Worth Lord of Reckoning (19 page)

Though what woman would marry Grey, knowing she’d have to put up with six other men in her household? Most of those fellows were Step-Mama’s
sons
, and what they knew collectively about respecting female authority could fill a thimble halfway.

“I’m only a housekeeper, and you’ll be back to Town in a couple of months at the latest. You’ve your pick of gently bred ladies to marry and married ladies to dally with—or opera dancers. Why are my desires important to you?”

He put the butter crock into the hamper. “I’ve inspected that inventory, and they’ve inspected me. They’re bored and ornamental, and most of them excessively dainty. Even the taller ladies don’t want their hair mussed on any occasion, and all that dodging about, pretending a mere passing acquaintance on the dance floor, is tedious. Puts a crimp in a fellow’s style to be ignored the moment a title goes waltzing by.”

I cannot express my passion.
What would Worth Kettering’s passion be like? Not merely his kisses, but
all
of him?

“What you want, Wyeth, is important to me because I want
you
. Simple and unflattering to the male of the species, but the truth. Your wants and mine can overlap, though, and to our mutual satisfaction. I leave the decision in your hands.”

He rose, then leaned down and kissed her forehead, bringing his scent and warmth close for a mere instant.

“The rain has stopped,” he said, straightening. “Let’s get you dressed, bank the fire, and see about getting home, shall we?”

And so, for the first time in her life, Jacaranda was assisted into her clothing by a man, one who knew all about tapes and hooks and the proper sequence for attiring a lady. His assistance was impersonal, but not in the same way a maid’s might have been. Worth’s aid was a friendlier version, with a little less detachment, but no more presumption.

She liked it.

She liked that he knotted her shawl right under her breasts, but didn’t touch her breasts. She liked that he laced her boots, but didn’t try to move her skirts aside when he touched her ankles. She liked that he tied her bonnet ribbons, but didn’t kiss her as he was leaning down to do so.

And then matters grew even worse.

He asked her to heft the second shaft on the buggy, and between the two of them, they managed to wrestle the vehicle around before hitching Goliath back into the harness. Worth—he was Worth to her, at least for now—hadn’t asked her to stand by, pretending her hems weren’t ruined. He’d asked her to lend her strength to get them home.

All the way back to Trysting, Jacaranda tried to talk herself out of considering this offer made by her employer. She knew the flaw in it—the flaw in herself. She’d said she wanted to
know
how intimacies with Worth Kettering felt, but beneath that honest admission came another. She wanted to
be
known, to be recognized and desired as a woman, not as a housekeeper, or useful step-daughter or a sister, bound to return home at summer’s end.

The first, the bodily pleasure, she had resisted for years. Now that she’d had a sample, she could see the temptation. The sensations were hot, lush, overwhelming, and wonderful—but soon over. The second, though, that yearning loneliness to be
known
, to be valued and cherished, it had been her downfall in the past, and she’d sworn it wouldn’t be ever again.

Not ever.

* * *

The business of teasing Wyeth into his arms felt all too familiar. Worth was a master of the chase, of the quick riposte and elegant parry, the flirtatious innuendo and sly double meaning. Except this time, the whole exercise was fraught. He wasn’t enjoying it, not the way he should be.

He wasn’t enjoying the pursuit because he wasn’t engaged in a fencing match only to the first touch. He dared not admit as much to his quarry, but he was
courting
his housekeeper, and if one activity in his life had ever ended badly, it was courting.

He announced his intention to depart for London at dinner, then tucked Avery in, complete with an extravagant fuss over the wonderful scent of her Manka.

Then he sought to take private leave of his intended, whether she admitted of the distinction or not.

Jacaranda wasn’t in her chambers. He had to search for half an hour, but eventually he thought to look in the logical location on a warm summer night. He was halfway down the garden path when a form stepped out of the shadows.

“Fine night for a stroll, isn’t it, sir?”

Roberts, his stable master, emerged from the gloom of a tall privet hedge, a pipe between his teeth. The man was a human mountain, more than competent with farriery, and he had the slow, relaxed movements that soothed fractious beasts of any size.

Except, perhaps, a fractious employer intent on trysting with the housekeeper.

“You’re out for a smoke, Roberts?”

“Most nights.” Roberts took the pipe from his mouth. “So the entire family will be gathering soon?”

“The entire…” God in heaven, the man was right. When Hess joined them, four Ketterings would dwell under one roof. A veritable gathering of the clans, by their standards. “Yes, I suppose. Well, I’ll be on my way. Enjoy your smoke.”

“It’s good,” Roberts said, not budging from the path, “when family comes together. Better that way.”

“For some families. When did I hire you, Roberts?”

“You didn’t.” He smiled slightly and stuck his pipe back in his mouth. “She did.”

Across the garden, Jacaranda’s pale nightclothes revealed that her swim was over and she was marching directly for the kitchen door.

Worth was too late. He considered applying a punishing right cross to Roberts’s smug smile.

“What do you suppose she was doing out here?” Worth asked. “It’s late to be wandering the gardens.”

Roberts shrugged massive shoulders. “Perhaps she was in want of a smoke. If you’re thinking to ask her, though, you’d best be waiting until morning. Sleep tight.”

He sauntered off at the deliberate pace of a plough horse, one that needed no momentum to move a substantial load forward, only sheer strength in telling abundance.

Jacaranda Wyeth, the housekeeper, had hired the man?

Jacaranda, who wasn’t a virgin, but who had been disappointed?

Worth shuddered at the idea of such a brute disporting with Wyeth, though in truth Roberts had no height or reach over him, just bulk.

Brute bulk, Worth told himself as he repaired to the house. Inelegant, horse-scented brute bulk, such as would never appeal to a lady of Wyeth’s refinements.

