Leslie Lafoy (7 page)

He straightened at the sight of her and smiled broadly. “Ah, Seraphina, do come in.”

Seraphina?
She barely had time to mentally register the familiarity. As he spoke, a rather large mass of black rose from the settee and turned toward her. The woman was of middling height, but with wide shoulders and a bosom that filled the bodice of her black gabardine dress all the way to the waist. She had a pleasant smile that reached to her soft brown eyes and waves of wiry gray hair that peeked out from beneath the edge of her black straw hat. A resilient woman in mourning, Sera decided as she returned the smile.

“Allow me to introduce the new housekeeper,” Carden began. “Seraphina, this is Mrs. Blaylock. She comes with impeccable references and considerable experience. Mrs. Blaylock, may I present Mrs. Seraphina Treadwell, late of Belize, and the companion of my young nieces.”

Mrs. Blaylock dropped a brief curtsy. “It’s a pleasure, madam.”

Again Sera regretted the lack of servants in her earlier life. Mrs. Blaylock, however, didn’t seem to be as formal as Sawyer. Trusting her to overlook any social gaffes, Sera replied, “The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Blaylock. Welcome to the household.”

Carden didn’t give either of them a chance to exchange additional pleasantries. “Mrs. Blaylock will be bringing her daughter, Anne, with her to serve as the upstairs maid. I’ve instructed her to hire within the week a second girl to serve the downstairs. Do you have any preferences for the type of young woman she selects?”

As though she knew anything at all about such matters, Sera silently scoffed. Not that she was willing to publicly admit her ignorance. It was for precisely these kinds of occasions that people had invented good manners. She met his gaze and confidently replied, “I trust that Mrs. Blaylock well knows the requirements of the job and is perfectly capable of hiring someone who will perform their duties to the satisfaction of all.”

His smile said he recognized her effort for the evasion that it was. His wink was fleeting but congratulatory nonetheless.

“Mrs. Blaylock,” he said, motioning broadly toward the parlor doors and the foyer beyond, “I will see you, your daughter, and your respective belongings tomorrow morning, then?”

Taking her cue, the new housekeeper bobbed another curtsy, saying, “Very good, sir. And thank you, sir.” She had taken only two steps toward her exit when Sawyer magically appeared in the foyer, her cloak draped over his left arm.

Sera was watching the two of them move toward the front door when Carden Reeves quietly asked, “Are you not happy with her, Seraphina?”

“She seems to be a nice woman,” Sera replied coolly, slowly squaring up to him. “If you say her references are excellent, I’ll take your word on it.”

“Then why the look of displeasure?”

She took a fortifying breath. “I don’t recall having granted you permission to address me by my Christian name.”

“You didn’t.” He grinned. “Seraphina.”

“Mr. Reeves—”

“Carden.”

Sera sighed and forced a smile. Firmly, pointedly, she began again. “Mr. Reeves—”

“Car-den.”

“I am not your nieces’ companion,” she countered, temporarily abandoning her first effort for a new one. “I am their governess. As I recall, we came to that agreement less than three hours ago.”

“Yes,” he agreed, nodding and moving slowly closer, “but you expressed some discomfort over the status of employee and I’ve been giving the matter some thought with the idea of how to make you feel better about it all. I think that ‘companion’ works rather nicely, don’t you?”

“Why are you the least little bit concerned over my feelings on the matter?” she asked warily, suddenly feeling too warm.

“I would prefer that you be happy and comfortable.”

Resisting the urge to tug at her collar, she took a step back, asking, “Why would you care?”

He leaned a hip against the table behind the settee and crossed his arms over his chest. His smile was bright. And roguishly inviting. “Are you always so ungrateful?”

“I’m not ungrateful,” she corrected, her heart racing at an embarrassing rate. “I’m suspicious.”

“All right, then,” he said, chuckling. “Are you always so suspicious?”

“Yes, in point of fact, I am.”
And especially of handsome men who go out of their way to be charming.

He tilted his head to the side in that boyish way of his. “Why?”

