She made her way over to a blue and gold sofa, the same one, she realized, she’d been sleeping on the day before when he’d woken her up. She was tempted to glance behind her as she walked to make sure that he did not need her assistance. Which was ridiculous, because she knew he didn’t need her assistance, at least not in such a simple endeavor as this.

But she wanted to, and when she finally reached the sofa and sat down, she was unaccountably relieved to be able to look up at him. He was only a few steps behind, and a moment later he was seated in the blue chair he had occupied the day before.

Déjà vu, she thought, except everything was different now. Everything except where they were sitting. It had taken only a day, and her world had been turned upside down.

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

“Déjà vu,” Lady Sarah quipped, and Hugh was thinking that very thing, except it wasn’t quite the same. The table was not where it had been the day before. He’d thought it had looked off when he sat down.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

He had a feeling he was frowning. “No, just . . .” He shifted in his seat. How difficult would it be to move the table? It was still covered with half-empty plates that the servants must not have realized were ready to be removed. But surely he could shove those aside. . . .

“Oh!” Lady Sarah said suddenly. “You need to stretch out your leg. Of course.”

“I think the table is not quite where it was yesterday,” he said.

She looked down at the table and then back at him.

“I had room to extend my leg,” he clarified.

“So you did,” she said briskly. She stood, and he almost groaned. He placed his hands on the arms of the chair, getting ready to push himself up, but Lady Sarah placed one hand lightly over his and said, “No, please do not feel you must rise.”

He looked down at her hand, but just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, and she started to move the dishes to a different table.

“Don’t,” he said, finding no joy in watching her perform menial tasks on his behalf.

She ignored him. “There,” she said, placing her hands on her hips as she surveyed the partially cleared table. She looked up. “Would it be more comfortable to have your foot on the floor or on the table?”

Good God. He couldn’t believe she was even asking. “I’m not going to put my foot on the table.”

“Would you do so at your home?”

“Of course, but—”

“Then you have answered my question,” she said pertly, turning back to the dirty dishes.

“Lady Sarah, stop.”

She kept clearing and did not bother to look at him. “No.”