Her Beguiling Butler (3 page)

“That was fast,” Alicia said, beckoning him forward with a quick hand.

“Mrs. Sweeting sends her condolences on your injury and added her biscuits to speed you to recovery.” He strode forward training his eyes from the frothy muslin of her ladyship’s gown and robe. The fabric complemented her fragility, illuminating the appeal of her lips, her throat, her heaving bosom. And was that a rosy nipple he detected beneath a fold? A hint of her navel?

God. Put the damn tray down and dismiss yourself, man.

He bent over her.

“Oh, biscuits!” Alicia enthused while her fingers brushed his. He was struck, unable to move or think. But move he must. And did. Standing tall beside his lady.

“Mabel! Preston!” Alicia told the two maids who fluttered around the suite. “You may go now.”

“But, Madam,” Preston objected.

“Now,” insisted Alicia, her attention on the items on her tray. “Go.”

The two women hurried out, shutting the door behind them.

Finnley swallowed hard. His eyes—
traitors
—were fixed on that one ripe nipple. Hard and glorious beneath the much too sheer muslin.

“Madam,” he murmured and turned for the door.

“Not you, Finnley. Stay. I must talk with you.”

Jesus. Why?
He could not stand here feigning indifference. His body was too hard, too high. He winced. Was his interest evident in his breeches? He dare not check.

In need of escape, he fingered the chain of his pocket watch. “I must discuss the dinner menu with Cook.”

“Not yet, you don’t. Come here, Finnley.”

Dear god.
Alicia patted the bed beside her.

“I—“ Flummoxed, he pointed to the wing chair at her bedside.

“Nonsense. Sit here, Finnley.” She caressed the coverlet. And smiled at him. Bright as morning sunshine.

He shoved down his need to kiss her hand or put it near the placket of his—
Oh, bloody hell.
“I’m afraid that’s not proper, my lady.”

“Between us, we have no great need for propriety, Finnley.”

Fingering his watch, he found no other response to deter her. “But you must.”

“If you sit over there, far from me, I won’t be able to trust what you tell me.”

That brought him up short. “Madam, I have never lied to you.”
Not quite true, but still…

“Sit. Right. Here. Finnley. And do not argue.” She picked up a biscuit and munched, her tongue darting out to catch a crumb that fell to her lower lip.
Dear god
, he wanted to lick it from her himself.

Garrr.

“My lady, I assure you that you can count on me.”

“I know I can.”

“Well then.” He felt vindicated and stuffed his watch back in his waistcoat pocket.

“Sit here and I will tell you why I want you here, Finnley, and nowhere else.”

Foiled, he sat. This near, he inhaled her fragrance. Soap mingled with lilacs. His head reeled. He had to end this torture quickly. He was here to do a job. The first thing he’d ever been good at was ferreting out criminals, derelicts. “What is it you wish to discuss?”

“Tell me, Finnley, why you are here?”

Had she discovered his ruse? His real identity? “Ma’am?”

She tossed a sober look at him. “You heard me.”

He had no words.

“Why are you here, Finnley?” When he did not answer, she shook her head. “In this house? Working for me?”

“You need a butler. Your previous one died last month.”
Brilliant, Finnley.

She examined him so closely he wondered if she could note each hair of his brows, the color of his eyes, the flinch of his mouth. “Good. Thank you for that. Now, tell me a few more things.”

“Anything.”
Almost.

“What is your background, Finnley?”

He frowned. Why would she ask? His cover was superb. His acting, excellent.

“Ah, ah.” She waved a forefinger in front of him. “No prevarications, sir.”

He shot ramrod straight. “I told you of my past. You have my reference.”

She inched closer to him, so near he could see the purple rays in the glory of her velvet eyes. “I do, dear Finnley. But why do you speak with such crisp precision? Why do you command me with your very presence? Your power?”

“Ma’am?” Was that his voice that sounded like an echo of his own? She should not undo him. But she did.

“Wallace Finnley. You have education and breeding. I can tell. Do you know how?”

He shook his head, her nearness a magnet to his body, his soul. Her lips, his only lure.

“For one thing, you own that very fine, very French Ferdinand Berthoud
pocket watch. My great-uncle owned one similar.” She dropped her eyes toward the point on his chest where he kept his treasure. “I can hear the delicate chimes when it rings every quarter hour.”

