Free A Prince for Aunt Hetty by Kimberly Truesdale Page A

all, he had invited them all to his house, of course he would have thought of their comfort. “That would be nice.”
    “Just a moment, then.” Rupert gave the children instructions and they headed off again into the maze. Then he turned back to Hetty and offered his arm. Instead of leading her toward the main doorway, he led her toward a set of windows a few steps away. He grabbed the handle and pulled one of the set open. It led directly into a comfortable parlor with two overstuffed sofas and a number of big chairs. There was a large fire roaring in the fireplace and a table in the middle of the room with all manner of edible delights.
    Rupert must have seen her eying the table. “Since we promised the children cake, we should probably wait until they are here to dig into it. But may I pour you some tea?”
    “That would be lovely, thank you.” Hetty began to take off her gloves.
    “I will leave the door open there so the children will know where we are,” he gestured to the full-length glass window through which they had just entered.
    “Wonderful,” Hetty replied. She put her gloves into her coat pockets and slipped the coat off her shoulders. The room was warm enough to do that even with the door standing open. Her recent exertion also made her feel overly heated. She draped the coat over a chair and took a step toward the open door. She smiled to hear the children yelling and laughing.
    “Sugar?” Rupert asked from across the room.
    “None, thank you. Just some milk.” Hetty turned her attention back into the room and toward the man who was bent over the table. A tall man bent over a small teacup was certainly an incongruous sight. She watched as he took care to pour the milk into the teacup and then to pour the tea slowly without slopping it around. His delicate movements and care made the sight that much more dissonant. He looked up and caught her gaze on him.
    “Are you afraid I will do something incorrectly, Miss Masters? Or perhaps poison your drink?” He smiled and replaced the teapot on the tray.
    “I thought we had agreed on first names, Mr. Henderson,” she replied.
    He nodded in acknowledgment, the right corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smile. “So we did. Are you afraid I will do something incorrectly, Hetty ?”
    Hetty's expression of amusement matched his. “I was somewhat concerned, sir.”
    He picked up the teacup and brought it to her. “Your gaze is enough to make anyone nervous, which means I am more prone to doing something incorrectly.” He was clearly teasing her.
    “I didn't mean to make you nervous,” Hetty blushed. Now it was his gaze that brought on the nerves.
    “Oh, you didn't. I am only teasing. But you were looking very intent on something . Might I inquire as to what it was?”
    He offered her the teacup. As she took it from him, their hands brushed. In her lifetime she could not count the number of times the same thing had happened with any number of men and women. But none had felt as intimate as this slight brush did. She hoped the color had not rushed directly to her cheeks. Just in case, she kept her head down as she took a sip of the tea.
    “I was trying to think of the last time a man made tea for me, if you must know.” Hetty took pains to make her voice as easy and lighthearted as possible.
    “And what did you conclude?” He asked. He'd stepped back to the table and was pouring a cup for himself.
    “That I cannot recall if such a thing has ever happened.” Hetty took another sip. The tea was perfect. It filled her with an entirely different kind of warmth than the fire provided.
    “That is a shame,” Rupert replied.
    “Why?”
    “A man should be able to make a decent cup of tea for himself. And how is he ever to learn if he does not practice?” He joined her near the window, sipping at his own cup of decent tea.
    Hetty meant to laugh at his comment, but she saw that he was quite serious about it. “I suppose I never thought too much