The Hired Husband

by Judith Stacy

  If Mitch threatened to leave, she’d forbid it, Rachel decided. Though he hardly seemed like a man who did anything that didn’t suit him, she would force him to stay. Somehow.

  In the meantime, she had to get on with things. Mitch had insisted he be left alone to work, but that was impossible. He was a guest, after all. To ignore him simply wasn’t done.

  When Rachel entered the study she found Mitch seated at the desk but his gaze was trained on the doorway, as if he’d expected her to walk in. He got to his feet immediately and Rachel thought once more how out of place he looked here among the ledgers and account books stacked up around him.

  Surely the man was better suited for outdoor work, something physical, something in the sunshine, something that required no shirt.

  Rachel winced and tried to force the heat from her cheeks. Good gracious, what was wrong with her?

  Mitch seemed to be lost in his own thoughts and didn’t appear to notice her momentary distress. Rachel pushed on.

  “Would you care for anything?” she asked. She glanced at the tray she’d sent to the study during Uncle Stuart’s visit and saw that, while the coffee had been drunk, the fruit and cakes hadn’t been touched.

  “No. Nothing,” Mitch said.

  “If you want anything—anything at all—all you need do is ask.”

  To Rachel’s horror, the words came out in a breathy little whisper. She’d spoken them countless times to other guests but now they sounded like a wistful—and illicit—invitation. Mitch drew in a quick breath and his chest expanded. His gaze dipped to her breasts, then jumped back to her face, causing her to tingle all over.

  Their eyes held on each other for a long awkward moment, then Mitch plopped into his chair and scooted under the desk. He snatched up a pencil and dropped his gaze to the open ledger in front of him.

  As much as she wanted to, Rachel couldn’t just run from the room. She pressed her feelings down and sent her mind in search of something intelligent to say.

  Good gracious, what had happened to her hostessing skills?

  “Did, uh—” Rachel cleared her throat and tried again. “Did you and Uncle Stuart get things handled?”

  Mitch looked up at her, seemingly grateful that she’d asked this harmless question.

  “He gave me what I need to get started,” he said, then gestured to the ledgers and account books stacked around him and the others still in crates waiting to be opened. “But there’s a lot yet to do.”

  “Yes, I’m sure there is,” Rachel said. “Is Uncle Stuart coming back to help?”

  “I don’t need any help,” Mitch told her. “I’ll analyze the books and make my recommendations. I have no authority in your father’s business. It’s up to Parker whether or not to implement my plan.”

  “Uncle Stuart and my father, of course,” Rachel said.

  Mitch hesitated a moment. “According to Parker, he and your father drew up agreements years ago placing each other in charge of their finances, in case either became incapacitated, as your father is now.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  Mitch shrugged as if that didn’t surprise him. “Your uncle has already agreed to my first recommendation, selling off some warehouses to generate cash.”

  “Warehouses? Don’t we need those?”

  His eyebrow quirked. “I don’t usually explain myself.”

  “Do you usually receive five times your normal salary?”

  Mitch glared at her for a quick moment, then said, “You won’t need your warehouses if the business goes under and there’s nothing to store.”

  “Oh, well, of course,” Rachel said, feeling a little foolish. She offered an apologetic half smile. “I’ve never been privy to the workings of the family business.”

  “No reason for you to be,” Mitch said. “I’m sure you had other…important matters to attend do.”

  The upcoming luncheon causing her so much anguish flashed in Rachel’s mind. It hardly seemed important compared to “generating cash” for the family.

  “I can show you to your room now,” Rachel said, in a hurry to get this portion of her hostessing duties over and done with.

  Mitch dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “I’m sure I can find it on my own,” he said.

  “You are our guest,” Rachel reminded him.

  He turned back to his ledger. “I’m a hired worker, here to do a job.”

  “We don’t allow the hired help to wander through the house, either.”

