"Why not?" Adam lifted an eyebrow in query.
Giana smiled her most angelic smile and fluttered her eyelashes at him. "To do otherwise would be against their nature."
The smile and the fluttering lashes almost worked, but Adam had been raised in a household of consummate actresses. Wheedling and coy feminine wiles no longer had the power to sway him. Especially when he sensed that employing them wasn't part of the Amazon's nature. He liked her better when she challenged him. "Is its size the only reason you happened to be in my bed?"
Giana blinked. "What other reason could there be?"
"I'm a very wealthy man," Adam said.
"How very nice for you," Giana politely replied.
Adam inhaled sharply, swallowed his breath, and began to cough.
Giana waited patiently for him to recover from his fit of coughing. She stared at him with an expectant look on her face.
"I'm also young and healthy."
"Then you are to be congratulated, Mr. McKendrick, for I understand that Scotland can be a very harsh land. You are very fortunate to have youth and health on your side, for one cannot overestimate their importance. I feel quite certain that those qualities will go a long way in alleviating the hardships one encounters here."
Adam was fascinated by the words that came out of her mouth each time she spoke. Her words sounded like English, but he couldn't quite grasp the meaning. Nor did she appear to grasp the meaning of his. Maybe it was because he was American and she was ... well... foreign ... but the Amazon couldn't take a hint. "I'm also generally considered to be reasonably attractive," he informed her.
She cocked her head to one side and studied him. "I do not agree."
"You don't?"
"No, I do not." She sighed. "I do not wish to find fault with the opinions of the people who have commented on your appearance, but I would have to say that you are more than reasonably attractive—"
Adam grinned. "More?"
"Of course," she replied matter-of-factly. "I have only just made your acquaintance, and know nothing of your character, but I would judge your outward appearance to be very attractive."
"Is that so?" Adam gave her a slow, appraising glance.
"Yes, Mr. McKendrick, it is so." She frowned, unable to understand why he insisted on questioning her answers or why he appeared to have difficulty understanding her English. Although it was not her native tongue, Giana knew her command of the English language was exceptional because her mother had taught her to speak it, and her mother had been a cousin to Queen Victoria.
"You must have been aware that I'm a bachelor."
"No, Mr. McKendrick, I know nothing of the details of your private life." Giana frowned even more. "What have they to do with me?"
"Let's see," Adam drawled sarcastically, raising his hand and pretending to count on his fingers. "What could the details of my private life have to do with you?" He paused for effect.
"Especially since I'm young, healthy, wealthy, and reasonably—no, make that very—attractive, unmarried, and the owner of the bed you're currently occupying." He looked up at her. "I would have to be extremely unenlightened not to realize that, in most circles, I'm considered to be quite a catch."
"In most circles, perhaps," Giana informed him. "But not in mine."
Adam cocked an eyebrow once again. "Indeed?" He'd have to be an extremely unenlightened man not to realize that the daughter of his new housekeeper and butler had just declared her circle closed to him. Adam had deliberately baited her, but her answer still stung, and Adam didn't know whether to find the idea amusing or pathetic.
Isobel stepped forward. "Come, Giana, we'll leave the McKendrick to settle in here while we find you another bed."
"Wait." Adam glanced from mother to daughter. "Tell me what you've heard about the Bountiful Baron?
Isobel was clearly puzzled by the demand. "I don't understand."
Adam turned to Giana. "What about you?"
Giana lifted her chin. "That baron is not among my acquaintances."
"Then you can stay where you are," he said. "For tonight. But tomorrow you and the dog find someplace else to sleep." Adam lifted his chin and gave her his most winning smile. "You're welcome to sleep indoors, but fancy collar or no, the dog sleeps outside."
Giana glared at him, her nostrils flaring in anger. "You cannot ..." she sputtered.
He grinned. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I outrank you. You may be tall, but I'm taller and I own the place." Adam turned his back on Giana and headed for the bedroom door.
The other occupants of the room gasped.
