Desire Me Now (4 page)

“Does it worry you that I’m here without references, Mr. Huxley?”

“It’s just Huxley.” He gave her a long look that dared her to be formal again. “As
long as I don’t find you stealing off with the silver or trying to climb into Mr.
Riley’s bed to further your position, I think we’ll get on just fine.”

She opened her mouth and closed it. Shock didn’t even describe how she felt, and her
face flamed at the insinuation. Did he think her that type of woman?

Not sure what to say, she cleared her throat and changed the topic. “How many businesses
does Mr. Riley own?”

“Never enough, by his estimation.”

“That is not really an answer.”

“S’pose it is not.” Still, he didn’t elaborate.

“How does Mr. Riley generally spend his time, day to day?”

“Out and about, here and there. Once you get a handle on his schedule you’ll have
a better understanding of his business ventures.”

Amelia spent the day familiarizing herself with names: peers, merchants, and business
owners—all those who shared interests with Mr. Riley.

It was impossible to get a good sense of what exactly he did, as his business ventures
varied. He owned a bank and a theatre outright. He owned large lots of land. Some
were located next to the docks and used for storage and warehouses; others held residents
in the east end of the city. He owned shares in shipping companies and railroads.
It was as though he were amassing as much wealth as he possibly could.

Curious about so many things, Amelia couldn’t stay quiet forever. “Mr. Riley has interests
everywhere. Has he always been a businessman with so many tastes?”

“Not always,” was all Huxley said.

Not quite satisfied with his response, she pushed for more information. “How long
have you known him?”

“Since he was nothing more than a scrap of a boy. If you want more answers, you should
ask him your questions directly.”

Because it was her first night, and Huxley insisted on her learning more about her
new job, they didn’t go down to the dining hall. Instead, Huxley left her for a quarter
hour and returned with two steaming bowls of lamb stew with hunks of bread, which
they enjoyed in silence.

There were a thousand and one questions going through Amelia’s mind about Mr. Riley,
and she vowed to find the answer to each and every one of them. But her questions
could wait for another day.

It was hard to believe that she’d found a position so easily, and she would remain
vigilant while completing her duties. It all seemed too easy, though.

While she was thankful to have a roof over her head and a bed to sleep in for the
night, she would wait for the other shoe to drop.

A
melia woke bright and early the next morning, so she could limp her way around the
house without someone at her elbow, guiding the way. She wanted to see it with her
own eyes, learn every nuance, and discover everything beautiful and everything hidden
and ugly about the house.

Sleep hadn’t come easily, despite her being exhausted from all that had happened.
And while she hadn’t seen Mr. Riley again last evening, her curious imagination had
invented a hundred different impressions of him through the long night, none of which
she wanted to rehash, for most made her blush furiously. And why should she think
any of those things about him? He could still be the wolf wearing sheepskin to hide
his true nature.

Yesterday, she’d been far too drained after dinner to do more than sit at the secretary
desk, read through the appointment book, and review one of the many stacks of invitations
that had been tossed into piles as high as the length of her arm. Huxley had remained
with her, so she couldn’t snoop around the study to see what secrets her new employer
might be hiding.

All she had learned about Mr. Riley was that he was a very busy man and that he received
more invitations to gatherings than was possible for one person to attend. After two
hours of reviewing invitations and penning responses last evening, she realized Mr.
Riley hadn’t been lying about his need for a secretary.

Exploring the second floor of suites, she found two beautifully appointed drawing
rooms, one very masculine, with dark mahogany paneling three-quarters of the way up
the wall. The furniture was overly large, and the sofas were hunter green in color,
with a mix of brocade and velvet in the other furnishings and textiles. It was an
inviting room in which she could easily imagine sitting with a book and enjoying a
hot cup of tea.

The sunroom on the second floor was a wall of windows, the upper half stained glass
that depicted all things nautical: a ship with a full amber-colored mast blowing in
the wind, a raging storm done in shades of blues and grays, a seabird soaring high
in a crystal blue sky. The furniture in this room was buttercup-yellow chintz. There
was a nook with chairs near the windows, making this room a part-time breakfast area
for immediate family, she guessed.

The last drawing room on the second floor faced the back garden of the house and carriage
house. The windows were at least fifteen feet high, and heavy curtains made of the
most delicate golden velvet draped around them, inviting the viewer to look outside,
as though it were a landscape of art.