A direct question required an equally direct answer. “It has been my experience that men do not do things for others—especially women—out of the kindness of their hearts,” she supplied honestly. “They are, instead, generally motivated by hopes of being rewarded in one way or another.”

“You haven’t known very many gentlemen in your life, have you?”

Seraphina considered the man in front of her and laughingly replied, “I’ve always found gentlemen to be the worst of the lot. Their refined manners tend to serve as both an excellent disguise and an effective distraction.”

“Wolves in sheep’s clothing.”

“A most accurate description, Mr. Reeves.”

“Carden,” he instantly amended. His eyes sparkled and his smile broadened yet another dazzling degree. “And just what reward do you think I might be hoping to get from you?”

“I can’t say.” Or rather she wouldn’t, she silently added. Ladies didn’t discuss such matters with men. Ever.

“You don’t know me well enough?”

“That’s a fair statement,” she allowed, relieved that he’d been mannered enough to afford her the avenue of evasion.

He nodded, studied the carpet at her feet for a long moment, and then lifted his gaze to meet hers. His smile still bright and broad, he straightened, saying, “Since we’re to be existing under the same roof for the immediate future, it would probably be in the best interests of harmony for us to become better acquainted, would it not?”

Her heart skittered and her mind raced. Better acquainted? Her every instinct said that even the least bit of familiarity was a dangerous thing where Carden Reeves was concerned. The man didn’t strike her as the sort to have female acquaintances. In fact, were she pressed to wager, she’d hazard that the women in his life could be divided into two broad categories: paramours of his past and those of his future. Even Mrs. Blaylock had cause for concern. Heaven help her daughter, Anne.

“And then there are the girls to consider, as well,” he went on. “We must work together in order to see that their needs are met in a timely and proper manner. To my thinking, good communication and a full understanding of each other would be requirements of achieving that end. Don’t you agree?”

It was a transparent ploy, using her devotion to his nieces to achieve his own ends. It was just the sort of thing she should have expected of a dedicated rake. “I recognize manipulation when I see it, Mr. Reeves,” she said. “And I find—”

“Carden,” he corrected yet again, the brilliance of his smile undampened by her rebuke. “And since you can see through me so clearly, I trust that you’ll be able to adequately protect yourself. Would you care for a tour of the public rooms of the house? There are several of them which I’m sure you’ll want to use in the course of the girls’ education.”

The man simply didn’t stop. Like a hurricane, he held to his course, relentlessly plowing his way through all attempts to deter him. Battling him on every little point had proven to be not only exhausting, but also fruitless. Better that she conserve her strength for the contests that truly mattered. “A brief tour would be fine,” she said, relenting. “When would you like to undertake it? After dinner, perhaps?”

He presented his arm. “Why delay? There’s no time like the present.”

Good manners lay in tucking her arm around his and walking at his side. Good sense lay in ignoring his gesture and following at least a half-dozen paces to the rear—well out of arm’s reach. What would her mother have advised her to do? Sera wondered. Neither, she realized. Maria Magdalena Miller would have reminded her daughter that she was in this predicament because she hadn’t remained in Belize to stoically await the emergence of her husband from the jungle. A good wife would have never set out on her own course. If she now found herself in a difficult situation, then it was of her own making and thus fully deserved.

Carden watched the emotions play across her features. Surprise, wariness, and then confusion. And now … Anger, judging by the set of her jaw and the defiant light blazing in the depths of her eyes. He braced himself, knowing that while he hadn’t overtly pressed the bounds of propriety, he’d definitely given them a solidly oblique push. Seraphina Treadwell would be perfectly within rights to pin back his ears.

To his everlasting surprise, she stepped close and slipped her arm around his, resting her hand genteelly on his forearm. The color in her cheeks, high since the moment she’d come into the room, was deepening by the second. Concerned that she might reconsider her acceptance and withdraw if he gave her so much as half a chance, he immediately moved out of the room with her.

They’d barely stepped into the foyer when she spoke. “May I ask you a question?”

“Certainly.”

“Do you squire every female guest about the public rooms of your home?”

Carden grinned. “Only those who will be staying a while.” He turned his head so that he could see her face as he added, “You’re a member of a very select group. In fact, you’re the only member.”

