Free Promoted to Wife (Destiny Bay) by Helen Conrad Page A

head. “I don't understand.”
    “Julia thinks I'm long overdue on the remarriage market. She always brings along a tempting morsel, sure that one of them is bound to catch my fancy one of these days.”
    Good grief. Aunt Julia sounded like a nosy manipulator. More problems coming down the line.  
    “That’s convenient,” Terry remarked dryly.
    “Are you kidding?” He looked as though she'd lost her mind. “I have no intention of getting married again. I spend every other weekend trying to fight off these lovesick females Julia comes up with.”
    Lovesick! Poor women! “How trying for you,” she amended, letting her sarcasm show just a bit.
    “Oh, well.” He smiled at her, looking guileless. “You'll be a help there, at any rate.”
    She looked up in surprise. “Me? How can I help?”
    He leaned closer. “If worse comes to worst, and the latest lady breathes a bit too hot and heavy at my heels, I'll just tell her I'm in love with the butler.” He reached out to chuck her under the chin. “Good idea, isn't it?”
    Why was she flushing at his joke? She made her frown even more ferocious to compensate. “Not particularly,” she snapped.
    He let his hand linger on her chin, turning her head so that she was forced to lift her face to his.
    “Hey, grumpy,” he said with a smile. “If this is what a night sleeping alone does to you, we're going to have to do something about it.”
    He was gorgeous and adorable and ready to play. A temptation like this didn't come along every day. She took a deep breath and gritted her teeth for at least the illusion of extra strength. It was high time she established her rules.
    Slowly, deliberately, she pulled away from his hand and packed up her notebook. Rising from the chair, she forced herself to ignore the gleam in his eyes.
    “Let me know when you're ready to talk business,” she said brusquely. Turning on her heel, she strode quickly out the door and didn't relax until she'd reached the safety of the butler's pantry, where she sank down on the little couch and let herself laugh for a moment.
    She was proud of herself. That brush-off had been difficult—but absolutely necessary.
    “And it was only practice for the future, I'm afraid,” she whispered out loud. Rick had to realize that she wasn't going to join in his games.
    But she didn't have long to brood about taming Rick. The morning was full of other things to keep her busy.
    Anatole, the cook, had arrived in time to fix the children's breakfast. Tall, gaunt, and very French, he'd swept in and taken over, making it clear he ruled the kitchen.
    Terry had known from the first that she and Anatole were not destined to become bosom buddies. From what her father had told her, cooks and butlers often formed close alliances in order to manage their employers. He’d warned her that their first meeting would set the tone.  
    She was ready. She was thinking good thoughts and smiling as she entered the kitchen. But she could see it wasn’t going to be easy from the first. Anatole watched her approach with disdain fairly dripping from the ends of his mustache.
    “I am Anatole,” he'd announced grandly, looking down his long Gallic nose.
    “There's certainly no question about that,” Terry responded cheerfully, then bit her tongue as fire flashed in the man's black eyes. No sense of humor, she noted. It would be wise to tread softly.
    But no matter how diplomatic she tried to be, Anatole had a way to make things unpleasant, disparaging her every suggestion.
    Her father's first call of the day was close on the heels of one of their confrontations.
    “Am I, or am I not, the cook's boss?” she asked her expert.
    To her dismay, her father hesitated. “That's a touchy one,'' he admitted at last. “Technically you are, but most cooks would dispute it. They like to feel they run their department autonomously. It depends on what sort of character your cook has. She won't want to admit you're her boss, but when the chips