While the back garden wasn’t large, there was a stone terrace at least ten feet deep,
set against the main floor. It was big enough for a rose arbor, a pair of stone benches
for two, and an angel-topped fountain. The sight took her breath away. The burgundy
backdrop of furniture was less inviting than the green drawing room but so much more
tranquil with the scenery below.

Once she could tear her eyes away from the sight, she took the stairs slowly to the
main floor, hating every pained step along the way. Although she’d been up for less
than an hour, she’d already overtaxed herself.

She headed directly to the study, as she was somewhat familiar with that room and
because she had the key tucked into her bodice. Sliding walnut doors at one end led
to a large library. She’d only glimpsed what was inside yesterday and was desperate
to explore it more thoroughly today.

Her gasp of surprise couldn’t be held at bay when she opened the doors. Tall blond
shelves filled the walls from floor to ceiling. Each shelf was filled with row upon
row of books, and she thought it would probably take a week to sort through all the
titles.

The terrace she’d seen from the second floor was off this room. And what a sight it
made. She wondered what the house said about its owner, other than the fact that he
loved beautiful things. And he must like to read, to have so many books in his possession.

Pained as her ankle might be, she couldn’t stop herself from walking past the shelves
and running her fingers over the spines of the books. They were sorted by author and
then by genre. She even found a whole collection of Jane Austen, though the spines
were in pristine shape, so she thought Mr. Riley had not read those. Oh yes, she could
get lost in this room and planned to do so the moment she was given spare time.

Everything she’d seen in the house only confirmed her theory that Mr. Riley was a
very wealthy man. She would know the answer to that soon enough, if she was to handle
all his affairs.

With her foot and ankle throbbing like a hive of angry bees, Amelia knew she would
have to explore the rest of the house another time.

Turning away from the terrace, the last thing she expected to do was to walk right
into her employer.

Quickly stumbling back a step, she stammered out an apology and said in a rush, “I’m
sorry.”

He caught her by the elbow. “We really must stop meeting this way.”

Was that humor she heard in his voice? It unsettled her and had her stuttering for
excuses at being caught wandering through the house.

“I promise I’m not usually so clumsy, just a bit unsteady since yesterday. I didn’t
know when it was appropriate for me to come down, so I started my day as soon as I
was up.”

“You should not be walking without support. I don’t want you to injure yourself further.”

Even today, his voice did strange things to her. It made her feel things no decent
woman should ever feel. It made her want . . . but want what? She reminded herself
that his kindness could be a façade she had yet to crack through.

“I would have taken you around the house,” he said, almost as if it was an apology.

She didn’t miss the note of intimacy in his comment. And while his admission and the
underlying innuendo should have her running from the house, she found herself intrigued.
What in the world was wrong with her? Her imaginings from last night were what was
wrong with her. She’d sketched a picture of this man in her mind that was too perfect
and without flaws. Everyone had flaws.

She decided right then and there that she couldn’t trust herself in his presence.
Her imagination had run wild with this man’s character, and she couldn’t help but
paint him as some sort of hero, not only for rescuing her but also for giving her
the things she desperately needed right now—a safe place, a job . . . a chance.

With self-preservation finally at the forefront of her thoughts, she managed to take
an uneven step away from him. The misstep shot a heavy dose of pain up her leg, and
it felt like her stomach was in her throat with the sudden correction in her balance.
But Mr. Riley grasped her arm firmly. Instead of toppling back, she was crushed along
the length of his body.

With her hands wrapped around his strong forearms, she let him steady her long enough
that her head stopped spinning. His thumbs brushed back and forth over the inside
of her wrist, letting her focus on the intimacy of his touch instead of the pain radiating
from her ankle.

His nearness did strange things to her, things that made her want to step closer instead
of away from him, to be touched everywhere as familiarly as he stroked her wrist.
She shook her head and dropped her arms to her sides. She needed to get a better grasp
on her emotions, her desires.

She reminded herself that she knew nothing about this man. And these were not the
types of thoughts she should have of her employer—and an attraction of any kind was
entirely out of the question.

When his gaze probed so far as to make her feel as if he were sifting through her
secrets, she lowered her gaze. She didn’t know why, but she liked the fluttery sensation
she felt in her stomach when he was near. That was the last thing she should feel,
she reminded herself for the umpteenth time. Mr. Riley could cut her loose just as
fast as he’d tied her to his household.

Not willing to meet his gaze again, she focused on the cloth buttons lining the front
of his maroon waistcoat. That did not help her imagination in the least, as she wondered
if the material on the buttons was soft or coarse, which led her to wonder if his
body would be as firm as it looked too.

