“She is here,” Joseph blurted.
A frown formed on Gabriel’s lips. Seventy if he was a day, Joseph’s vision had begun failing him two decades ago. Now it would seem the man’s mind was to follow. Gabriel cast a glance about. “Who is here?”
Joseph tugged at his cravat. His wide eyes bulged in his face. “Mrs. Munroe,” he said on a whisper that was not at all a whisper. He jabbed a finger toward the breakfast room.
Gabriel followed that frantic movement and then with a narrow-eyed gaze on the entrance of that room, strode forward. He stepped into the room and froze at the threshold of the door. Sure enough, Mrs. Munroe, as bold as the lady of the house herself, buttered a crusty piece of bread. He eyed her plate heaped with cold ham, eggs, kippers, and bread.
Then, as though she’d not heard every loudly damning word he’d uttered in the hall, she looked up from her plate. “Oh, hello, my lord.” The less rumpled, bespectacled lady climbed to her feet and dropped a curtsy. Without awaiting permission, she reclaimed her seat and resumed her buttering efforts.
He opened and closed his mouth several times and then cast a perplexed gaze about. Joseph had wisely fled, leaving Gabriel the unenviable task of dealing with the obstinate woman. “Mrs. Munroe?”
She paused and looked up. “Yes, my lord?”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
A wide smile wreathed her lips. “I believe it should be fairly obvious, I’m breaking my fast.”
He started at the unexpected discovery that, for the severity of her coiffure and the paleness of her cheeks, the lady really was quite stunning when she smiled. Then her words registered. “I see that,” he snapped and her smile dipped. She made to take a bite out of her now well-buttered bread. “Why are you here?”
Mrs. Munroe froze, her lips slightly parted, Cook’s flaky bread but a hairsbreadth from her mouth. “Would you have me take my meal someplace else, my lord?”
He’d have her take it wherever she blasted well pleased—but not his home. “I’d have had you break your fast and left several hours ago,” he said, glowering at the insolent miss. By God, what game did she play here?
Then she bit into that damned bread. Her lips closed over it and had she been any woman other than this displeased, oft-frowning instructor from Mrs. Belden, he’d have believed the innocently erotic gesture, deliberate. He groaned.
Mrs. Munroe leaned forward in her chair. “Is there something wrong, my lord?”
“My chair.”
She cocked her head. “Beg pardon?”
“It is my chair.”
Four little creases indicated the lady’s confusion as she glanced about. “Where is your chair, my lord?”
Oh, blast and bloody hell. Tired of Mrs. Munroe and her delayed departure and furious with his sister’s debilitating condition, he strode over and towered over the young woman until she was forced to crane her neck back. He expected fear to light those expressive eyes. Instead, an eager glint lit their blue depths. By God, the insolent slip was enjoying herself. She’d orchestrated this entire exchange.
“Yes, my lord?” She arched a golden eyebrow.
“What are you still doing here, Mrs. Munroe?” he snapped.
“Break—”
“And do not say breaking your fast.” She closed her lips and then reached for her cup of coffee. Silence marched, punctuated by the slow draw of her sipping from the contents of her glass. Now she’d gone silent? He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Mrs. Munroe?”
“Yes?”
He’d long prided himself on his unflinching control. “Do you have nothing to say?” Did that harsh growl belong to him? All that control had been shattered by this slip of a woman more than a foot smaller than him and so narrow-waisted a faint wind would likely take her down.
Mrs. Munroe lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. “You advised me against mentioning that I was breaking my fast and so I did not.” Then with long, slender fingers, she held up her partially filled glass for his inspection. “Now I am drinking.” To prove that very point, she took a small sip of her coffee.