He should have left it in his rooms. But it was the dearest memento he owned from his grandfather. Besides, he ran his daily duties by the precision of it. “I cannot part with it. It keeps me on task.”

“It does. I see it.”

“May I go now?”

“No. Certainly not. I would learn more. You say you come from Yorkshire. But I detect no hint of it in your pronunciation. You went to school. Some fine institution that weaned you from your native speech. Where?”

Good god. She was perceptive. He set his jaw. He’d not reveal his year at Edinburgh. He never told anyone of that, he’d hated it so. “The Army was my schooling. Taught me responsibility.”

“Your rank?”

“Captain.”

She smiled at him, her face around her eyes crinkling in appreciation. “So then your family purchased a commission for you?”

My father gave me nothing of value.
“I ran away. Began as a recruit.”

“Noble of you.”

“Necessary, ma’am.” He shook his head, thinking them done, moving to rise.

She caught his hand. “A moment, Finnley. There is more to your story. From your time in the Army, I see then when and how you acquired your demeanor with those under your command.”

He wished to escape her touch and her sound perception. “The Army gave me a good education.”

“And war is a demanding teacher,” she concluded.

“It was. I wish to never fight again.”

“Nor do any of us. My brother died. At Waterloo.”

He schooled himself to remain placid. Her brother had been his best friend. What he did here for Alicia was as much for her as for Jerome.

“I find it intriguing, dear Finnley, that with such rank in the military, you now offer yourself in domestic service.”

Her statement, he knew, was a question and he had to avoid the whole answer of his origins. “Being a butler is an honorable occupation.”

She fell back to her cushions, her hand dropping and freeing him of her hold. Her expression told him she was dismayed with his obstinate ways.

He stepped backward and rubbed his wrist.

She stared at him, clear-eyed and assured. “Finnley, I will be forthright. I look into your endearing blue eyes and can see that when you speak truth to me, your pupils darken and enlarge.”

What?

“And when you lie to me, your pupils constrict and your body tightens like a drum.”

Well, damn. Foiled by my eyes?

Once more, she took his hand and put his open palm to her soft cheek. “Might you care for me, Finnley?”

Might?
There was no
might
.

“I see in your eyes that you do,” she whispered. “Tell me who you really are, dear sir. And then we can begin again. Anew.”

A knock came at her bedroom door.

“Yes?” Alicia glanced around his shoulder, her voice sharp, her brow furrowed.

Preston stuck her nose inside. “Milady, do pardon me, but there are two visitors at the front door.”

“Who are they?” Alicia asked her.

“I didn’t ask,” Preston said. “They presented no cards.”

“Do they appear to be friends of Lady Ranford?” Finnley pressed the maid.

“They look like they may be, yes.”

“And you didn’t let them in?” He frowned at Preston.

She shook her head.

“I will go,” Finnley pulled his hand from Alicia’s. He should be grateful to the two people downstairs that they’d come at an opportune time. He strode away, turning to face Alicia before he left. “Is there anything else you need, my lady?”

She glared at him from across the room, her large purple eyes fixed with intent on his. “You know what I need, Finnley. Can you bring me that?”

With the door ajar and Preston not two feet from him, Finnley had to mask Alicia’s intent. He set his jaw. “I will see what I can do, Madam.”

“Wonderful.”

He closed the door and avoided the maid’s curious stance.

Whatever Preston thought their mistress asked of him, he would not elaborate.
Let her think whatever she will. It will be the worst, in any event. That is her nature.

He took the stairs at a trot, Preston on his heels. He cared not. Let her stalk him. He had other worries. His skin was flushed, his heart pitter-pattering.
What in blazes was wrong with him?

He pulled open the front door.

“Good afternoon.” A handsome blond man and identical blonde woman stood before him. The gentleman was the speaker and he removed his hat and gestured to his companion. “We have come unannounced. I am Mr. Macomb and this is my sister, Miss Louise Macomb.”

At the very least, Finnley had to let the man and lady inside. It was too blasted cold to permit them to linger on the doorstep. He stood aside and invited them in.

Lady Louise lifted the veil of her hat and began to pull off her gloves as she looked around. “You are Alicia’s new butler, I suppose.”

