“Aye. I asked Una to tend yer chamber,” she said airily, knowing full well, judging by the glint in her eye, that it was not what he’d intended.
But Payton merely narrowed his eyes. “Then Una has missed something.”
“What?” she asked, glancing about once more.
Payton groaned. “Look at the bed.”
She looked at the bed.
“The bed, Miss Lockhart. Ye were to turn down the bed, aye?”
She blinked; her smile faded a little and she turned to look at him. “The bed? That’s it? That is why ye summoned me, to turn down yer bed?” she demanded disbelievingly.
“Would ye suggest I allow a blatant oversight to go unremarked? Come now, what sort of housekeeper will ye be if I ignore yer every failure?”
“Failure?” she cried, but quickly checked herself. She forced a smile to her face that belied the clench of her fists at her sides, and with a dismissive cluck of her tongue, she advanced on the bed with determination, grabbed the coverlet, and flung it backward. She lifted the pillows and punched them all. Twice. And rather hard at that. And then she laid them down again and neatly folded the coverlet so that he might slip smoothly into the linens. “There ye are, milord!” she chirped as she moved away from the bed. “Yer bed is quite turned down!”
“Aye,” he drawled. “Perhaps ye might tend to my chambers yerself so that ye’ll no’ suffer any other failures.”
“Mmm,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “Perhaps.”
“Mmm.” He was enjoying himself. He resumed his seat, sipped more port, then leaned back, propped one boot against the seat of the other chair, and gestured lazily to the bed. “Now make it up,” he said. “And turn it down again.”
“I beg yer pardon?”
“Make the bed,” he said, a little more forcefully, “and turn it down again.”
“Turn it down again! Why should I ever—”
“Ach, Miss Lockhart! ’Tis no’ yer place to question me,” he interrupted. “I am laird and master of this house, aye? Ye’ll do it again because I order ye to do it again.”
Her jaw dropped. A fiery spark filled her eyes. He could almost see the debate warring within her. Would she defy him? Bend to his will? Or pummel him as she had done when they were children? Frankly, it was all he could do to keep the smile of amusement from his face. “Do. It. Again,” he said quietly.
She started uncertainly, then stopped, then started again, marching forward, making the bed swiftly, then turning it down again, only this time, with several extra punches to the pillows.
When she had finished, she whirled away from the bed, sank into a curtsey worthy of a king, and with her head bowed, said with exaggerated deference, “I hope it is done to yer exacting satisfaction, milord.”
Payton shrugged indifferently. “I suppose it will do,” he said, and tossed the last of the port down his throat as she rose gracefully from her curtsey.
“Very good. Then if ye will excuse me, there is still work to be done,” she said and tried very hard to smile politely, but failed horribly. It was more along the lines of a furious glare.
“Ah! It would seem we’ve a wee problem with proper dismissal as well, for I’ve no’ given ye leave. Ye’ve no’ completed yer duties—I’ve left some clothing for ye in the dressing room. Ye may launder it.”
“May I!” she exclaimed with false cheer. “And may I launder it now, or on the morrow?”
“On the morrow,” he said magnanimously. “No need to overtire yerself.”
She whirled about, marched across the room—pausing to stoop and pick up his coat with a bit of a disapproving cluck of her tongue—then disappeared into his dressing room. She emerged a few moments later with his clothing stuffed under her arm like a pile of rags. “Will that be all, milord?”
Payton cocked a brow. “No. There is one last item,” he said. “A neckcloth.”
“I didna see a neckcloth in yer dressing room. Perhaps ye’re losing yer sight. It is a common affliction among people of a certain age.”
He grinned. “I can assure ye, Miss Lockhart, I havena reached such advanced years. Ye donna see it in the dressing room because it is here,” he said, and lifted one of the tails hanging down his chest and wiggled it at her.
“Mi Diah,” she muttered, shifted his clothing under her arm, and stalked forward. “And shall ye remove it, or shall I launder it while it still hangs round yer neck?”
“Hold out yer hand.”
She held out her free hand.