“My apologies,” she said again.

What else was there to say?
I’m sorry I’m a buffoon, Mr. Riley, but it appears to be a general state for me whenever
you are in the room.
That simply wouldn’t work.

“So you said. I won’t expect you to eat with the rest of the staff in the kitchen
quarters if you cannot make the climb downstairs.” He made it sound as though she
were breakable or, worse, an invalid. And she took exception to that until his finger
turned up her chin, and their gazes collided. “What is your preference for your morning
meal?”

“Whatever your cook puts together for the rest of the household will be sufficient,
Mr. Riley.”

His jaw clenched. Had she displeased him with her answer? She wanted to ask but found
herself speechless instead, when he took her arm in his, alleviating the pain from
her bad ankle. It was impossible to hold back the sigh of relief that his support
offered. Escorting her over to a matching pair of leather chairs, he settled her in
the one that faced the gardens.

“A post came from the employment agency for you,” he announced, as though her receiving
a post had been expected. “I left it on the desk for you.”

Though her body was strung like a new violin bow, she hoped he didn’t notice the tension
suddenly assailing her. What if her old employer had contacted the agency to give
them a story that painted her as an unsuitable employee? What lies would Sir Ian have
made up about her? If the agency wrote a note to her, what had they already told Mr.
Riley?

She swallowed back her nervousness. “I didn’t think they would have anything to say.”

“They most certainly should have, for placing you were they did.” There was a note
of underlying anger in his comment. And she wondered again how much he knew of her
employment with Sir Ian. If he contacted the agency for her yesterday, it was likely
they told him which house she’d served in.

“You should know that I have a vested interested in the agency that placed you. And
their services are always available to any woman in need of a safe job place.”

She looked at him, unsure how she was meant to reply. He seemed so sure of himself,
which was expected of men. But she knew that a woman with even the hint of a poor
reputation could easily be tossed out into the street as if she were no better than
a pile of kitchen refuse.

“I failed to mention that a very close friend of my mother’s runs the agency,” he
said. “They assured me that your last employer would not find another placement through
them.”

Her head was spinning with the information he might have garnered in going to his
mother’s friend. Would he know what happened? He’d revealed something decent about
himself in telling her that. He did not condone the actions of a man who took advantage
of his power. And she hated to admit that it allowed her to trust him enough that
the constant fear that cloaked her dissipate a little.

Too many questions were swirling around in her head, and she decided it was best to
change the topic. “Your house is very beautiful. The library, especially.”

When he looked her over from head to toe with a scrutinizing expression, her lungs
were robbed of air. Did he find her lacking?

That she cared was worrisome. She was usually more levelheaded than to fall victim
to a handsome face. But there was a masculinity and prowess to his nature that made
her feel so utterly and foolishly feminine. Like he would catch her if she fell .
. . which he’d already accomplished today.

“You can use any room you desire to do your work. Meals can be brought up to the library,
if that is your preference,” he said.

She looked at the stately room where she sat. It was something out of fairy tales
or a room reserved for the women born into the upper echelon of society. She wasn’t
a fairy-tale princess, and while she was an earl’s daughter, she certainly hadn’t
been born into great riches and privilege. She felt undeserving.

“I couldn’t possibly . . . ” She shook her head. “The rest of the staff might think
less of me if I were given such an advantage.” Staring at a loose thread on her sleeve,
she was unable to voice just how important it was for her to fit in. It wasn’t like
she’d ever lived with a plethora of servants when growing up—only a cook, who also
helped to clean the family cottage where they lived when her father’s health started
to fail some years ago.

After her father’s death, the family finances had plunged to dangerous lows. It didn’t
help that her brother liked to gamble.

The worst thing for her wasn’t the idea of losing her childhood home; it was realizing
just how little her brother thought of her. His debts had amassed so high that in
exchange for clearing them, he had promised her to a man she loathed. A man far crueler
than Sir Ian had been.

She wanted that life far behind her, and in order to do that, she must wholly embrace
her role as a working woman. And a tiny part of her wanted to believe that Mr. Riley
was the man who would give her exactly what she wanted.

Mr. Riley walked over to the entrance and rang the servants’ bell before taking a
seat across from her.

Shyly, she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. Why did she find herself speechless
when he remained broodingly silent? She was normally a better conversationalist than
this.

“What tasks will you have me accomplish today, Mr. Riley?”

A maid interrupted them before he could answer. She was young, not more than sixteen,
and slight. She had a face full of freckles and large brown eyes that gave her an
air of innocence.