by Kimberly Nee
At seven o'clock, while she finished her toilette, there came a soft knock at the door. She hurried over to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open.
Drew smiled at her from over the threshold. “Good evening, Miss Heather. I trust that was respectful enough for your liking?"
She heard the soft teasing tone of his voice and couldn't help but smile. “Who told you?"
"Mrs. Markham. Seems you put her in her place this afternoon.” He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him and leaning up against it.
Heather felt a flush of embarrassment. She hadn't counted on the housekeeper complaining to Drew about her treatment. Perhaps her reaction to Mrs. Markham overstepped her bounds. Her feeling of satisfaction dissolved a tad. “Oh, yes. That ... well, I suppose I forgot I am a guest here."
He gave an airy wave of his hand. “I wouldn't worry about her. She's a sourpuss to begin with. I think Collingsworth tends to be a little too lenient where his staff is concerned. Mrs. Markham seems to think that she is the lady of the manor.” He lowered playful cobalt eyes to hers. “However, that seems to be your role, is it not?"
He certainly didn't seem upset. A soft laugh bubbled to her lips. Relieved laughter. “I suppose it is."
"Well, you do look lovely, Miss Heather. I almost wish we were going on the town this evening. I'd love to show you off."
"But that would not be proper, I am afraid. A man does not take out his mistress in public."
He pushed away from the door, lifting his broad shoulders in a shrug. “Ah, but I am a beastly American, remember? I can be forgiven for doing something so crass. In fact, it's almost expected that I'd do something so crass. I'd hate to be the ruination for the image, you know."
Heather smiled. “Yes, well, I don't suppose I could be ruined any further."
"You're not ruined at all, love. Unless, of course, you had another—ah—visitor after I left."
She felt the heat creep into her face. “No. I went to sleep."
"Did the Cartwright woman arrive this afternoon?"
"She did. I ordered four gowns."
"Only four?” Drew shook his head. “No, that will hardly do. You see, I fully intend to parade you about town over the next six weeks."
"Do you now?"
He grinned. “Oh, absolutely. Remember, I am a beastly American. I pay little heed to rules and the like."
Heather shook her head. He certainly seemed to be the playful sort, this large American with the sparkling cerulean eyes. “You do have a bit of the devil in you, don't you?"
"You have no idea, love.” He gestured to his cravat. “Tell me, will you look down on me if I remove this? It's driving me mad."
"Not at all."
He quickly unwound the neck cloth, leaving it to hang limply. “I never liked these things."
"Is this acceptable for supper?” she asked, smoothing a hand down the length of her skirt.
He gave her a long up-and-down look, slipping the cravat from his neck and carefully refolding it. “Quite acceptable, Miss Heather. You look beautiful."
A warm flush filled her and she couldn't help but smile. “I thank you."
He tossed the cravat onto the dressing table, pausing before the mirror to rake his fingers through his hair before turning to offer her his arm. “Shall we go down?"
She slipped her arm through his, marveling at the solid swell of muscle coiled about his forearm. “Absolutely."
Five
Supper was a most elegant affair. Drew had to admit that Ellen Markham had done a fantastic job in arranging the intimate meal. Collingsworth's dining room table could easily seat fifteen people, but the housekeeper managed to make it seem an intimate table indeed. Elegant white tapers flickered in the polished silver candelabra in the center of the table, casting dancing shadows along the pale blue walls. The crystal goblets and chandelier caught the reflections, sparkling brightly. The scent of the fresh flowers picked that afternoon from Collingsworth's gardens filled the room with their sweet perfume.
He sipped his wine, glancing over the lip of his crystal goblet at the woman sitting across from him. Miss Heather Spencer. An obviously prim and proper English lady, working in a house of sin. It made no sense. What sort of man would gamble and whore away his daughter's security, her future?
There was something so vulnerable about Heather Spencer, something that made him want to protect her. He'd felt it the moment he looked into those soulful dark eyes.
Heather told him her father owed the madam eight hundred pounds. Allison refused to accept that, claiming Matthew Spencer truly owed twice that amount. He'd gotten her down to nine hundred, and could see the greed in her eyes as he paid her in gold. It seemed a bargain to him in order to get Heather out of that den of sin.
As he sat across from her, his mind wandered back to the night before, when he could see the delicate curves of her breasts through her thick hair. The gown she wore now was quite simple—the scooped neckline giving him a slight peek at her décolletage, but nowhere near what he'd seen in the shadowy candlelight at Delilah's.
He smiled at her. “So, do tell me a bit about yourself, Miss Heather."
"Please, I must insist that you do stop calling me ‘Miss'. Heather is fine."
"I'll do no such thing. I may be a beastly American, but I am always a gentleman when with a lady."
"Now, who has told you that you are beastly?"
"I've heard mutterings behind my back.” Drew swallowed another mouthful of wine. “Is the duck not to your liking? I noticed you've barely touched it."
"Oh, no. It's quite good, actually."
"A bit nervous, are you?"
"Nervous?"
He couldn't contain his grin as her voice cracked on that one word, giving her away at once. “About what is to come later."
"Oh.” Color flooded her cheeks. “That."
He dabbed at his lips with a snowy linen napkin. “You've nothing to fear, Heather. Trust me. I've yet to turn a woman to stone."