"What?" Adam paused in the doorway and glanced over his shoulder at the Amazon standing in the center of his bed. Her mouth gaped open, and he noticed for the first time that the ribbons threaded through the neckline of her nightgown were black and untied.
Giana was stunned. She knew, even if he did not, that he was in the presence of royalty, and one simply did not turn one's back on royalty. Since she could not bring her royal status to his attention, she settled for chastising him for his rudeness. "Manners, Mr. McKendrick," she called out in a too-sweet singsong voice. "Shall we find you some? Along with your warm fire and comfortable bed? Because you seem to have forgotten yours again."
"Not at all." Adam put his thumb and forefinger up to his forehead, inclined his head, and pretended to tip his hat to her. "Pleasure meeting you, George."
Chapter 5
A Princess of the Blood Royal calmly addresses the concerns of her loyal subjects:
—Maxim 104: Protocol and Court Etiquette of Princesses of the Blood Royal of the House of Saxe-Wallerstein-Karolya, as decreed by His Serene Highness, Prince Karol I, 1432.
“George!" Isobel propped her fists on her hips and sniffed her disapproval to Giana and the rest of the staff as they huddled around the kitchen table discussing the night's events.
The new owner of Larchmont Lodge had been fed and comfortably settled into a room in the opposite wing of the lodge more than an hour ago. Isobel and Albert had returned from tending to McKendrick's needs and promptly awakened Max, who insisted on rousing the rest of the staff in order to hold a family meeting to determine the best way to avert a crisis and proceed with the plan.
Giana politely covered her yawn with her hand. As far as she was concerned, the best way to proceed with the plan was to proceed. She saw no reason to rob the others of a few hours' sleep by holding a midnight meeting. But Max had wanted to make certain everyone knew of McKendrick's arrival and understood their roles, and Max had always been cautious and a stickler when it came to planning. Giana swallowed another yawn. If holding an urgent meeting on the crisis eased his mind, then she was willing to comply. But the fact remained that the crisis, if one could call it that, had already been averted. McKendrick had willingly accepted their explanations, and as long as McKendrick believed they were staff, they were safe. And McKendrick had no reason not to believe them. Isobel and Albert had made certain that he'd been fed and made comfortable in his room, and Josef had seen to the care and feeding of his horse in the barn.
Still, the family had been surprised and upset by McKendrick's unexpected arrival, and the least she could do as their leader was to listen to their worries and do her best to reassure them.
"The McKendrick called you George, Your Highness," Isobel repeated.
"So he did." A half-smile played at the comer of Giana's lips. Her mother had called her Fleur when she was growing up because, she said, Giana was the most precious bloom in the principality. Her father's name for her hadn't been quite as elegant. To him, she had always been Monkey. Her father had said it was because she'd come out of the womb all arms and legs, red-wrinkled face, and grasping hands. He'd told her that she hadn't looked like a princess at all and had more closely resembled the monkeys in the Christianberg zoo.
Giana sighed. She hadn't been called anything except Giana or Your Royal Highness since the night her father was mur ... her father died. How she missed hearing her father'
s voice. Missed hearing the sound of his footsteps echoing down the marble halls of the palace at Christianberg, the clink of his dress spurs and the rattle of his scabbard as he hurried from room to room, greeting guests and attending to business. Her Royal Highness Princess Monkey. Her father was the only person who had ever called her that. And she'd loved it because it made her feel special. Because she was the heir apparent to a crown, everyone else in the world addressed her by her given names or by the title she held. Only her parents dared to call her anything else. Until now ...
"And he insulted you," Albert said.
Giana frowned. He might have seemed insulting to Isobel and Josef, but she preferred to think of his manner as challenging rather than insulting. Except on rare occasions when Max did it, there was no one to question her decisions or challenge her ideals or opinions the way her parents had done.
There wasn't anyone to tease her or chastise her for her royal hauteur or remind her that her position in life existed so that she might serve, rather than be served. "When?"
"He deliberately turned his back on you, Your Highness," Albert explained.
