Free The Seduction of Phaeton Black by Jillian Stone Page A

actually worked for Scotland Yard, might he be able to assist her? She sat upright. The prospects of bringing Yankee Willem to justice, as well as having her stolen ships returned, suddenly seemed greatly improved. Tossing back blankets, she dressed in a frenzy.
    She hesitated. Or was she just playing the fool? Without a doubt, Mr. Black had proved himself to be debauched as well as disagreeable. She found an apron in the closet and tied it on. But if he was a Yard man, well, that made him a godsend.
    By the time the morning mist burned off, she had the small kitchen and pantry scrubbed to sparkling. There were also freshly made buns on the stove and a hot kettle ready for tea.
    She tapped at his door quietly and the door swung open. “Mr. Black?”
    He was pulling drawers up over chiseled buttocks. She did not cough or gasp. She stared.
    Having grown up on a ship, America had caught glimpses of near naked men often enough, but this was, well, quite delicious. He grabbed his trousers and turned in her direction. She nearly choked. Naturally, he would have a broad, hard chest, dusted with brown hair.
    “Looking for a bit of morning in and out, Miss Jones?” He yanked on pants. “Shall I leave these unbuttoned?”
    Stop gaping. “Excuse me, I came to inquire—how do you take your tea, Mr. Black?”
    He tugged a grin into a frown. “How disappointing.” He tipped his head and buttoned his pants. “Spot of milk and sugar.”
    “Exactly how I take mine.” She smiled and dashed down the narrow hall to ready his breakfast.
    “I do not sleep in a night shirt.” He stood in the pantry, lifting braces up over a newly pressed shirt. “If it bothers, I suggest you refrain from opening my door, leastwise before knocking.”
    “But I did knock. And the door opened on its own.”
    “An unlikely occurrence, but nevertheless, do take care in the future.” He unfolded a sheet of paper and let it dangle between two fingers. “I take it you read, Miss Jones?”
    She wiped her hands on her apron and took the note. It was a list of chores, a very long list at that, and several tasks quite dreadful, filthy work. Then and there, she determined never to let him see so much as a grimace.
    “Very good, sir.” She set the note aside. “I borrowed a jar of milk from Mrs. Parker and she told me there is a bed frame in the attic along with several mattresses. I’m to have a look.”
    He retrieved a few coins from his pocket and pressed them into her palm. “You’ll need to purchase a sheet, and a few personal items. The blankets from last night are serviceable enough.”
    “There is blackberry jam in the pantry, and I made more buns, the kind you like, Mr. Black. May I pour you some tea?” He studied her for a moment, before sliding a chair out from the table.
    She set down his teacup, a plate of butter and buns, and a jar of preserve. She waited until he bit into a mouthful of hot bread dripping with melted butter and sweet berries.
    “Do you really work for Scotland Yard?”
    “At the moment.” He chewed with enthusiasm. “Periodically, they discontinue my contract. Has something to do with the odd nature of cases I work on.”
    “Is it possible, Mr. Black—that is, might you assist me with my problem?”
    He buttered the second half of the bun and ignored her presence. She tiptoed closer. He set the knife down and looked up, raising a brow.
    She bit her lower lip before mustering a brighter look. “You remember, sir, the stolen ships.”
    He slurped a bit of tea. “Ah, the rude, unpleasant pirates.”
    America sighed. “You could help me if you wanted to.”
    “I could.” He popped a last piece of bun in his mouth. “If I wanted to.”
    He disappeared down the hall and returned a moment later, cravat in place, vest and jacket donned. “I’m out for the day, won’t be back until late afternoon.” He nodded to the list on the table. “If and when you succeed in completing those—”
    “Yes, Mr. Black?” She