She steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders. “I am?”
“Yes.” He let her down slowly. “And it’s driving me insane.”
“I…”
He stopped her words by dropping a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. “Go to bed.” His gaze turned intense as it moved to her lips and lingered there. “Go, Harriet.Now.”
She didn’t want to. Not at all. She wanted to stay and explore the meaning of that look, the edge that had come into his voice. But her common sense screamed silently at her and she left the room on a sigh of regret.
*~~*~~*
Paul woke well before dawn the next morning. He had not had a restful night, he acknowledged, pulling the quilt up around his ears. It was cold. He was cold. He wanted warmth…the warmth generated by one Harriet Selkirk.
Admitting to himself that he was becoming slightly obsessed with her, he wondered if it was a natural consequence of their friendship, or an aberration he would come to regret if he followed through on it. The notion of hiding away here, in this quiet hunting box, seemed the perfect solution to her situation and kept her hidden from a family who viewed her as merchandise to be sold for profit.
It also provided him with plenty of privacy. He was well on the way to redeeming his damaged reputation, and perhaps even a portion of the DeVoreaux finances he’d forfeited when he’d left England so long ago. But there were still those with long memories and the scandal of the von Rillenbach duel had not completely disappeared from Society’s recollections.
Thus, the current adventure of theirs was to both their benefits.
However, he’d neglected to take into consideration the work it might entail, and also the growing attraction between them. And growing it was. He could see it in her eyes; in the way she glanced at his lips while licking her own…and the color of her cheeks as her thoughts betrayed themselves on her face.
He felt it as well, but he was a man and she was a beautiful woman. Was it just nature taking its course, or something deeper? He didn’t know, and did not want to mistake simple attraction for something else. Harriet had been through enough and he’d not be the one to add heartbreak to her burdens.
Wrenching himself from his warm cocoon with a sigh and shivering through his morning routine, he ventured downstairs, noting how the house now shone after their industrious few hours with beeswax and cloths. It was a solid building, decorated in what now seemed like a charming whimsical style. Yes, there were odd pieces here and there, but once the whole had been revealed, they seemed to fit—adding a touch of eccentricity and giving the house a personality of its own.
“I think we’ve done well, don’t you?”
She was behind him, coming down the stairs with her hand on the shining banister, a lady at home, a mistress surveying her domain. Paul’s skin chilled as he wondered if she could possibly be taken for a housekeeper when she was so obviously every inch a member of theTon.
“Try not to look so perfect?”
“What?” She blinked at him in surprise.
He shook his head. “Sorry. A momentary lapse. As you walked downstairs I was reminded of every Society hostess I’ve ever seen. There’s an elegance, a grace, that seems to be inherent in their movements. You have it too.”
“Um, thank you. I think.” She frowned a little. “But I’m not sure how to be anything other than me?”
He sighed. “Come on. Let’s see about breakfast, since I put enough wood into the stove last night to keep it hot. It’s going to be a busy day, and the first servants should be arriving shortly.” He held out his hand and she took it, allowing him to place it on his arm as he led her downstairs. “I have to admit it will be nice finding tea already made of a morning, rather than having to make it ourselves.”
She chuckled. “I can’t say I mind too much, but once the guests arrive I believe the situation will change.” She sighed. “I almost wish they weren’t coming.”
“Indeed,” agreed Paul. “I’d at least like to know how many there will be.”
They walked together down to the kitchen, and Paul filled the kettle for tea and set it on the stove, as Harriet gathered cups and saucers. “I wouldn’t mind a house like this for my own,” she mused, setting out a small loaf of bread and some butter. “It seems manageable. So many of the houses we visited were enormous, filled with rooms that were rarely used, buildings exploding with their own importance, yet offering nothing in the way of welcome. One felt as if one should be grateful to be allowed to walk in the doors.” She shrugged. “It’s hard to explain, but this house is quite the opposite.”
Paul nodded. “I know what you mean.” He poured hot water into the teapot. “But I’d venture a supposition that the inhabitants of the house make the atmosphere, rather than the house itself.”
She thought about that. “You may well be right.”
“It remains to be seen how this house and these rooms respond to the visitors.” He drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for the tea to steep. “I’ve played more than a few roles in my life, unusual as it has been. But I’ve never been a butler.”
“Are you nervous?”
“A little, I suppose.”
Harriet smiled. “Don’t be. My experience of butlers has been that they consider themselves miles above their masters in both intellect and deportment, and they’re usually correct in that assumption. The more high and mighty they are, the more the house respects them.”
He grinned. “So I can insult them if I want?”
“If they require insulting…then of course. Just let me know so that I can watch.”
They exchanged a mutual grin of understanding, and Paul’s mild anxieties vanished. He could do it, he realized. He could out-buttle the best butler around. Because he had a woman of great charm and intelligence at his back.
Looking at the enchanting picture she made in her simple gown and lace cap, he suddenly realized that he’d better make sure he had her back as well. She was far too attractive for her own good, and the Lord only knew what type of guests were on their way.
They both knew that high social status did not necessarily make a man a gentleman.
It was all too often the reverse.
