“I am doing my best, Grayson.” She stared at him. “Even you must admit your presence is something I neither expected nor desired.”

“Because you hoped I was dead.” He selected a piece of toast from the rack and slathered it with marmalade.

“I didn’t hope.” She shrugged. “I simply assumed.”

“Disappointed?”

“Yes,” she snapped, then blew a long breath. “No, of course not. In spite of what I said last night, I wouldn’t have you dead.”

“That’s comforting to know.”

“But I wouldn’t have you here either.”

“And yet”—he grinned in a smug fashion—“here I am.”

“Indeed,” she said under her breath. “Here you are.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. One might have thought Grayson hadn’t eaten in years the way he devoured his food with the enthusiasm of one long deprived and the enjoyment of a connoisseur. He’d had a bit of everything offered on the sideboard: broiled kippers, deviled kidneys, stewed fruit, bacon, sausages and eggs. She couldn’t blame him, however. Mrs. Fortesque was a treasure.

“That was excellent.” He sighed with the satisfaction of a man well-fed. “Do you think Mrs. Fortesque would be interested in forgoing a life on the stage for one in the kitchen?”

“I was thinking the same thing myself,” Camille said. “My cook will soon be leaving me and going to live with relatives somewhere in the country.” She glanced at him. “Why do you need a cook?”

“I believe I am going to stay in England.”

Although she’d never confirmed it, she’d long ago assumed he was out of the country. “I see.”

“And, as I will be needing a staff, a small one, I thought I would start with the cook.” He paused. “Admittedly, I didn’t come to that conclusion until I tasted Mrs. Fortesque’s food.”

“Well.” She moved her plate to one side, folded her hands together on the tablecloth and smiled. “I do hate to disappoint you, as much as you liked Mrs. Fortesque’s cooking. But if anyone hires the woman, it shall be me.”

He slowly moved his plate out of the way, then folded his hands and rested them on the table, his position a mirror image of hers. A tiny trickle of apprehension slid down her spine.

“If I wish to hire Mrs. Fortesque,” he said in a measured tone, “I shall do so.”

“Not if I hire her first.”

“Then I shall have to hire her last.” He smiled pleasantly. It was most unsettling.