English Lord, Ordinary Lady

‘What would you have done, then?’

OK, she was going to try not to act as if she’d had this memorised for the past two years. ‘I’d have made it more contemporary. Light, bright and airy. Clean lines. White muslin curtains. Modern furniture. There’s a local artist who was prepared to show his work on the walls.’

‘That’s hardly in keeping with the history of the place, is it?’

Josie stopped swivelling to and fro on her heels and faced him. ‘It used to be the stables. If you’re going all out for historical accuracy, you should fill the place with saddles, horses and hay. And where there are horses there’s always plenty of horse—’

‘OK! I get the picture.’

‘Manure. I was going to say manure.’ She gave him her best angelic smile.

‘Of course you were.’

Will was giving her his trademark deadpan look, but underneath, just for a split-second, she could have sworn she’d seen the promise of a smile. She shouldn’t want to see more of that smile. It shouldn’t matter to her what he did with his mouth. Even if that bottom lip did look very inviting.

She shook her head. This was her boss and she shouldn’t be thinking about him like this. And even if he weren’t her boss, she wasn’t about to have a fling with another member of the aristocracy. It would end in tears. Hers probably. Hattie’s definitely.

Mentally, she added another entry to her unwritten set of rules: ignore Will’s bottom lip—and the rest of his finely chiselled face, for that matter. But then her thoughts just drifted lower, to the washboard abs and hard thighs Marianne the librarian had speculated about.

Perhaps she should just try and avoid thinking about him altogether.

While she’d been wrestling with herself, he’d crossed the room and unzipped a large bag balanced on a chair near the door. ‘While we are on the subject of new looks for the tearoom…’He pulled something out wrapped in the thin plastic that dry-cleaners used.

She took a few steps closer.

‘I thought the staff should have a unified look. Something more appropriate.’

He looked her up and down. Now, this was just a wild guess, but she was pretty sure that ripped jeans and a T-shirt with the name of her favourite rock band on the front was not what he had in mind when he said appropriate. Just as well she’d kept her jacket on and he couldn’t see the slogan splashed across the back.

He walked to where she was standing, let the folded bundle drop and she took in the full horror of the situation.

‘You have got to be kidding me!’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘IT’S just a uniform, Josie.’

‘No way! I mean…no way! Look at it!’ She held up a hand, keeping it at bay. ‘It’s grey!’

And knee-length, with buttons right up to her chin and a Peter-Pan collar.

Another one of those shudders started in her boots. And this one registered on the Richter scale.

‘I’m not wearing that.’

He looked her straight in the eye. ‘All the staff employed in this tearoom will wear the uniform.’

She wasn’t so thick she couldn’t catch the underlying implication in that last remark. They stared at each other.

This was the point at which she would normally go ballistic, do something completely outrageous. Just to let the person who was trying to squash her into some kind of mould know that it couldn’t be done.

‘Fine!’

She snatched the ghastly thing from his hands and walked to the door. He followed her and calmly zipped the bag back up. When he’d finished he stood and looked at her.

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