Promoted to Wife (Destiny Bay) (9 page)

CHAPTER FIVE:
 

They Don’t Promote Butlers To Wife
 

It was traditional to have a morning meeting in a butler-staffed house. The daily schedule was always worked out in detail. Terry's father had given her a full briefing on what to expect, how to prepare for it, what to ask, and what to write down.
 

Terry was ready. She was going to be cool and grounded, her head into her work. No nonsense. No sidetracks. Her father had prepared her well. The only thing he hadn't foreseen was the disposition of the master of the house.

Terry walked into the study off Rick's bedroom and found him sitting at the desk, yawning. He was wearing a
bright yellow silk lounging robe that didn't conceal the
fact that he was still in his pajamas.

She stopped short in the doorway and put on a serious frown. In the cold light of morning, she could hardly
believe she'd been so weak and…and female the night before. She'd given
herself a silent lecture during her morning shower—and she needed it. Whenever she remembered how she’d melted when he touched her, she wanted to scream.
 

No! No more of that. That sort of thing was over, gone. She was going to be tougher now.
 

Still, it was embarrassing to have to face him after she’d made a fool of herself like that.
The trouble was, he was probably the most appealing man she’d ever known. His basic decency was obvious and evident in every move he made. And at the same time, his tendencies toward being a womanizer were just as clear. He was danger on a stick, and she had to avoid that.
 

Raising her chin, she entered the room.
 

“You're not dressed,” she noted icily.

Rick looked up as she spoke, his eyes narrowing. He
could see right away there'd been a change. The warm, reluctant but weakening woman who'd been in his arms the night before had vanished. In her place was this
straitlaced schoolmarm whose back was stiffened with
determination. Apparently he was in for more of a challenge than he'd thought.

His mouth twisted in regret and he gazed down at his attire, eyebrows raised. “Observant of you, darling,” he drawled. “Don’t like the casual look, huh?”

She tapped the end of her pencil against the notebook she carried.
Think professional
, she told herself. “Not the way you do it,” she snapped out crisply.

Devilment lit his eyes as he leaned back in his chair to observe her. “This disturbs you. What an old-fashioned girl.”

As she hesitated in the doorway, he rose suddenly, coming to take her hands and lead her into the room. “I have on exactly three layers of clothing, you little idiot,” he said smoothly as he deposited her in the chair opposite his. “What could I possibly do to you without calling a time-out of at least five minutes to change?”

She flushed, crossing her legs nervously. “That's not the point. It's the principle of the thing. I don't think you should be in these... bedroom clothes when we meet.”

He grinned. “Are you concerned about your reputation—or mine?”

“Both.”

He nodded, pursing his lips. “Five minutes,” he muttered hopefully as he resumed his seat. “Want to time me?”

Avoiding his gaze, she flipped open her notebook and wrote the date at the top of a blank page. “We have some things to discuss.”

“Do we?” He made a face as though he thought this was going to be bitter medicine. “Your tone of voice does not entice me.”

Ignoring him, she went on. “We should get plans straight. I need a list of the guests expected, the parties you plan to give, the people you want to entertain.”

He groaned. “Now?”

“Now.” She gave him a steely look. “I need time to prepare.”

His mouth turned down at the corners. “It's going to be more work being the so-called master of the house
than I'd thought.”

She glanced up at him. “You haven't actually done it
before?”
 

He shook his head. “No. I don't have any servants at
my own house. Only ranch hands. And they're a different
breed.”

“I'll bet.” So, they were both new at working out the
boundaries of this relationship. She took in a deep breath and frowned. The good thing was, he wouldn’t know when she was messing up. The bad thing was, he wouldn’t be able to help her avoid it.
 

“Don’t you have a couple of sisters?” she asked, suddenly remembering.
 

He nodded. “Kathy is the Olympic swimmer. She’s in training for an international meet later this summer so you probably won’t see her around. And Shelley, my baby sister, is a psychologist right here in Destiny Bay. She’s a doll. She might drop by at any time.”
 

Suddenly she remembered that it was a special day.
“Oh, by the way. Happy birthday.”

He looked surprised that she'd remembered, surprised
and pleased. Every time he showed his vulnerability that way, she found herself weakening toward him. If only he
were consistently arrogant, it would all be so much eas
ier.

“Thanks,” he said, his gaze searching hers as though hoping for some pleasurable surprises.
 

That helped put things back into perspective. Casting
him a frosty glare, she looked back down at her note
book. “We can go over the details of your entertainment
schedule later, if you prefer,” she said. “But why don't
you fill me in on Aunt Julia right now? I had no idea you
were expecting to have a guest so soon.”

From the twinkle in his eye she could see that Aunt Julia was a favorite of his. “Julia isn't a guest,” he exclaimed. “She stays here more often than I do. She's my
grandfather's sister and you'll love her. She won't cause you a bit of trouble.”

There was trouble, and then there was trouble. If Aunt Julia took a liking to her, that was all well and good. But if not—Grandfather might get called in, for all Terry knew. She'd reserve judgment on this one, and try to be ready for anything.

“There is one problem, though,” he mentioned, then he laughed. “She'll be bringing someone along with her. She always does.”

“Oh? Who is it?”

He shrugged. “She's different every time. You see, Aunt Julia is sort of a traveling smorgasbord of marriage prospects.”

Totally at sea, Terry shook her head. “I don't understand.”

“Julia thinks I'm long overdue on the remarriage market. She always brings along a tempting morsel, sure that one of them is bound to catch my fancy one of these days.”

Good grief. Aunt Julia sounded like a nosy manipulator. More problems coming down the line.
 

