She sat on the bed. Perhaps she should just ask Vicar Finch for her teaching position back—not finish what she’d come to London to do. A groan eased from her lips. By now Lady Winton, the old windbag, might have already written the stoic clergyman claiming Olivia a jezebel, closing the option of returning to the orphanage and her old life soundly in her face. And what of her deathbed promise to Helen?
Helen’s gaunt face flashed in her mind.
“You’ll make them pay for their sins, won’t you?” Helen grabbed her hand—her grip weak.
“Yes, if you wish it.”
As she nodded, Helen’s cracked lips formed a smile. A minute later, the girl who had been like a sister to Olivia in the orphanage drew in her last rattling breath and closed her eyes as if the promise of retribution released her soul from her young, yet frail body.
Olivia blinked at the tears threatening to fall. She had two more men on her list. Helen’s blackguard father was one of them. She would see this through. She stood before the square mirror that hung above one of the low oak dressers and slipped on the maid’s dress and apron, then poked her head out of the door.
With quiet, measured steps, she descended the narrow servants’ stairs. At each landing, she listened for his lordship’s richly toned voice.
The sound of footfalls moving up the stairs set the hairs on her neck on end. Was it Mrs. Parks? Had the housekeeper realized Olivia was an imposter?
Chest tight, she stepped off a landing and dashed into the corridor. The footfalls grew louder. A quick glance revealed three doors. She crept to the closest one, inched it open, and slipped inside.
Chapter Four
With her palms on the door, Olivia pressed her ear to the wood and listened.
The footfalls moved past the room and faded.
She exhaled a heavy breath.
A feminine giggle broke the silence.
Heart thundering, Olivia swung around and flattened her back against the door. Her gaze landed on the massive four-poster bed with damask drapes that concealed the occupant.
Olivia froze. The only thing that moved were her lips, which silently prayed the woman would not hear the pounding in Olivia’s chest.
“Oh my,” the woman said in a voice that oozed anticipation. “I’m so anxious for a taste, I’m salivating.”
Olivia’s gaze shot to the sound. It wasn’t coming from the bed, but an open doorway to her right, in the far wall. A sitting room or changing room perhaps. Slowly, she inched her fingers across the door until they clasped the cool metal handle.
“Ah, you greedy puss, let me put it in your mouth,” a deep baritone responded.
The weight of Olivia’s body settled back against the door. Her moist hand slipped off the handle. The voice sounded like Lord Anthony. She froze, fearing even the slightest shift in her weight would cause her knocking knees to buckle beneath her. She wished to speak to him, but not while he was otherwise engaged.
“Is it really as silky as everyone claims?” the woman asked.
His lordship chuckled. “Open your mouth and find out.”
“Mmmm, it is.”
She wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but Olivia experienced a flush of warmth. She snapped herself out of her pillar-like state, curled her fingers about the door handle, and slowly turned it.
A woman dressed in an emerald green gown stepped out of the adjacent room. She was lovely, with rosy cheeks and startling green eyes. She held a small golden-colored cardboard box while licking the tips of her fingers.
The woman gasped. Her steps faltered as her free hand dipped to her rounded belly, yet she smiled. “Goodness, you scared me.”
Was this her ladyship? Oh, his lordship was more of a villain than she first thought. His poor wife was obviously with child. The scoundrel! How could he be so free with his affections? While growing up in the orphanage, she’d always dreamed of a family and his lordship did not cherish his.
She pushed her near frozen body off the door and offered a quick, awkward curtsey. “I’m sorry. I seem to have taken a wrong turn, madam. I’m the new maid.”
The woman glanced back at the doorway from whence she’d come. “Can you keep a secret?”
A secret? Perhaps she wasn’t her ladyship. But if she wasn’t, then who was she? A lover? Oh, could his lordship be such a scoundrel? To bring a paramour into his house was beyond the pale. Olivia forced herself not to gape at the woman’s belly. “Yes,” she said.
“You must think his lordship and I wicked.”
Indeed, I do.
“I beg of you not to tell Cook you saw me with . . .” The woman paused and glanced down at the box. It was then, Olivia realized they were chocolates. “Cook is forever trying to make a batch as scrumptious as the confectioner, but I fear, she hasn’t succeeded, and I’d prefer not to hurt her feelings. His lordship snuck a box in today.”
“Who are you talking to, darling?” A man who resembled Lord Anthony, but older, stepped out of the adjoining room. He smiled, crinkling the skin near his eyes.
The green-eyed beauty turned to him. “James, we have been found out.”
“Ah, only a matter of time, Caroline.” He drew the pad of his thumb over the corner of her lip and held it up for inspection before licking the dab of chocolate off his finger. “Evidence,” he said, grinning.
An odd sensation fluttered in Olivia’s belly as she watched the interaction between these two. The way they gazed at each other . . . like they . . . Well, she didn’t know what it was, but it seemed beyond anything she’d witnessed. As if tangible sparks shot between them.
The man turned to Olivia.
She curtseyed. Perhaps this was who Katie had spoken about. Yes, it made sense. This was his lordship and his wife. An older brother. The master of the house.