  Mitch’s gaze came up quickly and pinned her with a look Rachel didn’t know how to interpret. A hint of anger, a flash of embarrassment along with something more. Something different. Something she’d never seen before, certainly not on a man’s face.

  But whatever it was passed quickly and Mitch pushed himself to his feet. “In that case, Miss Branford, I’d be pleased to have you accompany me to my bedchamber.”

  Chapter Five

  Mitch walked alongside Rachel through the hallway and up one side of the twin staircases while she talked about the history of the house, the neighborhood and other things he wasn’t really listening to.

  Walking with a woman required some attention, and he had to remind himself to shorten his strides. Though he didn’t really hear Rachel’s words, the melody of her voice wound through him.

  Women’s voices were pleasing. Light. Delicate. Almost like music. Music accompanied by the rustle of clothing, the brush of gentle footsteps. Rachel was no different.

  Mitch glanced down at her beside him on the stairs and his heart thudded harder in his chest. Rachel’s lilting voice seemed to call to him, draw him closer, suggest things not meant to be suggested between the two of them.

  And her clothing. The rustling of petticoats under her skirt. How many were they? What sort of fabric caused the sound? How long would it take to slip them off?

  Mitch pressed his lips together, trying to fight off the familiar response to such a thought. It didn’t work. This unexpected desire presented itself with a special urgency. He dropped back a step, thinking the distance would help, but then his gaze homed in on her bobbing bustle and swaying hips. Mitch groaned aloud.

  Rachel stepped and turned back to him. “Is something wrong?”

  That innocent face, those big brown eyes turned up to him, the fragrance of her hair wafting over him. Mitch nearly groaned again.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” he managed to say.

  She looked at him for another few seconds then headed up the stairs. At the top she turned right down the hallway, bobbing and swaying with each step. Mitch’s condition worsened.

  Halfway down the hall, Rachel opened a door and stepped inside. She stood there for a moment, as if inspecting the room, then moved in and allowed Mitch to follow.

  “This room is one of my favorites,” she said. “It overlooks the rear gardens. They’re especially nice this time of year. I thought you’d enjoy the view.”

  “The view is spectacular,” Mitch mumbled, his gaze still on her backside.

  “Your baggage was delivered from the train station,” Rachel said, gesturing across the room to what Mitch supposed was the dressing area. “But your valet wasn’t there.”

  Valet? She expected him to have a valet? Mitch’s desire cooled. He had no valet. Never had. But Rachel thought it natural that he would.

  “I’m sure Joseph won’t mind attending you,” Rachel went on. “With Georgie away, Father ill and Noah…well, I’m sure he’ll have time. If that’s all right with you, of course.”

  “That’s fine,” Mitch mumbled, not sure just what he was supposed to do with a valet.

  Rachel waited for a moment, then finally said, “Does the room suit you?”

  He obliged her with a quick look around. The furniture was massive and ornately carved. Mahogany, Mitch thought, with black marble tops on the stands and dresser. There were spiral carvings on the bedposts, oversize claw feet on all the pieces, and a lion’s head carved in relief amid a fan crest on the armoire
and headboard. A large floral arrangement, that surely Rachel had selected herself from the garden, sat atop the dresser, its blues picking up the colors of the room.

  Mitch had never slept in a bedchamber this grand. He’d seen such a room, but only to peek inside when no one was looking.

  “Mr. Kincade?”

  Rachel’s voice freed him from the memories.

  “The room is fine,” he said.

  She looked relieved. “Supper will be served at six. We’ll eat in the—”

  “That’s not necessary,” Mitch told her.

  Rachel huffed. “Why are you making it so difficult to extend you even the simplest courtesy?”

  “I made it clear to you when I accepted this job that I’m only here to work. Nothing more.”

  “Yes, you’re here for the money. I do remember that,” Rachel said. Then she smiled. “The cost of your meals won’t be deducted from your fee, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Mitch just looked at her, fighting off the urge to smile back.

