The man Nelson wheeled in a trolley laden with covered salvers and spread a crisp tablecloth over a small table he dragged in front of the sofa. He arranged plates and silverware with an almost magical speed, and had all the dishes uncovered in under a minute. Violet circled it once, her nostrils flaring appreciatively.

“Sir?” He repeated it twice more before Ainsley revived from an almost trancelike state and faced Joachim.

“Lovely. Please, tuck in Cockburn.” He snickered and so did bloody Nelson. At Ainsley’s prompting, Joachim filled his plate with cold chicken and spring peas. He slathered butter on his bread, still warm in the middle.

“And will you need me for anything else, Sir?” Nelson asked, pouring dark red wine into two goblets.

“You’ve readied his room?” Ainsley tossed a piece of chicken to the dog, who caught it with a snap of her jaws.

“Indeed.” The servant nodded at Joachim. “I’ve unpacked his valise upstairs.”

Joachim murmured his thanks.

Twirling the stem of the glassware in his fingers, Ainsley gestured for Nelson to leave. “I won’t need you back until eleven tomorrow morning. I plan on keeping Cockburn up until dawn.” He waggled his groomed eyebrows.

Mind out of the gutter, Cockburn. The Scotsman must have meant that he had some amazing stories to tell. Just last week, Joachim had stayed up all night reading one of Ainsley’s books, Historical Roots of Scottish Fey. The small bookshelf in his bedroom also boasted the other five books the dishonored academic had written. Prolific for one who couldn’t be more than twenty-six or twenty-seven.

Joachim had hoped to get a clue about the workings of Graham’s mental instability. Instead, he’d found himself enchanted by the combination of in-depth research and pictorial word choice and had gobbled all the books up in a single fortnight.

Yet, that immersion into fairy tales must have played tricks on the poor man’s mind, inducing him to believe in what all rational people knew to be mere children’s stories. It was good for Joachim to remember exactly why he was here.

“You’re much better-looking than Barley intimated.” Under the table, Ainsley dropped his hand to right above Joachim’s knee.

Cockburn stopped chewing mid-mouthful. Surely he was merely making a point to be welcoming?

“Skittish, are we? Don’t tell me he sent over a virgin?” Ainsley’s hand drifted higher, paralyzing Joachim with shock. He needed to put an end to this, this, seduction or proposition or whatever it was now.

But good Lord—the blaze of heat that shot throughout his extremities was electric.

“I’ll be most put out.” Ainsley Graham pouted and fingered the button right above Joachim’s navel. “I’ve been picturing my cock in your luscious mouth since you walked in the door, and I do so hate to be disappointed.”

Don’t miss Best Laid Plaids by Ella Stainton,
available wherever books are sold.