“Excuse me. I beg your forgiveness.” She turned and grasped the door handle, hoping to make a quick escape.
“Wait,” the woman said.
“Damnation,” she mumbled under her breath, hoping this time the ground would swallow her up. She pivoted around.
The woman smiled and handed her the box. “If you can keep a secret, you may share these with the other maids. I shall be as big as a house if I keep indulging in my cravings.”
Slowly, Olivia released the taut air in her lungs. Her ladyship was truly kindhearted. So much nicer than that nasty Lady Winton.
“Thank you, madam.” Olivia backed out of the bedchamber. In the corridor, she slipped the box of chocolates into the largest pocket of her apron, wiped her damp palms on the garment, and tiptoed down the servants’ stairs to the floor below.
She needed to find Lord Anthony fast. Perhaps he wasn’t even home. She stopped before a set of open double doors and peeked inside a lovely drawing room with cream-colored walls, two blue upholstered sofas, and a massive fireplace. Her gaze narrowed on a gray-haired woman, dressed in black, who sat at a mahogany secretaire.
The woman glanced over her shoulder. “You, come here!”
Was this elderly woman the dowager Katie spoke of?
“Just don’t stand there gawking.” The woman stood and punctuated her words with two dull thumps of her cane on the blue and gold carpet.
Olivia stepped into the elegant room and curtseyed.
The woman’s piercing gray eyes narrowed. Her gaze drifted over Olivia. “You’re new?”
“Yes, madam.”
“Your name?”
“Olivia, madam.” Stomach fluttering, she curtseyed again.
“Stop bouncing up and down, child. You’re making me seasick.” The old lady pursed her lips and stepped closer. “You look familiar.”
Olivia’s throat constricted. Was this woman one of Lady Winton’s cronies? Had she visited with her ladyship while Olivia was present? “This is my first day, madam.”
As if bored with the conversation, the woman waved a hand in the air and handed Olivia a stack of letters with red wax seals. “Give these to Menders.”
The haugh
ty butler? She stifled a groan. Her fingers flexed against the missives. She’d hoped to get out of here before seeing him again.
“Tell Menders they must be put in the post today.”
“Yes, madam. Right away.” She exited the room.
A door farther up the corridor opened. A lanky, blond-haired gentleman with wire-rimmed glasses stepped out of a room. A member of the family? Doubtful, his clothes were simple, and he didn’t resemble Lord Anthony or the other dark-haired nobleman she’d just met.
“Have a good evening, Walters,” a man inside the room said.
The deep voice sent a shiver of recollection down her spine. Lord Anthony.
“Thank you, my lord.” The thin man pulled the door closed behind him.
“Sir, is Lord Anthony in there?” Olivia offered the fellow her most congenial smile and lifted the wax-sealed letters, implying they were to be delivered to his lordship.
The man nodded and continued past her to the narrow stairway the servants used. The sound of his footsteps faded as he descended the wooden treads.
She slipped the letters into the pocket of her pinafore and knocked on the door.
“Yes, enter.”
Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the room. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. A tall ladder hung on a brass bar. It appeared to slide in front of them, so one could remove books from the top shelves. A massive mahogany desk dominated the center of the office. The leather chair behind it was turned around, leaving the occupant hidden.
A thickly muscled arm, its sleeve rolled up to its elbow, came into view. The man held a crystal glass with honey-colored liquid that sparkled as the light from the lamp on the desk reflected off the cut tumbler.
“Did you forget something, Walters?”
Olivia opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She couldn’t pull her gaze away from the muscles that shaped his lordship’s arm, or the way his thumb slowly stroked the side of the glass he held. Once again, that odd, foreign heat, like the one she’d experienced while lying on top of his lordship in the carriage, sparked in her belly, flooding her body with warmth.
“Walters?” The casters on the chair made a noise as Lord Anthony swiveled around to face her.
His eyes widened. “You’re not Walters.”
She shook her head.
He set the glass down on the blotter. “Yes?”
She squared her shoulders. “I need you to explain what happened between us yesterday.”
A clearly puzzled expression settled over his handsome features.
It appeared he didn’t even recognize her. A heavy weight perched on her shoulders.
“Yesterday?” He narrowed his dark eyes. “Are you trying to blackmail me, love? I might be branded a cad, but I always remember whom I’ve been with.” His gaze drifted a slow path over her body. “And I assure you, if we’d dallied, I’d remember you.”
She was positive he would. She looked nothing like Signora Campari. The opera singer’s dark hair looked as luxurious as sable and her complexion was clear, while Lady Winton had told Olivia that her red hair looked garish and her freckles distracting. Vicar Finch had said worse things about her hair, and once he’d instructed Mrs. Garson to cut it short. But he’d rued the day, since he’d insisted it only came back brighter.
“Yesterday, I entered the wrong carriage in front of Madame Lefleur’s shop.”
“Ah, you look different without your hair in your face. And since you landed on me, what precisely am I to explain?”
“That is was an accident. That we weren’t . . .” Heat singed her cheeks. She took a deep breath. “Lady Winton thinks we were . . . um, acting inappropriately.”
He laughed.
