That sobering reminder proved enough to bring her back to the task at hand.
Quickening her pace, Merry reread her partially completed list.
Cypress Branches
Nandina
Though it was unlikely the countess would have that elegant shrub, only new to Europe.
Spindle tree leaves
She was missing something. What was she missing?
Merry stopped abruptly. Of course! “Hol—”
“Well, hullo to you, too, Miss Read.”
With a shriek, she collided with a hard wall.
Or rather, a hard wall that was Luke’s muscular chest.
She shot her arms out to stop herself from landing on her buttocks right there in the middle of the countess’ corridor.
Luke, however, already had her by the shoulders, steadying her. All the while, the folder that had been knocked from her hands sent papers sprinkling down like a heavy snowfall. “I daresay you’d be the first to be knocked head over heels by me.” He grinned.
It was the wicked, devil’s grin he’d briefly worn yesterday. And there was only one certainty—one would be wise to not dance with the devil at the Yuletide season. And if he wore that smile, ever, no lady’s heart would be safe.
As if to punctuate that very real danger, her heart thumped erratically. “Forgive me. I was not looking where I was going.” Dropping to a knee, she scrambled to gather up her pages.
Luke joined her on the floor, and shock brought her head shooting up.
“What are you doing?”
“I think it should be fairly obvious.” He didn’t pause in his efforts. “Nay, it should be completely obvious.”
And yet, it was obvious and, at the same time, not.
Because servants had long been invisible to Lord Luke. Merry had long been invisible to him.
Not that he paid her any attention now. Now, he moved quickly about the corridor, rescuing her notes and maps. It didn’t fit with who he was or, for that matter, any of the lords or ladies whose households she’d worked in.
“You don’t help servants,” she blurted.
He froze, her pages held in an uneven pile within his grip.
An immediate wave of guilt followed for having called him out for past behaviors, particularly when he assisted her in this moment.
But when he looked up, he wore that scoundrel’s smile. “I’m not the same man I was.” He winked and resumed cleaning up her mess.
Merry sank back on her haunches. Rogue’s grins? Winking? Winking? Nay, Luke certainly wasn’t the respectable and serious man she recalled. At every turn, she found herself vastly preferring this unbuttoned-down version of his previous stodgy self.
“Here we are,” he said and jumped up. With one hand, he proffered the slightly sloppy stack, and the other he held out to help her to feet.
Without hesitating, Merry placed her palm in his. He folded his larger hand over hers in a hold that was tender but strong. As he drew Merry to her feet, a delicious tingling where he touched her traveled to her wrist and up the inside of her forearm.
Merry yanked her hand free and made a show of organizing her papers.
What madness was this response to Lucas Holman, the Viscount Grimslee, of all people?
There was only one certainty—he needed to be on his way. She didn’t need a thoughtful-to-his-servants scoundrel with a quixotic touch anywhere near. “I thank you for your help,” she said, her voice coming out more than slightly unsteady to her ears. And to cement the reminder of the station divide between them that he’d always kept perfectly erect, Merry dropped a curtsy.
His brows came together. “Did you just curtsy to me?”
She might as well have tugged a glove free, slapped him across the face, and called him out for all the outrage there. Her lips pulled at the corners. “If you could not tell, then I daresay that is hardly a testimonial to my skill.”
“I’ve known you since you were in the nursery.”
“I didn’t have a nursery,” she pointed out. She’d had a cottage, and the only visits she’d had to the manor house had been to join Ewan in play.
Luke frowned. “Since you were a babe, then,” he corrected, still as hopelessly lost when it came to recognizing humor, even droll attempts at it.
She sighed. “Of course I curtsied to you, my—”
“Stop,” he bit out.
Her lips moved, but no words came out.
“The days of that are at an end.”
“To servants curtsying?” she asked with feigned somberness. “And here I thought that was a custom as popular as tea and rain in England.”
“I referred to your curtsying.” His frown deepened. “I know you.”
I know you.
Those three words knocked her temporarily off-balance. His was an odd statement, given that she’d believed herself invisible to him. Merry made her eyes go wide. “And you don’t know all your servants?”
Color rushed his cheeks. “I do. What I was referring to was the length of our—” He abruptly cut off his words. “You’re teasing me,” he mumbled under his breath. Luke adjusted an already immaculate cravat.
Merry leaned in and whispered, “Just a bit.” How very… endearing this less-sure, more-open version of the viscount. For a very brief moment, she regretted that she’d declined to let him assist her in the organization of the countess’ impromptu holiday affair.
That staggering realization brought Merry swiftly back to her task at hand. “If you’ll excuse me, I have the greenery to see to.”
“Of course,” he said.
Continuing on her way, Merry consulted the countess’ crude map as she went… before she registered the figure moving in harmony with her steps. Merry stopped, and Luke matched suit. “What are you doing?”
He folded his arms at his chest. “Awaiting your instructions, Merry.”
It hit her. “You… still think to join me.”
He scoffed. “Hardly.” Luke grinned. “I intend to.”
She cocked her head. Somewhere in the house came the chime of a clock marking the quarter hour, and still she remained rooted to the thin red carpet lining the countess’ hall.
Merry didn’t know when it happened.
Having been gone traveling, she didn’t know how long it had been, but sometime in her absence, Lucas Holman, the Viscount Grimslee, had gone mad.
There was no other accounting for all the changes that had befallen him.
Not for the first time, she wondered at what had happened to bring about the transformation. Questions swirled, questions that she shouldn’t be having about the earl’s eldest son and heir.
Merry tried once more. “As I indicated yesterday, I don’t require help organizing the festivities,” she said gently, while infusing a firmness to her tone that she’d used on the servants who’d worked under her in her time in Europe. “And you agreed.”
She made to go.
Luke slid himself into her path. “I’m going to force myself upon you, Merry, so I suggest you accustom yourself to the idea.”
Merry strangled on a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.
Luke’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline. “Not that way!” He shot a hand out so quickly, he caught her in the nose.