  “Besides, we haven’t had a guest for supper in a while,” Rachel said. “A new face at the table will be welcome.”

  “Fine, then,” Mitch agreed.

  Rachel headed for the door. She stopped and looked back. “If there’s anything you need, anything at all, all you need do is—”

  “Ask?” Mitch finished the sentence for her, remembering her remark in the study that had set his blood to boiling and brought a blush to her cheeks.

  Rachel smiled sweetly. “Yes, just ask…Joseph.”

  She disappeared out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  Desire roiled through him again. God, how he wanted her.

  Mitch found his way to the dining room at six sharp. He was certain that somewhere in the house was a breakfast room and a formal dining room for larger gatherings.

  But this room held a small table that seated six. The room was cozy, decorated in shades of green. The table was set with china, crystal, linens and a floral arrangement. It sparkled in the light of the overhead chandelier.

  All that silverware. Mitch studied it. Which fork, which spoon for which dish? And the stemware. So many different pieces.

  Rachel and her younger sister took his attention. They were arguing. Or at least Chelsey was arguing; Rachel seemed to be doing her best to stay calm and fend off the barrage of hostile words and accusations.

  They stopped abruptly at the sight of Mitch. Rachel looked embarrassed, Chelsey angry.

  “Good evening,” Rachel said.

  She seemed relieved at seeing him, even though her smile was forced, and for some reason that pleased Mitch.

  “Let’s all have a seat, shall we?” she suggested.

  Mitch seated both Rachel and Chelsey across the table from each other in the spots he was certain they’d occupied all their lives. The two end positions, designated for their mother and father, remained conspicuously empty. Mitch took the chair next to Chelsey.

  Noah ambled in a few minutes later and murmured a brief greeting as he sat down. The boy looked pale and drawn. His clothes—shirt and jacket, but no necktie—hung loosely on him. His brown wavy hair curled around his collar. Mitch hadn’t noticed these things earlier when he’d seen Noah. He couldn’t help but notice now that the boy smelled of liquor.

  Rachel made an attempt at small talk as the soup was served which brought a contemptuous response from Chelsey. Noah remained silent. When the main course was served—beef, maybe, and something green—Noah looked at his plate and his cheeks flashed bright red. He rose from the table and walked away.

  “Noah?” Rachel called. “Noah, please, don’t—”

  “There. You’ve done it again!” Chelsey shouted.

  “Chelsey, please don’t raise your voice at the supper table,” Rachel said, casting an embarrassed look at Mitch. “We have a guest and—”

  “You always worry about the wrong things!” Chelsey declared. “Like that ridiculous luncheon! You care more about that stupid occasion than you do us!”

  “Chelsey, that’s not true—”

  “That horrid Mrs. Chalmers means more to you than we do!”

  “Of course not—”

  “It’s true!” Chelsey burst into tears and raced out of the room.

  It was all Mitch could do to stay in his chair. He wanted to go after Chelsey and find out why she was crying, then give the cook a verbal lashing for embarrassing Noah with the meal preparation.

  But the look on Rachel’s face kept Mitch from leaving the room. Mortified, embarrassed, troubled. Yet she kept her chin up and blinked back tears of her own. He wanted to round the table, slip his arm around her, lay her head against his shoulder and make everything all right for her.

  Yet he didn’t dare.

  Instead, Mitch caught Rachel’s gaze across the table.

  “Thanks for insisting I join you for supper. These family occasions are certainly special,” he said and smiled.

  For a few horrible seconds, Mitch thought Rachel might actually burst into tears at his gentle teasing. Then she smiled. Then she laughed. A quick giggle that took the edge off her emotions.

  “I wanted your first evening with us to be memorable,” Rachel told him.

  “And you’ve succeeded beyond your wildest hope.”

  They shared another moment of smiling silence. Then Mitch asked, “Is there a reason Chelsey dislikes you so much?”

  “I’m ruining her life,” Rachel reported.