“It’s not funny, sir. Her ladyship has dismissed me without a letter of reference.”
The smile on his face vanished. Standing, he braced his hands on his desk and leaned forward. “The old battle-ax sacked you?”
She’d never been this close to him when he stood. He was even taller than she thought. The room seemed to grow smaller. “Yes. Will you go and explain to her that we weren’t . . . cavorting?”
He motioned to one of the upholstered chairs that faced the desk. “Please, sit.”
She nodded. As she settled into the soft fabric, Olivia tucked the skirt of her dress beneath her.
Lord Anthony came around the desk and leaned against the surface. Without his coat on, she realized that the breadth of his shoulders was not due to padding or the skill of his tailor.
“Miss . . . ?”
“Michaels. Olivia Michaels, my lord.”
“Miss Michaels, I fear whatever I say to that nasty old bird won’t change the woman’s opinion.”
The hope in her chest deflated, leaving an ache. She needed that job or at least one comparable to carry out her plan.
“By the look of your uniform, it appears you’ve already found another position. Has Mrs. Parks hired you to work here?” he asked.
She shook her head and explained how she’d let them believe she was the new maid. “When the real maid arrives tomorrow, I’ll be tossed out on my ear.”
Lord Anthony rubbed a hand across his shaven jaw, already growing dark with stubble. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I can find someone who needs a maid.”
Being a maid wouldn’t allow her to sit with women from the top tier of society and hear their gossip. “I wasn’t a maid, sir. I was her ladyship’s companion. Do you know anyone who would wish to employ me for my company?”
“Yes, but”—he shook his head—“you wouldn’t wish to work for them.”
“But I would. I’m desperate.”
“I assure you, you aren’t that desperate.” A crease dissected the smooth skin between his brows. “Do you know what type of employer I mean?”
“A noblewoman as high strung as Lady Winton?”
“Worse.” His gaze slid over her body.
His perusal sent a rush of warmth through her veins. She suddenly understood what he meant. Her cheeks grew hot.
“You’re as innocent as a newborn puss, aren’t you?”
I’m far from innocent, my lord. She knew things—had done things that would shock him. Not things of a sexual nature, but things that no one would suspect her of.
He strode back to his chair and folded his long frame into it, then opened the ledger in front of him. He released a heavy breath. “Give me a moment to add this dashed column of figures, then I shall try to think of who might be in need of a lady’s companion.”
His lordship wrote several numbers on a sheet of paper. He scratched one of the figures out, then wrote another. Raking his long fingers through his hair, he mumbled a blasphemy. The type of word Vicar Finch insisted would send one to hell. He might be handsome beyond compare, but he sure took an inordinate amount of time adding the figures up.
With his sensual lips pinched into a straight line, he wrote a number into the journal, then peered up at her. “Now, who could use a companion?” he mumbled as if thinking aloud.
Breath held in her lungs, she waited.
He tapped the tip of the pencil against the blotter. “I cannot think of anyone.”
“No one?” Olivia’s hopes sank like a lead weight into water.
A thumping noise like someone walking with a pegged leg or a cane resonated through the ceiling from the floor above.
The rhythmic tapping of his lordship’s pencil stilled, and he peered up. A slight smile curved up one side of his mouth. “Do you have a strong constitution, Miss Michaels?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Well, there is one old woman, but she is rather difficult. Cantankerous is the best word to describe her, but you’ve had experience with belligerent individuals if you’ve tended to Lady Winton.”
Hope made her scoot closer to the edge of the chair.
“How are you at ducking flying objects?” his lordship asked.
Flying objects? “Um, I presume as competent as the next person.”
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“Good, then I will hire you as a companion for my grandmother.”
She thought of the sharp-toned woman she’d met earlier. She might be worse than Lady Winton, but with no other prospects and no references she could not be picky.
* * *
Anthony watched as the corners of Miss Michaels’s lips turned up into a smile.
Obviously, the young woman knew very little if anything about his grumpy grandmother, or she would be running from the room. “She doesn’t pay a great deal of calls, but when she does my sister-in-law, Lady Caroline Huntington, usually accompanies her, and she is leaving today for holiday. And the dowager receives a prodigious number of callers and occasionally goes to the theater.”
A brief flash of excitement lit up Miss Michaels’s eyes.
“Have you ever attended the theater?”
“No, my lord.”
“Well, then I’ll hire you to be her companion. But the task will not be an easy one.”
“I understand, my lord. I will do my best.”
He wasn’t sure doing her best would be enough. Grandmother was hard to please, along with abrasive. But it was better than Miss Michaels ending up on the street, and with no references she might end up there. “I’ll inform her after I finish adding one more column in this ledger.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Anthony nodded, then removed a piece of parchment from the paper tray. Carefully he wrote the figures he needed to add and double- and triple-checked to make sure he’d written them correctly. A headache began to throb at his temple. He fought the urge to rub at it. “Two hundred fifty-seven plus five hundred and ninety-eight,” he mumbled.
“Eight hundred and fifty-five,” Miss Michaels said in a low voice.
Startled, he glanced up. “What did you say?”
Never Mix Sin with Pleasure Page 3