Free Lily Lang by The Last Time We Met

had left for Eton, and her aunt had removed all the old servants who had been the only true family she and William—and Jason—had ever known.
    “I see,” said Jason. “So it was a fait accompli. How very clever of you. And I seem to recollect Cook always said you had a way with pastry.”
    She drew in her breath sharply. It was the first time since her arrival that Jason had mentioned the life he’d had at Thornwood, and her heart clenched at this acknowledgment of the good times in their shared past. Unable to stop herself, she glanced at him from over her shoulder, but his expression was as closed and unreadable as ever.
    Looking quickly away again, she said, “It did not seem right Harriet should not be permitted to visit her mother when she is so ill. And Monsieur Leblanc is not unkind. Only he is very absorbed in his food. Nothing else seems to exist for him—though he does seem very fond of his own mother.”
    “I confess I had been unaware Monsieur Leblanc had a mother,” said Jason, his tone dry.
    Despite herself, Miranda smiled and glanced over at him again. “You thought perhaps he had been hatched from an egg?”
    The corners of his mouth curved as well, and her breath caught. When she was a child, making the quiet, solemn boy Jason had once been smile had been a game to her, and in the intervening years none of her pleasure had diminished at succeeding.
    Then she frowned, remembering something she had learned earlier that day. “By the by, sir, you ought to send a hamper to Bruno’s home. His wife fell and broke her leg, and they have three very young children.”
    For a moment Jason was utterly silent, and she thought she had overstepped herself. Flushing with embarrassment for intervening in club business, she said, “That is, of course, if you wish it.”
    Jason tilted his head and regarded her for a long moment.
    “How did you do it?” he asked at last. “How did you discover Bruno’s wife broke her leg and Harriet’s mother is ill in Hampstead Heath and Monsieur Leblanc missed his mother? They have both worked here at Blakewell’s for years. They never mention anything of the sort to me.”
    “I-I talked to them, I suppose,” she said lamely. “People are the same all over, aren’t they? They’re good people, Jason, even Monsieur Leblanc, for all that he shouts and throws things.”
    She had slipped and used his Christian name. She flushed, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
    “Yes, of course,” he said. He set aside his glass on the table near him and took a step toward her. Her heart leapt in her throat as he reached out and caught her face in one hand.
    “I suppose you can’t help it, can you?”
    “Can’t help what?” Miranda repeated, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment at the sensation of his skin on her own. How well she remembered the feel of his hands on her, she thought, and resisted the urge to turn her face into his callused palm.
    “Can’t help playing the lady of the manor,” he said.
    “I…I don’t know what you mean.”
    “Come now,” said Jason. He had drawn so close his breath stirred the tendrils of her hair. “Taking charge of the staff, even when they’re not yours. Looking after their well-being. Ensuring the whole domestic operation is running smoothly.”
    Her tongue was very dry. “I’m sorry if I have displeased you,” she whispered. “I didn’t intend to interfere with the way you run your club.”
    “I rather doubt that,” he said. “But as I said, I imagine you cannot help it. It is who you are, is it not? It is who you were always meant to be.”
    She closed her eyes again, hardly able to breathe, wanting to lean into the warmth of him, the strength of him.
    “So tell me, Miranda,” he said, his lips very close to her ear now. “Why are you not mistress of your own home somewhere? Was that not what your father wished? That you should be married to a great lord with multiple Christian names and a large estate? You ought to be ‘my