Second Chance Cinderella. Carla Capshaw

when the possibility of renewing his discussion with Rose beckoned him.

      By design, he’d left the double doors open and chosen a seat with a clear view of the corridor where Rose would have to pass by. He’d tried to deny his longing to see her, but the simple knowledge that she was somewhere beneath his roof tormented him beyond all good sense and reason.

      The music took a somber turn. He stood, intending to request a more cheerful tune, but Rose chose that moment to appear and everything ceased to exist except the slim column of black slipping into the dining room on the butler’s coattails.

      To his annoyance, the sight of her eased his restlessness and improved his floundering mood with an immediacy that disturbed him. After all the years they’d been separated and the way she’d broken her promise to wait for him, how was it possible she inspired anything in him except contempt?

      Amelia moved to his side and linked her arm with his. “The evening is going swimmingly well, don’t you agree, darling? Just as I predicted, the Ellistons are impressed with the vintage on offer and are already imbibing their second sample.”

      “How marvelous for them. I’m going to see about dinner.”

      “I’m the hostess. I’ll go.”

      “No, stay here and charm your pigeons. I’ll return in a few minutes.” He untangled his arm from hers and moved to the hallway where he caught a glimpse of Rose by the sideboard helping Robert ladle soup into porcelain bowls.

      A glossy, blond tendril had escaped her ruffled cap and fallen in a gentle wave between her shoulder blades. An intense longing to touch the soft strands, to touch her, swept over him. He didn’t know what he wanted more: to usher her back into his study and continue demanding answers for jilting him or to kiss her senseless where she stood. He could not have guessed when he first saw her this morning that her nearness would be akin to having a severed arm reattached to his body or his heart returned to his chest.

      He must be going mad.

      In desperate need of a diversion, he dragged his gaze from Rose and glanced about the dining room. He had to tip his hat to Amelia. For a woman who found it vulgar to speak of money, she possessed a talent for spending his. The trio of crystal chandeliers had been cleaned and reassembled the day before, causing the room to sparkle. No expense had been spared in the crisp white linens, the ornate candelabras or arsenal of silver flatware flanking each set of china. The multiple towers of tropical fruit and hothouse flowers must have cost the earth if they’d cost a farthing.

      Had Rose been impressed by the finery on display? Had it dawned on her that, had she waited for him a short while longer, all of this would have been hers?

      Behind him, the chatter in the drawing room grew louder and the music progressed into an elegant melody he’d heard somewhere before but didn’t quite recognize. Hodges approached, his weathered features crinkled into an anxious mask. “May I help you, sir? We’re almost ready. Miss Ratner gave strict instructions to announce seating at precisely nine o’clock. We have six minutes remaining.”

      “Fine, fine,” he said, waving the older man back to work. Rose had yet to look his way, and her inability to sense his presence when every nerve in his body was fixed on her cut deep. He wanted to rattle her air of efficiency, to make her feel as disjointed as he did. The hour since she’d quit his study had dragged on like a week, and the need to see her face had grown with every tick of the clock.

      He willed her to turn around, but she continued her task for an age before finally pausing to glance his way.

      She froze the moment she saw him. Triumph surged through him as her dark-blue eyes widened in response and color scored her cheeks. The soup in the ladle she held missed the bowl and puddled atop the sideboard without her notice.

      He moved toward her, but Hodges stepped in to scold her, breaking the connection. “What do you think you’re about, you clumsy girl? Look at the mess you’ve caused!”

      “I’m so sorry.” She glowered at Sam before dismissing him to focus on the butler. “I’ll tidy up straightaway.”

      “See that you do and be quick about it.” Hodges consulted his pocket watch. “Four minutes until we must announce the meal. Miss Ratner—”

      “Hodges.” Sam joined them at the sideboard. “Is everything well?”

      “Everything except this simpleton, sir. She’s bound to be a detriment. I did try to explain that she’s never served at table, but—”

      He dealt his usually mild-mannered butler a quelling glance before motioning toward the table and the flawless crystal goblets sparkling in the candlelight. “There are fingerprints marring several of the glasses.”

      “Fingerprints on the glasses? Oh, dear! I just wiped them down. I don’t know how I missed them, sir.”

      “A tragedy to be sure. I trust you’ll see to the matter straightaway.”

      “Certainly, sir.” The butler shuffled away with all the meager speed he could muster. “Robert, come quickly. It seems renegade fingerprints abound on the tableware.”

      Sam turned back to Rose once Hodges passed out of earshot. “Look at me, Miss Smith.”

      “I have to see to this soup you caused me to spill,” she said as she searched the drawers in the sideboard for a cloth.

      “I caused you?” He smiled at the dig. She’d always been cheeky, especially when her ire was up. “I was nowhere near you.” He took a clean square of linen from his pocket and mopped up the hot broth. “All better. Now look at me,” he insisted.

      She tossed her head back. Eyes bright with hostility glared at him. “Why are you hounding me?”

      “Is that any way to speak to your employer?” He placed the damp linen on a nearby tray of used items bound for the kitchen.

      Her lips tightened into a thin line. “You are not my employer, Mr. Blackstone. I work for Baron Malbury. I realize you have the power to see that I’m dismissed if you choose, and I sincerely hope you will not, but I was sent here to help in your kitchen, not endure humiliation just because you want to teach me a lesson.”

      “How have I humiliated you? You’re a servant. I’ve tasked you to serve.” Noticing Hodges and Robert glance his way, he lowered his voice. “I’ve made you a footman for the evening. If anything, you’ve been promoted.”

      “We both know what you’ve done and why.” She located an extra cloth and shut the drawer with a not so gentle shove. “There are rules to these sort of functions, Mr. Blackstone. I may be a simple cook’s assistant, but even I understand your guests won’t see me as anything but a mistake that will make your hostess appear inept. I’m not trained to serve at table. Most likely I’ll commit one blunder after the next.”

      “And that will humiliate you? Who cares about the opinion of a bunch of uppity toffs?”

      “Don’t you? They’re your friends.”

      “Hardly. They’re an experiment.”

      She frowned. “And Miss Ratner?”

      “She’s my concern, not yours.”

      She used the clean cloth to wipe excess drops from the edges of the steaming bowls of soup. “That may be, but from what I understand she’s put a good deal of effort into making this dinner party a grand occasion. It seems small of you to mar her arrangements just to show me what I’ve missed.”

      His eyebrow arched in vexation. It had been years since anyone had dared to bring him down a peg. Even longer since he’d conceded he was in the wrong, but he did now. When Amelia first brought up the idea of tonight’s engagement, he’d considered it a lark, the first move in a game to see if a low-born weevil such as himself could worm his way into the upper crust. Little wonder he’d found it easy to change the rules the moment something more interesting came along.

      He cupped her