  “I see,” Mitch replied, though he still had no idea what was going on between the sisters.

  Rachel’s smile faded. “But I truly wish I knew what to do about Noah. He’s sullen and moody, almost never speaks. He stays locked up in his room nearly all the time.”

  And he drinks too much, Mitch thought.

  “The doctor insists this is normal, that Noah needs to come to terms with…what happened…in his own way.” Rachel shook her head. “But I feel so helpless, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t even understand what’s wrong.”

  Mitch didn’t offer his opinion. Who was he to butt into this business? The business of a real family?

  Rachel pushed her plate away. “I’ve lost my appetite. But finish your meal. There’s dessert, of course.”

  Mitch looked down at his plate. Chicken, he thought now, or maybe not. Something green. No potatoes. No gravy.

  He’d starve to death if he didn’t get this job finished soon.

  “I can’t eat anything else, either,” he said and rose from the table.

  Mitch considered excusing himself, going to the study and getting in another hour or so of work on the Branford family business. But that idea held no appeal as he found himself walking alongside Rachel up the staircase. When they reached the second floor she turned to him.

  “You’ll stay, won’t you?” she asked.

  In the flickering light of the hall sconces, Mitch saw quiet desperation and hope in her expression. And something else also. Fear.

  “Of course, I’ll stay,” he said, his words harsh. “I told you I would.”

  She didn’t seem put off by his tone. “Yes, but I know you didn’t want this job. If…if you were to leave—”

  “I won’t. I’ll stay until the job is done.”

  She gazed at him, wanting him to say more, he was sure.

  “What is it?” he asked, unable to stand the suspense. “What more assurance do you want?”

  She hesitated another moment. Then, as she’d done earlier today in the foyer, she rose on her toes and whispered in his ear. Her breath, her sweet voice, sent a shiver through him, dissolving his irritation at having his intentions questioned.

  “You can do this, can’t you? You can really figure out what’s wrong with Father’s business and fix it?”

  He looked down at her and nodded. “I’m very good at this.”

  Rachel gave him a hopeful smile.

  “I’m very, very good at this,” he told her.

  She seemed t
o relax a little and her fear morphed into something that resembled trust, hinted at faith. Mitch’s chest swelled, bringing on a myriad of emotions, few he’d ever experienced.

  “Thank you.” She gave him a little smile, then turned and walked down the hallway to her bedchamber. At the door, she looked back, then disappeared inside.

  Something within Mitch, some part of him, seemed to tear away and go along with her.

  He ducked into his room and stared into the darkness.

  He had to get this job done and leave this place.

  Quickly.

  Chapter Six

  Waking to find another person in his bedchamber was disconcerting enough, but a man?

  Mitch couldn’t even remember the last time he’d awakened with a woman in his room.

  Morning sunlight drifted in through the tall windows as Mitch went about dressing. When he’d awakened and found a man creeping around his room, his first thought had been that a burglar had broken in. He’d vaulted out of bed and nearly given the gray-haired fellow a heart attack before realizing it was Joseph, his valet.

  His valet. Mitch shrugged into his white shirt. He’d never had servants before, beyond the maids who worked at the hotels he called home when he traveled. He hadn’t known exactly what to do with Joseph.

  He’d allowed the valet to draw his bath, arrange his shaving kit in the bathroom, lay out his clothing for the day, brush his suit and buff his shoes. But he’d drawn the line when the valet had tried to sift talc in his underdrawers and hold them while he stepped in. He’d sent Joseph on his way.

  The bedchamber was silent now as Mitch closed the buttons on his shirtfront and eased cuff links into place. He looked down at his gray trousers. This suit had hung with the two others he owned in the massive redwood closet built to hold dozens more. His few shirts, undershirts, drawers, socks and other belongings took up only a fraction of the space in the dresser.

  He’d considered buying himself another suit before making this trip, but had decided against it. He didn’t want to pay the extra charge to have it rushed.