Modern Romance November Books 1-4. Sharon Kendrick

to push the curves of the sweet little housekeeper from the forefront of his mind and to quell the exquisite hardness which throbbed at his groin.

       CHAPTER TWO

      ‘MOLLY, THESE POTATOES are frightful. We can’t possibly ask Signor De Gennaro to eat them. Have they even seen an oven? They’re like rocks!’

      Molly could feel herself flushing to the roots of her hair as she met Lady Avery’s accusing stare. Were they? She blinked. Surely she’d blasted them for the required time, carefully basting them with goose fat to make them all golden and crispy? But no. Now she stopped to look at them properly—they were definitely on the anaemic side.

      She could feel her cheeks growing even pinker as she reached towards the table to pick up the dish. ‘I’m so sorry, Lady Avery. I’ll pop them back in the—’

      ‘Don’t bother!’ snapped her employer. ‘It will be midnight before they’re fit to eat and I don’t intend going to bed on a full stomach. And I’m sure Salvio won’t want to either.’

      Was it Molly’s imagination, or did Lady Avery shoot the Italian a complicit smile from the other side of the table? The way she said his name sounded unmistakably predatory and the look she was giving him was enough to make Molly’s stomach turn. Surely the aristocrat wasn’t hinting that she intended ending up in bed with him, not with her husband sitting only a few feet away?

      Yet it had struck her as odd when Sarah Avery had come down for dinner wearing the tightest and lowest-cut dress imaginable, so that the priceless blaze of the Avery diamonds dazzled like stars against her aging skin. She’d been flirting outrageously with the Italian businessman ever since Molly had served pre-dinner drinks and showed no sign of stopping. And meanwhile, her husband—two decades older and already a quarter of the way through his second bottle of burgundy—seemed oblivious to the undercurrents which had been swirling around the dinner table ever since they’d sat down.

      The meal had been a disaster from the moment she’d put the starters on the table and Molly couldn’t understand why. She was a good cook. She knew that. Hadn’t she spent years cooking for her mother and little brother, trying to produce tasty food on a shoestring budget? And hadn’t part of her job interview for Lady Avery consisted of producing a full afternoon tea—including a rich and rather heavy fruit cake—within the space of just two hours...a feat she had managed with ease? A simple meal for just three people should have been a breeze, but Molly hadn’t factored in Salvio De Gennaro, or the effect his brooding presence would have on her employer. Or, if she was being honest, on her.

      After he’d swept out of the kitchen earlier that afternoon, it had taken ages for her heart to stop thumping and to be able to concentrate on what she was supposed to be doing. She’d felt all giddy and stupidly...excited. She remembered the way he had looked into her eyes with that dark and piercing gaze and wondered if she’d imagined the pulsing crackle of electricity between them before telling herself that, yes, of course she had. Unless she really thought a man who could have his pick of any woman on the planet would have the slightest interest in a naïve country girl who was carrying far too much weight around her hips.

      In her dreams!

      But there was no doubt that Salvio’s unexpected trip to the kitchen had rocked Molly’s equilibrium and after he’d gone, all the light had seemed to disappear from the room. She’d sat down at the table feeling flat, which was unusual for her because she’d always tried to be an optimist, no matter what life threw at her. She was what was known as a glass-half-full type of person rather than one who regarded the glass as half empty. So why had she spent the rest of the afternoon mooching around the kitchen in a way which was completely out of character?

      ‘Molly? Are you listening to a word I’m saying?’

      Molly stiffened as she saw the fury in Lady Avery’s eyes—but not before she’d noticed Salvio De Gennaro’s face darken with an expression she couldn’t work out. Was he wondering why on earth the wife of a famous peer bothered employing such a hapless housekeeper?

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Molly quickly. ‘I was a bit distracted.’

      ‘You seem to have been distracted all afternoon!’ snapped Lady Avery. ‘The meat is overcooked and the hors d’oeuvres were fridge-cold!’

      ‘Come on, Sarah. It’s no big deal,’ said Salvio softly. ‘Give the girl a break.’

      Molly’s head jerked up and as she met the understanding gleam of Salvio De Gennaro’s ebony eyes, she felt something warm and comforting wash over her. It was like sitting beside a fire when snow was falling outside. Like being wrapped in a soft, cashmere blanket. She saw Lady Avery appear momentarily disconcerted and she wondered if Salvio De Gennaro’s silky intervention had made her decide that giving her housekeeper a public dressing-down wouldn’t reflect very well on her. Was that why she flashed her a rather terrifying smile?

      ‘Of course. You’re quite right, Salvio. It’s no big deal. After all, it’s not as if we’re short of food, is it? Molly always makes sure we’re very well fed, but—as you can tell—she’s very fond of her food!’ She gave a bright, high laugh and nodded her head towards the snoring form of her husband, who had now worked his way through the entire bottle of wine and whose head was slumped on his chest as he snored softly. ‘Molly, I’m going to wake Lord Avery and guide him to bed and then Signor De Gennaro and I will go and sit by the fire in the library. Perhaps you’d like to bring us something on a tray to take the place of dinner. Nothing too fussy. Finger food will do.’ She flashed another toothy smile. ‘And bring us another bottle of the Château Lafite, will you?’

      ‘Yes, Lady Avery.’

      Salvio’s knuckles tightened as he watched Molly scuttle from the room, though he made no further comment as his hostess moved round the table to rouse her sleeping husband and then rather impatiently ushered him from the room. But he couldn’t shake off the feeling of injustice he had experienced when he’d seen how the aristocrat treated the blushing housekeeper. Or the powerful feeling of identification which had gripped him as he’d witnessed it. Was it because he’d known exactly how she would be feeling? His mouth hardened. Because he’d been where she had been. He knew what it was like to be at the bottom of the food chain. To have people treat you as if you were a machine, rather than a person.

      He splayed his fingers over the rigid tautness of his thighs. He would wait until his hostess returned. Force himself to have a quick drink since she’d asked for one of the world’s most expensive wines to be opened, then retire to his room. He glanced at his watch. It was too late to go back to London tonight but he would leave at first light, before the house was awake. All in all it had been a wasted journey, with Lord Avery too inebriated to talk business before dinner. He hadn’t even been able to work because the damned Internet kept going down and because his thoughts kept straying to the forbidden... And the forbidden had proved shockingly difficult to erase from his mind. He sighed. How crazy was it that the wholesome housekeeper had inexplicably set his senses on fire, so that he could think of little but her?

      He’d walked into the orangery before dinner to see her standing with a tray of champagne in her hands. She had changed into a simple black dress which hugged her body and emphasised every voluptuous curve. With her shiny brown hair caught back at the nape of her neck, his attention had been caught by those grey eyes, half concealed by lashes like dark feathers, which were modestly lowered as she offered him a drink. Even that was a turn-on. Or maybe especially that. He wasn’t used to modesty. To women reluctant to meet his gaze, whose cheeks turned the colour of summer roses. He’d found himself wanting to stand there studying her and it had taken a monumental effort to tear his eyes away. To try to make conversation with a host who seemed to be having a love affair with the bottle, and his disenchanted wife who was almost spilling out of a dress much too young for a woman her age.

      ‘Salvio!’ Sarah Avery was back, a look of determination on her face as she picked her way across the Persian rug on her spiky black heels. ‘Sorry