The Prince's Mistress

CHAPTER TWO

Mikhail sat in his library contemplating his new housekeeper. She was too young and too pretty to be a housekeeper. She did everything she could to hide her beauty, but it was no use. Her blonde hair had been pulled back in a severe bun, but it only served to make him want to take it down, run her hair through his fingers and watch the sun sparkle in its golden strands. Nothing hid the full red of her lips, or her sooty lashes that were so long they left shadows or the cream of her skin. She couldn't hide her almond shaped green eyes. They were clear and hadn't a single hint of any other color. Her dress was the simple dress of a servant, but it's starkness only brought out the creamy white of her skin.

Why was she not married to some strapping young man who showered her with gifts? What was she doing in the middle of nowhere? Why was she a housekeeper? Had she been the earl's mistress? He toyed with that idea and quickly discarded it. The prim housekeeper was no man's mistress and certainly not the geriatric earl's.

She was a contradiction, an outlier, and an unexpected delight. He would take her to bed, but he had to be patient. He could sense her innocence, it radiated from her very skin and was reflected in the pools of her green eyes. The thought of her tight, innocent body wrapped around him made his cock hard. He looked down at the placard of his breeches that was strained by his sudden and insistent erection. At the same time, he heard the faint sound of footsteps down the hall. He hurried to sit behind his desk to hide his evident arousal.

A handsome footman entered with a tray laden with sandwiches, scones and crumpets that he laid out on a nearby sideboard. There were small bowls of jam, honey and clotted cream. A maid entered behind him, carrying a teapot and service for four.

Mikhail's stomach rumbled at the sight of food and reminded him that he hadn't eaten at lunch. The drive to Northumbria had been long and the food at the last inn had been inedible. The footman turned and asked, "Will that be all, my lord?" Mikhail nodded and the pair left him with the perfect silence that only servants mastered.

Mrs. Reed entered with the same quiet footsteps, and even though she had mastered the silence of a servant's steps, her gait was too assured, too confident and too bold. She didn't walk like a servant. She walked like a lady. Her steps were smooth, her shoulders were back, posture perfect and gaze straight ahead. She didn't look down, didn't avert her eyes and her demeanor didn't defer to his. There was something not right about Mrs. Reed. He didn't know who she was, but she was no housekeeper.

"Would you care for tea, Mrs. Reed?" Mikhail gestured towards the sideboard, not rising from behind the desk, least he embarrass himself. His housekeeper nodded and without consulting him, poured a cup of tea before asking, "How do you take your tea?"

Mikhail's senses went on high alert. She was serving tea as if he were her guest instead of her employer. He was confounded by her, but answered, "Three sugars and milk." She nodded, readied his tea and asked, "Would you like something to eat?" Mikhail silently willed his still half hard cock to soften before answering, "Some sandwiches, please." She filled a plate with an assortment and served him before turning to serve herself. She did this without a thought, as if housekeepers took tea with peers of the realm everyday. Mikhail observed her daintily choose a lemon cream scone and pour a cup of tea before sitting across from him.

"Mrs. Reed, what are you doing in my home?"

The words were blunt, but spoken with perfect politeness. She lifted her gaze to the enormous man whose eyes glittered coldly as he assessed her frankly. Honor froze, her breathing stopped and her throat closed. She swallowed and croaked, "I beg your pardon, my lord?"

"I think you heard me. You are about fifteen years too young for your position, you do not behave like a servant and it is plain you were not born to service. Why are you my housekeeper?"