He smiled blandly. “A loose brick or two. I’ll have the mason come in and check all of them, just to be on the safe side. Don’t worry—I won’t be ferreting around it again. Go back to bed, Miss Georgiana.”
The shadowy room with the one lit lamp felt disturbingly intimate, and she knew she should simply agree and disappear. “I’m Georgie,” she said.
There was an odd, almost gentle expression on his face. “Go to bed, Georgie,”
She went, back up the dark flight of stairs, an odd flutter between her breasts. By the time she got back to her room, she was shivering in the cool night air, and she was half tempted to set the fire herself, something she’d learned to do out of necessity. Instead, she leapt into bed, burrowing beneath the covers and closing her eyes. Because she knew what she would see when she did. Rafferty, standing there in breeches and shirtsleeves, looking like some Greek god. Smiling at her. If she were Bottom, she’d be purring. Instead, she slept, and she didn’t dream at all, curse the luck.
Chapter Six
Rafferty leaned back against the desk with a sigh of relief, pushing the drawer closed again. She’d searched the place, had she? If he could find out exactly where she’d looked, it could make his life easier, but there was no way he could come right out and ask her.
She hadn’t seen what he was doing—there was no earthly reason for a butler to be searching his master’s private papers, but she’d been too startled to see him to realize. He’d come up with the perfect excuse for the loosened bricks in the fireplace, and he knew that she was inclined to be gullible, at least where he was concerned. He looked around the room, one last glance to make sure he hadn’t missed any possible hiding place, and then sighed. He hadn’t expected it to be easy.
And Miss Georgiana Manning in her soft white nightgown with the lacy shawl had been far too potent a distraction. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to spank her or to...no, he wasn’t going there. She’d been unforgivably stupid to come searching for some intruder with a flimsy fire poker in her hand. Mind you, he’d known a woman who could cause considerable damage with one, but that didn’t mean someone like Georgie would have the wherewithal to use it.
He was going to have a talk with her, in the daylight, when they were both formally dressed, about the dangers of wandering the house at night when she thought someone might be afoot. First, because he couldn’t have her walking in on him while he was searching, and second, what if it had been someone like Stiles? Billy Stiles wouldn’t hesitate to use his knife, and he wouldn’t want anyone left behind to tell the authorities about him.
And he couldn’t have her running around in her nightgown. He was only human, after all, and he was having a hard time thinking of Georgie as a child. Most women he knew were mothers by the age of twenty, and even if she’d led a sheltered existence, she was still an enticing young woman, damn it. And he couldn’t afford to be enticed.
He needed to keep his mind off his cock. He had a job to do and limited time before Stiles came after him - he couldn’t afford to let Georgiana Manning get in his way. Even if he wanted her to.
Georgie liked to think of herself as a practical soul. Her lifetime of being Not the Beauty had convinced her that fairy tales and handsome princes weren’t for the likes of her. She knew her future better than anyone. They would marry her off to the first man who showed the slightest bit of interest, but so far, few people even knew she existed.
In fact, Georgie had considered it most likely that she’d never marry at all, and she’d remain a comfort to her parents. Not that either of them found her that comfortable—she had an unfortunate habit of saying what she thought, which tended to make everyone angry.
And after they died, she’d become an unpaid nanny to Norah’s brood of children, though the vision of Norah as a mother was equally elusive. Norah would probably want them drowned at birth.
In fact, her day-to-day life was mostly uneventful, and her future had looked undeniably drab. Until Rafferty had walked into her life.
Well, in fact, she’d walked into his. If it weren’t for her, he’d probably still be down at the docks, begging. Interesting that his supposed war injuries had disappeared once he’d joined their household, but then Norah had told her that those who begged were able-bodied enough to make an honest living. She still had her doubts, but clearly Rafferty was able-bodied.
Not that she should be thinking about Rafferty’s body, but the last twenty-four hours had been such a whirlwind that she thought about everything possible to explain the state she was in. She was confused, giddy, depressed, energized, and exhausted, and she couldn’t figure out why. All she knew was that it centered around Rafferty, and the way he’d looked last night, rumpled and gorgeous.
There was no denying he was handsome—without that beard, he had a strong face that bordered on beauty, as her mother had unfortunately noticed. His blue-green eyes were such a strange color that they practically seemed to glow, his dark hair was thick and still too long for his post, and his mouth was...
She could imagine kissing that mouth. It would be very different than kissing Harry Trenton, son of the only country neighbors her mother had found acceptable. That had been a sore disappointment—all slobbering lips and heavy breathing. She had the sneaking suspicion that Rafferty would know just how to kiss.
And she liked how tall he was. His long legs and his strong back and arms. Of course, that was probably just happenstance—every girl must have some perfect man in mind, and Rafferty just happened to fit her particular taste in men. There’d be other tall men with gorgeous eyes and beautiful mouths. Men with position and money.
And they’d be for Norah. Which was utterly fine with her—Norah could have anyone she wanted. As long as she kept away from Rafferty.
Not that Georgie was in love with him. That was absurd, everybody knew that. He was the butler. But she felt responsible for him—after all, he was her protégé. It was no wonder she had a special...affection for him. Nothing wrong with that—she loved grumpy old Bertha too. In fact, she was much closer to Bertha than was considered proper in society—one didn’t make friends of one’s servants.
But Bertha was her friend. And so was Rafferty. And the fact that she was still buzzing from the feel of his strong hands on her feet was understandable—she’d been in pain and he’d soothed it. She certainly wasn’t about to fall in love with her doctor, was she? No, it was simple gratitude.
She scooted up in bed, wiggling her toes. Despite her late night foray, she was up early, hoping against hope that Rafferty would bring her breakfast, but instead, a maid brought it, a young girl Georgie had never seen before, and when Georgie had asked her where Rafferty was, she’d shrugged.
“Dunno, miss,” she said. “But Bertha says I was to bring this to you and you were to eat everything or she’d have something to say about it.”
Considering that the breakfast was sumptuous compared to the lean meals they’d recently been having, Georgie had no problem devouring everything. But when a different maid came to retrieve the tray, she was even more confused.
“Who are you?”
“Jane, miss.” The girl said. Her uniform didn’t fit her gangly, undernourished form, but she seemed cheerful enough. “Me and me friend Betsey are learning on the job, Rafferty says.”
“Rafferty hired you?”
“Yes, miss. It’s a big house, but Betsey and me can make do. Easier than earning it on the streets, that’s what I say, though Betsey’s not so sure.”
