Page 33 of Their Wildest Dreams

He opened the door to the corridor and nearly walked into Crandell.

The butler stood near the head of the stairs, beyond the circle of light cast by the wall lamp. He did not start at Benedict’s appearance. That, more than his presence, roused Benedict’s suspicion.

“What are you doing here?”

Crandell bowed. “I was making certain that no lamps had been left burning, my lord. Some of the maids are still unfamiliar with the house, and Mrs. Mercer expressed concern about carelessness.”

It was plausible. Everton had been empty for years, and a lamp left too near faded hangings which were little more than tinder could do more damage in an hour than neglect had done in decades. But there was only one lamp in this corridor, and it was meant to remain lit until Benedict and Harriet retired.

“You have found no cause for concern,” Benedict said.

“No, my lord.”

“Then you may go.”

Crandell inclined his head and descended the stairs. Benedict watched him until he disappeared below. The man’s tread made almost no sound.

He looked back toward the private passage. Crandell had been close enough to see Benedict leave Harriet’s chamber and enter his own. Had Benedict remained there, the butler would have learned precisely what no member of this household could be permitted to know.

The agency might have vouched for Crandell. Benedict no longer considered that sufficient.

Chapter

Sixteen

Harriet was still in bed when Mrs. Mercer entered the following morning.

She was not asleep. She had been awake for some time, staring at the canopy while she considered the kiss from every possible angle. There were a great many angles to consider. The first press of Benedict’s mouth had been tender enough to reassure her. What followed had been something else entirely.

She had not known a kiss could make her forget where she was. She had forgotten the room, the fire and every sensible reason she had imposed a limit upon him. Had Benedict carried her to the bed, Harriet did not know if she would have stopped him.

That uncertainty ought to have frightened her more than it did. Instead, she found herself more irritated that he had stopped.

“Do you mean to lie there all day?” Mrs. Mercer asked as she crossed to the windows. “His lordship has already inquired if you mean to come down for breakfast.”

Harriet sat up as the curtains opened and daylight poured into the room. “What did you tell him?”

“That I had not yet seen you and could offer no useful answer.” Mrs. Mercer turned from the window and regarded her closely. “It is unlike you to linger in bed so late in the morning! You do not look ill.”

“I am not ill,” Harriet protested.

Mrs. Mercer’s lips firmed, suspicion flaring in her eyes. “Then he has done something wretched and you are avoiding him.”

“He has done nothing wrong,” Harriet stated exasperatedly. “I am merely pondering certain things.”

“Weighty matters indeed if they are so heavy on your mind you cannot rise from your bed.”

Harriet ignored the observation. Benedict would be belowstairs, waiting for her to appear. He might be regretting the kiss. He had not looked regretful when he left, but neither had he looked pleased. He had looked strained, as though remaining with her had required more endurance than departing.

“Mrs. Mercer, I need to tell you something.”

The older woman moved toward the wardrobe. “If it concerns the blue gown, I already know you dislike the trimming. You need not explain it again. Once we’ve selected a suitable ladies maid, her first test will be replace it.”

“It does not concern the gown.” Harriet tightened her grip upon the bedclothes. There was no elegant means of saying it, and elegance had never been her most useful quality. “Benedict and I have not consummated our marriage.”

Mrs. Mercer paused with one hand upon the wardrobe door. “No. I did not suppose you had.”

Harriet frowned. “Why not?”