“How fortunate I am.”

Not that she actually thought so, he knew. There was a tension to her, a stiffness to the way she moved and held herself. He could feel it radiating out of her hand and into his arm. It was her good fortune that he was very skilled at melting ladies’ tensions. “It’s not every day that a man acquires a beautiful houseguest from Belize.”

“I’m originally from Jamaica,” she clarified, ignoring the compliment. “My father undertook a research project in Belize and wanted Mother and I to join him.”

He knew he was being guided away from the truly personal, but since her past was something about which he was curious anyway, he obediently asked, “What sort of research?”

“He was a botanist,” she supplied, seeming to relax a bit. “Mother was largely disinterested in his work and so I—being too young to resist—was pressed into being his assistant.”

Carden gestured as they passed a set of open doors. “As you no doubt recall, this is my study. And your late husband … Was he a botanist, as well?”

“No,” she answered and then hesitated. After seeming to carefully decide on her words, she added, “He was something of an adventurer wrapped in a business suit.”

Ah, no great love lost.
Just to be absolutely sure, though, he casually pressed, “I gather from your tone that the marriage wasn’t an altogether happy one.”

“From what I’ve seen, few arranged marriages are,” she countered noncommittally as he led her into the library. Or, more accurately, what was supposed to be a library.

Drawing her arm from his, she stepped away to peruse the meager contents of the mahogany shelves. Without looking at him she said, “It’s an interesting collection, Mr. Reeves.”

“Carden.”

She turned her head and met his gaze. “I’m aware of that. I simply choose to ignore it.”

If she could choose to ignore an issue, then so could he. “As libraries go, mine is underwhelming. My friend Barrett has described it as being decidedly heavy on furniture and lean on books. You’ll meet Barrett at dinner this evening.”

The look she shot him just before she turned back to the shelves said she knew he was playing a game of tit for tat. It also promised that she wouldn’t abandon her commitment to formality. He watched as she trailed a fingertip over the leather spines of his collection. She had truly beautiful hands, delicate and graceful. God, what he wouldn’t give to have her draw such a line over his ribs and down the length of his torso. The back of the sofa was high. He could stand behind her, slip his arms around her waist, and nibble at her delectable nape until she let him draw her to the sofa and lay her down. Assuming they could be reasonably quiet about it, no one passing by would even know they were there. Someday …

How soon? he wondered. How long would it take to melt her frosty, formal defenses? Not that time really mattered to him. He had enough experience with women to know that Seraphina Treadwell would be well worth whatever wait he had to endure.

Still, betting was an enjoyable pastime and setting himself the challenge of meeting a deadline would make the seduction even more exciting. A week. Yes, he’d set his goal at one week. By Thursday next, she’d be in his bed. Happily and contentedly naked, her dark hair fanned—

“It would appear,” she said, shattering his fantasy, “that the vast majority of your books relate to mathematics and engineering of one sort or another.”

“Yes.” He swallowed hard and stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets, casually blousing the drape of his jacket. More interested in distracting than edifying her, he quickly added, “Those are my primary areas of academic interest. I’m an architect.”

“I surmised that earlier today,” she said, nodding and offering him a tentative smile. “I saw the drawing on the easel in your study and the models on the shelves behind your desk. I noted that you had some bridges as well as houses.”

“I was an engineer in Her Majesty’s Army for a time,” he supplied with a dismissive shrug. “I’m assuming that you brought with you those books Arthur owned?”

“Yes. And my father’s collection, as well.” She gave him another of her faint, hesitant smiles. He was struggling against the impulse to wrap her in his arms when she continued. “Neither is particularly large, of course. Quality books are something of a rarity in the farther corners of the empire. Arthur’s library, in following his interests, centers around ancient history. I hope you’ll be willing to find room in here for it?”

“Of course,” he answered, deciding he’d best move them along before temptation got the better of him. Presenting his arm again, he offered, “And obviously there’s room to store your father’s, as well. Presuming that your father’s titles follow in his interests, it will round out the library quite nicely, won’t it?”