping his hand farther up the lace-edged leg of her drawers and higher along her thigh.
Hearing a slight rustle and remembering the newspaper she had secreted in the waistband of her drawers, Giana pulled away. "What are you doing?" she murmured against his lips.
"I was touching you," Adam answered, caressing her thigh once more with his fingers before he withdrew his hand. "Because I want to undress you and spend the rest of the morning touching you all over."
"I have never been undressed by anyone except my"—she almost said lady's maid, but she recovered in time—"Brenna when she's practicing her lady's maid skills." Giana bit her bottom lip and shyly averted her gaze. "I did not realize that a man might choose to undress a woman or that she might allow him to do it."