Jamie scowled at her, as though she’d caused him great trial and turmoil by sleeping one night in his barn and eating some of his food. “I’ve got better things to do,” he informed her, “than take you back to wherever you came from, lass.”

Bliss pushed away her plate and slid back her chair. No one was taking her back to Wellington and that grasping, drooling old man her father wanted her to marry, ever. “I’ve imposed upon you quite long enough, Mr. McKenna,” she said, in a cold voice. “I’ll be on my way now.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Jamie responded flatly, finishing his breakfast. “It’s winter out there and you’re obviously a bit down on your luck. You’ll have a bath and get yourself into bed.”

Bliss felt her throat close painfully. Her ink-blue eyes went round and she managed to squeeze out one squeaky word. “Bed?”

Mr. McKenna’s laughter came suddenly, uproariously. “And now she thinks I want me way with ’er,” he marveled aloud, once his mirth had subsided a little. His voice was thick with the brogue that had only been hinted at before.

Her face bright red behind its sprinkling of freckles, Bliss was too insulted to be relieved that her virtue was in no immediate danger. “I just thought—well, a man living all alone, so far from civilization—”

“I don’t live alone,” Jamie reminded her, “and Auckland’s near enough.”

Bliss would have been pleased to learn that Auckland, her destination, was close by, if she hadn’t felt so bothered by the idea of that lovely Maori woman living there in that sturdy, no-nonsense house. She sniffed haughtily to hide her uncertainties and said, “If I can truly be sure that you won’t molest me, Mr. McKenna, I would very much appreciate that bath you offered.”

A spark danced in his eyes. “I’m not sure I can bathe you, Duchess, and still stay within the bounds of civilized behavior.”

Rich color throbbed in Bliss’s face. “I wasn’t speaking literally, of course,” she told him in tones of cold rigidity, “and you are a rascal for implying that I was.”

The laughter lingered in Jamie McKenna’s gaze even though the rest of his face showed a most serious composure. “Have you had quite enough to eat,” he asked quietly, glancing pointedly at Bliss’s empty plate, “or should I have another sheep slaughtered?”

Before Bliss could think of a suitably scathing response, the Maori woman returned. Her skin was a warm sandalwood color and her rich black hair flowed down her back in glistening ebony waves. Her figure was at once slender and womanly, and she wore a skirt and an off-the-shoulder blouse. The scent of some mysterious spice floated around her as she cleared the table, her dark eyes meeting neither Jamie’s gaze nor Bliss’s.

Bliss was dying to know the woman’s name, but she was damned if she’d ask. The relationship between Mr. McKenna and his cook was none of her affair, after all.