“That’s convenient,” Terry remarked dryly.

“Are you kidding?” He looked as though she'd lost her mind. “I have no intention of getting married again. I spend every other weekend trying to fight off these lovesick females Julia comes up with.”

Lovesick! Poor women! “How trying for you,” she amended, letting her sarcasm show just a bit.

“Oh, well.” He smiled at her, looking guileless. “You'll be a help there, at any rate.”

She looked up in surprise. “Me? How can I help?”

He leaned closer. “If worse comes to worst, and the latest lady breathes a bit too hot and heavy at my heels, I'll just tell her I'm in love with the butler.” He reached out to chuck her under the chin. “Good idea, isn't it?”

Why was she flushing at his joke? She made her frown even more ferocious to compensate. “Not particularly,” she snapped.

He let his hand linger on her chin, turning her head so that she was forced to lift her face to his.

“Hey, grumpy,” he said with a smile. “If this is what a night sleeping alone does to you, we're going to have to do something about it.”

He was gorgeous and adorable and ready to play. A temptation like this didn't come along every day. She took a deep breath and gritted her teeth for at least the illusion of extra strength. It was high time she established her rules.

Slowly, deliberately, she pulled away from his hand and packed up her notebook. Rising from the chair, she forced herself to ignore the gleam in his eyes.

“Let me know when you're ready to talk business,” she said brusquely. Turning on her heel, she strode quickly out the door and didn't relax until she'd reached the safety of the butler's pantry, where she sank down on the little couch and let herself laugh for a moment.

She was proud of herself. That brush-off had been difficult—but absolutely necessary.

“And it was only practice for the future, I'm afraid,” she whispered out loud. Rick had to realize that she wasn't going to join in his games.

But she didn't have long to brood about taming Rick. The morning was full of other things to keep her busy.

Anatole, the cook, had arrived in time to fix the children's breakfast. Tall, gaunt, and very French, he'd swept in and taken over, making it clear he ruled the kitchen.

Terry had known from the first that she and Anatole were not destined to become bosom buddies. From what her father had told her, cooks and butlers often formed close alliances in order to manage their employers. He’d warned her that their
first meeting would set the tone.
 

She was ready. She was thinking good thoughts and smiling as she entered the kitchen. But she could see it wasn’t going to be easy from the first. Anatole watched her approach with
disdain fairly dripping from the ends of his mustache.

“I am Anatole,” he'd announced grandly, looking down his long Gallic nose.

“There's certainly no question about that,” Terry responded cheerfully, then bit her tongue as fire flashed in
the man's black eyes. No sense of humor, she noted. It
would be wise to tread softly.

But no matter how diplomatic she tried to be, Anatole had a way to make things unpleasant, disparaging her every suggestion.

Her father's first call of the day was close on the heels
of one of their confrontations.

“Am I, or am I not, the cook's boss?” she asked her
expert.

To her dismay, her father hesitated. “That's a touchy one,'' he admitted at last. “Technically you are, but most cooks would dispute it. They like to feel they run their
department autonomously. It depends on what sort of
character your cook has. She won't want to admit you're
her boss, but when the chips are down—”

“This cook is a he,” Terry informed him.

“A he?... Ah.” There was a long pause. “Maybe you'd better let me speak to him.”

“Oh, no,” Terry said quickly. She still had a lot to prove—even to the cook. “I'll handle it myself.”

Just how she was going to do that, she didn't know,
but she wouldn't involve her father in her own struggles. He was a sweet, dear man and he’d been treated unfairly at his last job. She was ready to move heaven and earth to keep this one for him.
 

They chatted for a few more minutes. He asked about the house, about the garden, if anyone on the staff was still there from the old days when he’d ruled the place like a sort of royalty—at least that was the way he remembered it.
 

She smiled with pure affection, hoping he wasn’t going to be disappointed when he healed enough to come take over and finally faced reality rather than fuzzy memories. How would Rick treat her father? Her smile faded as she wondered.
 

Rick was feeling restless. He had plenty of paper work he should be taking care of, but he couldn’t keep his mind on it right now. For some strange reason, he couldn’t keep his thoughts off the butler.

Just thinking of it made him swear. The situation was ridiculous. He was going to have to let her go. He could just imagine the talk in the rest of the family if this got out.
 

But the funny thing was, he didn’t really want her to leave. It was pretty obvious why—she was gorgeous and sexy and it made him feel all kinds of good things just looking at her. But he knew it was no good.
 

“Date her,” he muttered to himself. “Just don’t hire her.”

But that would just add her to the long line of women who’d come and gone in his life in recent years. For some reason, he didn’t want to do that, and he wasn’t sure just why. What did it matter, anyway? His feelings were all surface. Nothing seemed to penetrate anymore.
 

He walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and looked out at the morning. There were bunnies on the grass, eating furtively. Flowers were blooming. The ocean sparkled in the distance. Life was going on all around him, but it never seemed to touch him.
 

When was he going to feel as though he could attach himself to life again? When was he going to lose this numbness, this void? Did he still have a heart? Did he even have a real circulatory system—would he bleed? Sometimes he thought he might be turning into a zombie, all human contact cut off. Who did he love, anyway?
 

He’d loved Claire. He’d been insane in love with her at one point in time. And when they’d had the children, he’d thought he was the happiest man in the world.
 

What had happened to that? How could love just wither up and blow away? He stared hard at the rabbits and wondered if he should get a dog.
 

Turning back into the house, he sighed.
Wasn’t it getting on toward the deadline he’d set? Weren’t he and Terry supposed to get together to asses things about now? He set off to find her, and he
rounded a doorway into the library
just in time to hear her signing off.