Liam glanced at her hands. One rested delicately across her waist and the other hung over the side of the sofa, above a fallen book that now lay open on the floor. He approached a little closer and examined them carefully. Small, sturdy little fingers—again, a contrast to the long, graceful limbs.
And no wedding ring...
Torn, callused, bleeding. Nails worn down to their barest edge. What had she been doing to achieve such a gruesome result? Scrubbing?
And then it hit him. There was only one possibility.
The new housekeeper. But surely not?
This woman before him—well, the dress might suggest such a position, but her age? She couldn’t be far from thirty on either side. Housekeepers were old, and dreary, and respectable. Not... Well, not everythingshewas. And yet it was the only rational explanation.
Mrs Hardwicke. Yes, that was the name.
He should definitely rouse her. She would want to know the master had returned, and he should want an explanation as to why she had presumed to make use of his library. Still, he could not.
And what is it you were reading then, Mrs Hardwicke?
Bending down, he picked up the book. He was close now, too close not to see the rise and fall of her breasts with every breath. Not to smell her, the rich, intoxicating blend of lavender polish, soap, lemon...and something darker that reminded him of the land. Something he knew washer.
Liam knew he desperately needed rest, and a bed, and not to be here, in the library, in this moment, in the warm, heady cloud that surrounded his new employee.
Glancing down, he found that the woman was readingFrankenstein. He chuckled softly to himself, setting the book down on the table beside her.
Light reading, then, Mrs Hardwicke.
How this woman had the countenance to read such gothic tales in this forsaken place, he knew not. No matter. What the woman wished to read was none of his business. Any insights into her character, her personality, her dreams, pleasures or desire, were categorically none of his business.
And so, with renewed fortitude and energy, Liam laid a blanket on her, then left her to her peace and slumber, making for his own chambers despite his earlier reluctance to do so, pushing away the odd feeling of longing that gnawed at him.
The cool, crisp sheets of his bed would be the perfect remedy for his weary body, and the perfect thing to cool the unwelcome stirrings of his ardour. And tomorrow, the incident would be nothing more than another unwelcome dream.
Damn this house.
Chapter Three
‘Good morning, my lord,’ Mr Brown said crisply, throwing open the curtains in Liam’s room and setting about his routine duties as though the master had never left. ‘May I say what a pleasure it is to have you back. Tim advised us of your arrival this morning, and I believe Mrs Murray is currently preparing quite a welcome feast.’
‘I admit I have sorely missed her cooking.’ Liam grinned, slipping out of bed and into the dressing gown the butler was holding out.
As apprehensive as he’d been about returning, somehow seeing the old butler puttering about his room felt...
Normal. Heartwarming. Like home should.
‘Travelled half the world and never met her match.’
‘Mind you don’t tell her so, my lord. There’ll be no calming her as it is.’
‘Aye. It’s good to see you, Thomas,’ he said seriously.
Itwasgood to see his all too familiar face again. He and Mrs Murray, and Tim, and Hal...his sweet Hal... They were the only things that had ever made the place remotely bearable.
‘I know there is much to be said, but for now let me simply say, thank you. For staying. Despite everything.’
‘No thanks are necessary, my lord. I have served Thornhallow for nearly fifty years. I will continue to do so until I can no longer. It is an honour.’
‘Now,’ Liam said, clearing his throat and reminding himself that he was now master of the house. The Earl his father had longed for him to be, and that Thomas would expect him at least topretendto be. ‘I suppose I must part with this, mustn’t I?’ he asked, rubbing the long beard he currently sported. ‘Though I am dreadfully loath to.’
‘Afraid so, my lord,’ Thomas said with the faintest of smiles. ‘You do look rather wild. Like a Pict, if I may be so bold.’
