suppose I could try pecan pie."
His smile lit up his whole face. "Thank you." He led her into the alcove and said, "You know, I can yank all the buttons off if it would encourage you to stay longer."
She laughed. "I need to be back before ten bell. I can stay until then."
He did not say a word, merely looked into her eyes and smiled. He led her to a padded bench that curved into a secluded corner. A polished wood table awaited them with a wooden box, two plates, an assortment of utensils, and tea for two.
"What if I couldn't stay?" she asked as he helped her sit.
"I refused to accept that possibility," he replied. "I could not imagine you'd let a perfectly good pie go to waste." Before she pulled her hand away, he kissed her fingers and turned to open the box. "I hope you like it."
"Here, let me do that." She tried to control the tremor in her just-kissed hand as she leaned forward and reached for the knife. "You don't need to serve me."
He gently took the knife from her hand. "Yes, I do. You relax and let me do this." As he cut the pie, he asked, "Are you still liking your job?"
Her hands gripped the edge of the cushion and she marveled at its softness. She could not remember sitting on a cushion before, and she found the whole experience nice. Inviting. And the dim light made the alcove seem almost romantic. "I like it fine," she said. "And it pays well."
He presented her with a brownish wedge of pie on a fine china plate edged in shimmering gold. "I'm glad," he said.
Goddess, don't let me break this plate
, she thought as Risley handed her a shining golden fork, as well. The pie smelled wonderful and her mouth watered in anticipation. Sweets of any kind were a rare indulgence and an unaccustomed treat. But to have Risley serve her pie on a fine plate in private circumstances was almost too much for her to bear. In her nervousness she dropped the fork and it clattered to the floor. "Oh, Risley," she gasped, "I'm so sorry!"
He retrieved the fork and handed her another one. "Don't be," he said. "There is nothing to be sorry about. Relax. We're just having pie."
She nodded and grasped the fork, determined not to drop it again. "Is this something nobles do? Have pie?"
He poured their tea and sat beside her, their knees not quite touching. "I don't think so. I thought it was something two people could do to spend time together. Have pie and talk."
He glanced out toward the hallway. A nobleman walked by without noticing them. Risley sighed and turned his attention back to her. "Are you going to try the pie?"
She nodded and portioned off a bite, the fork rattling on the plate.
"If this is too much for you, we don't have to do this."
"It's not too much, not really. I don't know why I'm so nervous." She flashed him what she hoped was a self-assured smile and popped the bit of pie into her mouth.
A small happy sound escaped her throat and she sighed with utter bliss.
He smiled. "I guess you like pecan pie, and there's no reason to be nervous."
She nodded and some of her jitters fell away. "I know there isn't." She glanced out to the hall as a lackey trudged by with bathwater. "Maybe it's because anyone could walk by and stare at us."
He ate a bite of his pie. "Would you rather go somewhere more private?"
She took another bite as she contemplated her answer. "No," she said at last. "People talk enough as it is. If we were to meet somewhere private…" She shrugged and closed her eyes as the taste of the pie rolled over her tongue.
Risley said, "What people say doesn't matter to me, but I don't want to sneak around. Not with you." When she looked at him again he added, "But private, ah… meetings would probably be more acceptable to the gossipers than public ones."
"Because I'm a commoner?"
"No, because you're a woman. If I repeatedly met a wrinkled old countess, the rumors would fly. What people don't know, they can't speculate about."
She paused and took a quick sip of tea. "But everyone knows you brought me