Chapter Thirteen

S affron stood in front of the blackened, cast-iron stove with her hands on her hips. Smoke billowed from a hunk of charred meat sitting in a pot on top of the oven and filled the rafters, escaping out the open doors to the garden. She'd spent the morning flitting from one emergency to the next, doing anything she could to avoid Leo. Being around him made her feel helpless, like a ship without a rudder, and it terrified her.

Her plan to divert the Duke of Canterbury had borne fruit, at least, and the man was preoccupied with explaining the finer points of horse breeding to Mr. Mayweather. She was proud of herself for that feat—because it had been Leo's own staff that had given her the idea. She had caught them gossiping about the huge number of stallions Canterbury had brought along with him. All it had taken had been a word in Mr. Mayweather's ear when Canterbury was present that Angelica adored horses, and the duke had done the rest. She had even convinced Mrs. Banting to secure the man in the rooms farthest from theirs.

Now if only I could be as successful with Ravenmore.

Keeping Leo unaware of the reasons for uncovering the painter's identity hinged upon the auction progressing smoothly, but every time she turned around, there was another problem to deal with.

She touched the wooden handle of a hanging pot. "It cannot be that bad. They appear serviceable." Her eyes burned, but she didn't want to wipe the tears away because her hands were filthy.

"I've been cooking my entire life," the cook said, dabbing her rosy cheeks with the handkerchief Saffron had handed her. She stabbed a finger at the oven, making the thick, brown curls that framed her round face bounce. "I've never had this trouble. The devil's in this kitchen!"

It was bad. Saffron could not argue otherwise, but she was not one to give up on a challenge. The time in the kitchen had at least convinced her that the cook was not likely to have played a part in the break-in. The woman had difficulty standing on her feet for any length of time, owing to the more than thirty years she'd spent as a maid of all work. She did not have the stamina to ride a horse or sneak around in the rain.

"Do you have pigeons in the larder?" Saffron asked, her mind searching for alternatives that would suit the diverse preferences of the guests in residence. "A cold pigeon pie will do in a twist."

And few will object to pigeon, unlike fish.

The cook patted at her swollen eyes with the corner of her apron. "Aye, we've got pigeon, madam. Me mam made a mean pigeon pie. That'll do if you say. I can have one ready within an hour."

Saffron shook her head. "This is too much work for one woman. Where are the scullery maids?"

"I've had a miserable time hiring. A dozen girls never showed up for their first day! This darn house chased them away. So many who've worked here have been injured that they call this place haunted. 'Tis just me in the kitchen most days, and hardly a larder at all."

There was something very wrong in Briarwood Manor. It would have been unusual enough for one or two girls to abscond, but a dozen was highly suspicious.

"Show me the pantry," Saffron said, using a tone she reserved for when Angelica complained.

The cook led her to a small closet, and when she stepped inside, she felt a sense of growing dread. She'd never seen a house in such disarray. The foul smell of rotten meat permeated the room, and when she checked the sacks of flour, there were small flecks of black.

Weevils.

The bags would have to be tossed or carefully sifted through to remove the bugs.

She plucked at a strand of onions hanging from the rafters. When she flicked it, the strand hit its neighbor with a wet thud.

"The onions, too." The cook moaned. "Last week, it was the carrots. What will we do? There's a haunt in this house, I swear on it!"

Saffron considered the onions, chewing the inside of her cheek. So much discord in such a short time. An unorganized staff created an opportunity for theft. Was it just that Leo had lost control of his house? Or was it something more?

"You need assistance," she said. "Offer the girls whom you hire a bonus if they stay until the end of the auction." Hopefully, that would be enough of a lure to keep the thief from drawing the staff away. "By the way," she continued. "Last night, did you hear anything unusual? Lord Briarwood mentioned that his studio was broken into."

Mrs. Banting shook her head. "I can't sleep without my nightly draught. I'm afraid I missed all the excitement."

Suddenly, a young girl came flying around the corner, her cap askew. She was one of the younger between maids, or tweenys, who answered the calls of the bells in the family and guest rooms. The Briarwood estate had a plethora of tweenys, perhaps because it was a role that did not require any special training, and therefore it could be offered to local village girls to supplement their family income.

"Oh, madam, you must come," she said. "My sister took a faint and won't rise."

"Oh, goodness," the cook said, fluttering her hands. "'Tis a haunt, truly. Oh, madam, what will we do? You must call the vicar at once!"

"Focus on your duties," Saffron said, raising her voice above the cook's. "I will see to the trouble with the maid. Do you know where I might find smelling salts?" She might need them to revive the maid.

The cook clutched her apron. "What?"

"Smelling salts," Saffron repeated. "Do you have any? Or know where I might find some?"

"Oh, I… Yes." The cook bustled over to a shelf above the sink and picked up a small, white vial.

"I'll return it later," Saffron said as the cook handed it over.

What will it be next? she wondered as she followed the tweeny. It is a wonder this household has continued in such a poor state.

Her corset made it difficult for her to run, which meant the maid she followed had to stop several times and wait anxiously for her to catch up. The girl ran as if she had the stamina of a racehorse.

She expected the maid to lead her to the servants' quarters and was surprised when they headed toward the drawing room. She heard the ruckus before they arrived, the chaotic sound of many voices speaking at once. When they skidded to a halt, her entire body stiffened. Kneeling on the ground with a pale-faced maid draped in his arms was the man she'd tried so hard to avoid. Leo grinned. "There you are."

Saffron paused in the motion of retrieving the smelling salts from the pocket of her chemise. "What is this? What has happened?"

Leo cleared his throat. "All right, thank you, everyone. That will be all."

Saffron clenched her fingers around the bottle as the blushing maid rose to her feet, mumbled an apology, then skittered off, followed by the others. Only a single, white-haired maid remained behind for propriety. The old woman hunched over on a bench, half-asleep.

Leo dusted his trousers, then stood and tucked his hands behind his back, a wide grin still on his face.

Like the cat that has gotten into the cream.

She huffed. "What is this about, my lord?"

"It was the only way to ensure that you would appear, my dear. You must admit, it was quite clever."

He walked closer, and she remained rooted to her spot, like the gazelle frozen before a stalking lion. His slow prowl sent shivers rippling down her arms, and the gleam in his eyes made her want to flee. She had the irrational urge to throw her arms about his neck and kiss him senseless. The memory of their previous amorous encounter warmed her cheeks and had her staggering back.

"There was no need for this, Lord Briarwood," she said tersely. "I assure you I have things well in hand. You should see to your guests."

His longer legs ate up the ground between them and in moments, his chest was so close, she could feel the heat of him.

She knew she should put distance between them, but her legs refused to cooperate.

"What do you want?" she breathed as Leo loomed closer.

He raised a hand to cup her cheek. "You."

In that moment, he had her in thrall. She would've believed anything he said, agreed to any request he made. Her skin prickled where his palm touched her. She didn't know if she had the strength to step away, no matter how her brain screamed at her that what she was doing was wrong.

The realization broke her from the spell, and she jerked her face out of his reach.

"I do not wish to play your games," she said, forcing as much venom into her words as possible. "I agreed to assist you with the auction and in finding the thief. That does not include having you monitor my every move."

Leo quickly tucked his arms behind his back. "Of course. I did not—" He cleared his throat. "What I meant to say was, there are discrepancies in the latest receipt from the grocer. I would value your input as to the cause of the error."

The man was clever. She would give him that. He had already figured out her weakness. The allure of a problem to focus on, to ground her and force her imagination back to Earth, was too much to resist.