"Oh, that." She'd dismissed his action as thoughtless and unintentional. He hadn't known he was in the presence of royalty or that turning his back on royalty was the height of insult, so the sight of the three of them—Isobel, Albert, and herself— standing in stunned silence with their mouths agape must have seemed quite strange. Giana smiled at the memory. "I rather doubt that Mr. McKendrick's practical experience"—she used her father's favorite expression—"with royalty is as great as yours or Isobel's."
'Turning his back on you wasn't the only insult he paid you, Your Highness," Isobel continued her list of grievances against the American. "He stared at you in a most impolite manner."
"Did he?" Giana asked.
Isobel nodded. "He stared at you as if he thought you were something on display in a sweet shop window. How is it that you did not notice?"
Giana smiled her mysterious princess smile—the one that said she knew a great deal more than she was telling. "Let's see," she said, mimicking Adam's drawl, "could it be because most everyone we've—I've—ever met stares at me as if I'm something on display in a shop window? And the fact is that I have been on display like merchandise in a shop window since the day I was born. Over the years I have grown quite immune to impolite stares. How is it that you failed to notice that?" She teased, reaching over to pat Isobel's hand.
"You've only us to protect you." Isobel glanced around the table and nodded at each of her companions, all of them subjects who had remained loyal to their beloved princess and the memory of her late parents. "We must have Max speak to the McKendrick about his presumptuous and forward manner toward you," Isobel said.
"No," Giana said. "Max must not speak to the McKendrick." She looked at the older woman. "Would you have had Max or Albert speak to my father or any other gentleman about his manner of speaking to a member of the female staff?"
"Of course not," Isobel answered. "But Prince Christian was the sovereign ruler of Karolya."
"Adam McKendrick is the sovereign ruler of Larchmont Lodge and all the land surrounding it," Giana replied. "We have nowhere else to go. We cannot risk discovery."
Isobel grudgingly admitted Giana was right, but she didn't have to like it. "That is true, Your Highness, but you should not allow him such familiarity."
"I could do nothing to prevent his familiarity. You told him that my name was Georgiana and that I was your daughter." She softened her tone of voice. "He's an American, Isobel, and unaccustomed to royalty." She shrugged her shoulders in a gesture her mother would have declared most unbecoming a princess. "As long as he thinks I'm a servant in his employ, you cannot expect him to address me properly or hold his ignorance of my royal heritage against him."
"Maybe not," Isobel conceded, "but we can certainly hold his familiar manner against him, Your Highness."
"I have already taken the man to task for his lack of manners, Isobel," Giana reminded her.
"I understand, Your Royal Highness, but as you said, he is an American ignorant of our ways"—she turned to the other members of the staff—"but we are not. We are Karolyan citizens. We cannot put any job above our duty to our princess and our duty is to serve and protect our princess first and foremost." Isobel narrowed her gaze. "One of the ways we shall protect our princess is by keeping watchful eyes on the McKendrick."
Chapter 6
The men and women in the Bountiful Baron's employ sing his praises.
—The First Installment of the True Adventures of the Bountiful Baron: Western Benefactor to Blond, Beautiful, and Betrayed Women ■written by John J. Bookman, 1874.
“Good morning, sir.”
Adam automatically grabbed at the bedclothes and yanked them from his waist to his chest. Good lord! His new housekeeper was as bad as his mother—barging into his room and waking him up without so much as a knock in warning. Keeping one hand on the covers to ensure his modesty remained intact, Adam raked his hand through his hair to smooth down the locks he knew, from experience, were standing on end.
Isobel struggled to keep from smiling. "I brought your breakfast, sir. And your clothes." She plopped the breakfast tray across his lap and pointed to the neatly pressed suit hanging on a brass hook on the open door of the mahogany wardrobe.
He frowned at her. "You're the last person I expected to see this morning, ma'am. Where is Albert? Why didn't he bring my clothes?"