* * *

Worth—
Mr. Kettering
was leaving in the morning, and to Jacaranda, his departure would bring both relief and regret. He’d asked her to consider his offer at her leisure, but there was nothing to consider, really.

She told herself that and willed herself to believe it. The day had been long, tiring, and difficult. Tomorrow, with him gone, would be easier.

Sleep evaded her relentless pursuit, so she heard the door to her sitting room creak open.

An intruder? Then a faint, cedary scent came to her.

Him.

“What an accommodating little thing you are, Wyeth, curled up on one side of the bed.” The mattress dipped as he lifted the covers and joined her. “Your hair is damp. Surely you could have used my assistance to brush it out for you?”

“I was sleeping, if you don’t mind.” She rolled to her side, giving him her back.

“I couldn’t sleep, not without telling you I’ll miss you when I’m away.”

His hand, slow, soothing and warm, traced over her nape and shoulders.

She would have decades to catch up on her sleep, to miss him and his touch.

“You could have told me at breakfast, or tonight after dinner,” she said, and despite all her intentions to the contrary, a soft sigh followed the words. He wouldn’t miss her. He was just being Worth.

“I would not have others overhear such sentiments,” he said, moving his hand down along her spine then back up. “Nor would I keep you from your slumbers. Go to sleep, my dear.”

“With you in my bed?”

“I’m harmless, Wyeth, unless you command it otherwise. Consider me an errant house cat who seeks to warm himself on your quilt, nothing more.”

“You’re too good at this, and you don’t belong in my bed.” But a crisp, scolding tone eluded her, and her words sounded as wistful as she felt. Angels abide, that hand of his was melting her bones and weighting her eyelids, and entirely, entirely too wonderful.

“Hush.” His lips grazed her shoulder. “You need your sleep, and tomorrow will come soon enough.”

“Sufficient unto the day…”

She let the words trail off as she sank into a cloud of ease and relaxation. He shifted closer, close enough she could feel his warmth, not so close he couldn’t maneuver his hand all over her back.

Then he slid that hand down, to knead her backside, and the sheer bliss of it—and the proximity of sleep—had her sighing again. She recalled him slipping an arm around her waist sometime later, but then all she recalled were dreams.

And he joined her in those, too.

* * *

“Wyeth.” Worth couldn’t help a grin, because his lady was dressed, but her hair was unbound, a fly-away dark cloud of riotous corkscrews and ringlets hanging down to her hips and secured with only a simple ribbon. “My, you are a fetching sight so early in the day.”

He made no move to touch her, because they were at the mounting block before the house, and a dozen pairs of eyes were no doubt glued to the window panes. He’d given his word he’d not jeopardize her reputation, and he always kept his word.

More to the point, if he put a single toe over that line, she’d dismiss him from her notice altogether. The high stakes were exhilarating, rather like a risky negotiation with several powerful parties at once.

“You’ve come to see me off,” he suggested. “I’m touched.”

“Enough of that.” She shoved a wrapped parcel at him. “Take this with you, please. Mr. Henderson delivered it as a sample of Trudy’s work, though she’s capable of fancier pieces. And take this.” A double sack, such as would go on either side of a saddle’s pommel.

He gave her a puzzled look, but accepted both consignments.

“It’s food,” she said, crossing her arms. “For your journey. The posting inns have only indifferent fare, and luncheon is hours away.”

She blushed, while Worth felt uncharacteristically self-conscious himself. With luck, he’d be in London by midday or shortly thereafter. That wasn’t the point. No one attended his leave-takings, not since he’d first gone up to university. No one packed him food, no one came to see him off.

He was…touched.

“You’ll keep an eye on the girls, Wyeth?” He turned as if to watch Roberts leading Goliath to the mounting block. “They’ve been here long enough to become bored, and that’s not good.”

“I’ll keep an eye on them. Yolanda has discovered the library, and Avery is making some friends.” She reached out as if to pat his lapel then snatched her hand back.

“Am I not quite presentable?”

“Your cravat.” She loosened a fold of cloth beneath his jaw. “It worked its way under your waistcoat.”

Then they spoke at the same time.

“I’ll be back…”

“When will you…?”

He recovered first.

“Walk with me, Mrs. Wyeth? Roberts, I’ll take Goliath now.” He snatched the reins, tossed the sacks over the pommel, checked the girth, the fit of the bridle, then offered his free arm to his housekeeper only when Roberts had slowly ambled a good distance away.

“I shouldn’t ask,” she said. “The house will be in readiness whenever you return, if you return.”

“Now what sort of friend would I be if I merely rode down the lane without even a wave farewell? Roberts is watching me like he’s your jealous beau, else I would bow over your hand in parting. If you need anything in my absence, a groom can get word to me in a few hours.”

“I’ll remind the girls.”

“I appreciate the provisions,” he added, bending closer as if to hear her, but in truth sneaking a whiff of her hair. “I should be back by Wednesday. I’ll send a note if I’m delayed.”

“And if your brother shows up?”

“He’d best not. He’d have to move like lightning to get here so quickly, and Hess believes in enjoying the privileges of his station.”

“If he shows up, we’ll make him very welcome and send word.”

He frowned down at her. She was quite pretty with her hair all a fright. “I really would like to kiss you, Wyeth. At least tell me you’ll miss me. I expect that much honesty from you.”

Oh, she scowled at that. Her swooping dark eyebrows drew together, and her mouth worked, evidence she was composing a wonderfully puritanical lecture regarding proper conduct between employer and employee. Then she curled her arm more closely around his.

“I’ll miss you.”

“Beg pardon? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“You heard me. Now stop bothering me, and get on your horse.”

“A stirring declaration if ever one graced my ears.”

She dropped his arm, but now she was smiling, a soft, private smile that made him want to toss his housekeeper over his shoulder and send Goliath back to his stall.