“I am, my lady. Finnley’s the name.”

Grimes appeared behind Finnley to assist with their wraps.

“We’re here to call upon Lady Ranford, of course,” the man put forward.

“We understand she’s been to her cousin’s for dinner the past few weeks and then over to visit her aunt.” Lady Louise continued her assessment of the foyer and him, in particular. “We thought we’d help her break her mourning more rapidly. Do tell her we call, Finnley.”

He collected their coats, hats, and handed them over to Grimes. Leading them toward the parlor, he invited them to sit. He knew Alicia’s penchant to receive anyone who called upon her. She had told him the day he interviewed with her that she wished to be at home to anyone who called. “Mourning was so lonely. And now that I emerge, I wish to receive all who call. Turn no one away, Finnley. No one.”

He had heeded her instruction, allowing her solicitor in to see her two days ago and her aunt yesterday. Now here stood this pair. Well, so be it. He’d announce them.

He saw them seated, then did what he could to prepare them for Alicia’s dismissal. “I wish to inform you both that while Lady Ranford is at home, she may decide not to see you today.”

“Oh, why ever not?” Lady Louise stared up at him with insult in her tone.

“She is recently indisposed.”

“Alicia?” the gentleman scoffed. “Impossible. She is always hail and hearty.”

Not today, she’s not.
“Permit me to be excused and I will tell her of your arrival.”

“Cheeky bugger,” Finnley heard Macomb say as he left the drawing room.

Upstairs at her door, Finnley rapped lightly. If she’d fallen asleep, then he’d send these two away.

“Come in.”

He dared not go closer than the threshold. Alicia looked so artlessly languid. “My lady, you have callers. Mr. Macomb and Miss Louise Macomb.”

“Harold and Louise?” Alicia clasped her hands together. A smile wreathed her face as she flung back the covers. “Splendid.”

And then she froze, a cry of pain on her lips, her nightgown sliding well above her flawless, elegant thighs all the way to—

He ran to her. “Don’t move. You’re hurt. Can’t you see?”

By this time, he had his arms around her back and he lifted her in his embrace. Her unbound breasts pressed to his chest. Her arms dragged him close. He hauled her backward to the pillows. “Darling, don’t.”

He settled her down against the fluffy mounds. Her eyes were clenched shut and a tear dripped from the corner of her eye.

“Oh, Finnley,” she whimpered and hid her face in his shirt.

“I know, I know. Just be still. These two can call again. They will, I know, when you’re better.”

She nodded wildly, a hand to her quivering mouth. “I should not have moved so quickly. Oh, but I want to see them.”

“I know you do.” He smoothed her hair, her pale gossamer curls drifting through his fingers.

“She was my friend. Is my friend. Robert didn’t like her.”

On the contrary, your husband liked her too much.

“Don’t worry. I can tell them what happened to you and—“

“Oh, no. Please don’t. Say I am indisposed of some malady but not that I fell on my own front doorstep. They’ll think me hopeless and I want to appear so in control of my—my life.” Her lips trembling, she clutched him so near that he felt every hill and valley of her luscious body squashed ever so securely to the fires in his chest. “Oh, Finnley. I want to begin to live a normal life again. But here I am—“

In my arms.

“In my bed. And wanting—“ She lifted her face to him. Two tears left a trail over both her cherub’s cheeks. Her eyes, so violet, so velvet, they were wet with longing and sorrow. “Finnley,” she whispered with those plush pink lips that deserved adulation.

He brushed her cheek with the pads of his thumbs. She was too hurt, too lovely, too forlorn to ignore. On his mouth, he felt the warm fan of her breath. If he lowered his face an iota, he could take her lips, press them and treasure them, open them with the insistence of his own lips and taste her, drink her, devour her, claim her…

No.

He settled her gently to her pillows.

She watched him withdraw with sorrow in her gorgeous eyes and upon her downturned mouth. “Don’t go.”

“I must. I’ll tell them.”

“To return.”

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow.”

He shook his head. “Next week.”

“I won’t be better?”

“No. You need your rest. You could not don stockings on your injured knees. No garters to stop the blood, either. And your hands, dear lady. I must get compresses for your hands. Rest. Sleep. Think of no one and nothing but restoring your health. I will see to your friends.”