"Albert is meeting with Max in the library. They're discussing the refurbishing of the servants' quarters and the hiring of additional staff from among those available in the village."
"Who is Max?"
"Private secretary to Her..." Isobel caught herself. "Your private secretary."
Adam shook his head. "I don't have a private secretary."
"Of course you do, sir," Isobel said. "Owners of hunting lodges always have private secretaries to attend to their correspondence and the correspondence of their guests."
"I attend to my own correspondence," Adam replied. "It's more private than employing a private secretary, and I prefer it that way."
His answer came as a surprise to Isobel. "But what of your guests, sir?"
Adam shrugged his shoulders. "If they wish to correspond with anyone, they'll have to write the letters themselves," he said. "I'm not going to do it."
"Of course not, sir," Isobel replied. "That would be an unthinkable breach of protocol—especially since it is Max's duty to attend to it for you."
"Max has no duty to attend to for me," Adam told her. "Because I don't have a private secretary."
Isobel turned and gestured toward the china pot sitting upon the breakfast tray. "How do you take your tea, sir?"
"I don't drink tea."
Isobel frowned. I can fetch you a cup of hot chocolate from the pot I made for Giana."
"Giana." Adam repeated aloud, rolling the name around on his tongue, liking the sound of it.
"Our daughter," Isobel reminded him. "You met her last night."
George. The Amazon. How could he forget? He smiled at the memory of the young woman standing in the center of the bed. He thought of her as an Amazon, not because she was masculine in any way, but because she was tall and beautiful and able to look a man in the eye. "I thought her name was..."
"Georgiana."
"George."
They spoke in unison and the housekeeper narrowed her gaze and frowned at him. "We call her Giana."
Adam lifted an eyebrow. "And you prepare a pot of hot chocolate for her each morning?"
"Of course, sir," Isobel replied. "Hot and frothy, just the way she likes it."
Adam snorted. "And deliver it on a tray to her bed." She nodded. "Just as I delivered this one to you." "Quite the little princess, isn't she?" Isobel froze. "Sir?" The single query came out as a high-pitched squeak.
"I thought my mother spoiled my sisters, but you ..." He shook his head. "You treat your daughter like a queen." Isobel
looked puzzled. "That is a mother's duty, is it not?" "But your daughter..." He paused for a moment, as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard. "Georgiana gets the master suite, the largest bed, and chocolate hot and frothy just the way she likes it every morning."
"That's right, sir. Shall I fetch you a cup?" Isobel ventured.
Adam shook his head. "I prefer coffee."
"I'm sorry sir, but I didn't bring coffee. Only tea."
"Then I'll take tea," Adam replied, wincing as he did so.
"Very good, sir." She turned to the tray, filled a cup with steaming liquid from the china pot, and handed it to him.
He accepted the cup and saucer she handed to him but refused the milk and sugar she offered. "I take it straight." He swallowed a sip of the strong brew. It wasn't coffee, but it was hot and since it was all he could do to keep his teeth from chattering with cold, he drank it. "Thank you." "You're welcome, sir."
"Not at all, sir," she replied. "I made an exception this morning because I thought you might appreciate having your clothes. But now that your man has arrived, I'm certain he will assume that duty."
"My man?" She had surprised him once again.
"Your valet, sir."
"I don't have a valet."
"Of course you do, sir. All gentlemen have valets to see to their wardrobes. Although I've never met an Irish one before." She thinned her lips in a disapproving line. "O'Brien, I believe he said. Murphy O'Brien. He arrived early this morning in a coach piled high with your luggage."
Adam laughed. "O'Brien isn't my valet," he replied. "He's my friend." He poured himself another cup of tea, then lifted a piece of bacon from the rasher on the tray and scooped up a forkful of eggs.
Isobel sniffed. "You could ha' fooled me."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because the only men I've ever known who fussed that much over luggage were valets," she said.
Adam laughed again. "O'Brien has reason to be concerned about the luggage," he told her. "Because over half of it is his, and he spent a small fortune to procure it in time for the journey."
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