"Oh, now that would be silly."
"And yet you blush, my lady. If you wish, we do not have to do anything tonight. We can wait until you are a bit more settled,” Drew said, setting down his silverware.
"You'd not mind?"
"I can wait a few more evenings, my lady.” It wasn't his first choice, of course, but he did not wish to rush her. He knew she was nervous enough at the thought of his bedding her. He had no desire to make the situation worse.
"I've told you my story, but you've yet to tell me about you,” she replied, poking at the carrots on her plate. “Are you in London only for business?"
He mulled over her question, absently stroking the stem of his wine goblet. “Not entirely, no. I enjoy Europe. There are some beautiful cities to visit, both here and on the Continent."
She sighed, a wistful gleam coming into her eyes. “Yes, you can say that again. When I was younger, my family used to travel quite extensively. Scotland, France, and Spain were favorite destinations. Scotland was always my favorite. It's so wild and open there, and such a far cry from London."
"I can imagine."
"Have you been, then?"
He shook his head. “No. The wild is not exactly where my interests lie. I prefer the bustle of the cities. If I wanted wild, I'd stay in America."
"I imagine that is quite the wilderness, indeed. I've never been to America, but I imagine it to be overrun with savages."
"Oh, hardly, my lady. It's quite civilized, actually. In fact, we even have cities just as London. You would be amazed.” His reply was a bit harsher than he'd intended, but for some reason he felt compelled to defend America against her misguided notions.
Her cheeks glowed pink. “I apologize. I didn't mean to offend you."
"No. It's me who should apologize. I should not get so defensive. I suppose that beastly American ideal bothers me more than I let on."
"Excuse me, Captain Kennedy?"
Drew turned to see Mrs. Markham standing in the doo
rway. “Yes?"
"A Mr. Walker is here to see you. He says it is most urgent that he speak with you."
"Adam is here?” Drew was surprised to hear this. Adam Walker was his father's closest friend and had been second in command of Eagleton Imports before selling his shares to Drew the previous year. Adam still involved himself in the operation, but on a much lesser scale.
"Yes, sir. I asked him to wait in the drawing room."
Drew turned to Heather, pushing his chair away from the table. “If you will excuse me a moment, my lady."
She nodded. “Of course."
He rose from his chair and followed the sour-faced housekeeper from the dining room. He couldn't help but wonder what Adam was doing in London, for he seldom sailed these days. A sudden feeling of dread struck him. He hoped Adam wasn't there as the bearer of bad news. What if tragedy had befallen his family? A sense of urgency quickened his strides down the hall, to the drawing room at the front of the town house.
Adam Walker was pacing the small, square room, pulling a hand relentlessly through his sandy blonde hair. He looked up just as Drew stepped into the room.
"Adam, what are you doing here in London?” Drew asked, not bothering with greetings. “Has something happened back home?"
Adam gave him a reassuring smile, though his gray-blue eyes were troubled. “No. Everything is fine, Drew. I know my appearance is a bit of a surprise, but I can assure you, all is well. It's simply that Warren sent me abroad to check on things at the offices here, and I think he had an inkling that you were here as well. But, since no one has heard from you in nearly a year—well, I think you can figure that out for yourself.” He halted his relentless pacing. “It's a good thing I popped into the office. There is a problem with one of the shipments."
Drew groaned. “Don't even tell me Dixon is haggling over prices again."
"I see you've had this problem with him before."
Another groan. Albert Dixon was determined to be the greatest thorn in his side Drew had ever had. It was Dixon's scheme to quote one price for a cargo, but then attempt to inflate it until it bordered on the obscene. Should the shipper not act quickly enough, Dixon would then sell it to another, but stick the first with the forfeiture charge. Drew had spent more time than he cared to recall haggling with the merchant, but Eagleton did a great deal of business with Dixon Unlimited, so he knew he'd never be rid of the man.
He sighed sharply, knowing he had no choice but to go down to the harbor now, even at this late hour. It was the last thing he wished to do. Given the choice between haggling with a greedy merchant or holding a beautiful woman in his arms, it wasn't a difficult choice to make.
He couldn't contain his impatient sigh. “I am a bit in the middle of something."
"I've no authority in the matter, Drew. You know that. Nor do I want the authority. I've dealt with Dixon far too often in the past. Since you are here, it has become your headache."
"A little revenge then, for my supposed desertion, Adam?"
"Your family is worried about you,” he replied simply.
Drew supposed he was right, but that didn't make the pill any easier to swallow. “Very well. The headache is mine, as you say, so I shall deal with it at once."
"I've a carriage waiting. I'll go with you."
"Excuse me a moment. There is something I need to take care of before I leave."
Drew returned to the dining room, where Heather looked up as he entered, a smile lifting the corners of her lips. He hated to see it fade, which is exactly what happened when he said, “I'm afraid I am needed at the harbor. There is a problem with a cargo I've been trying to secure."
"Nothing serious, I dare hope."
"Nothing I can't handle,” he assured her, crouching down beside her chair. “But, I am afraid I'll most likely be coming in late. Don't wait up. If you need anything, inform Mrs. Markham."
Disappointment flashed through her eyes, but she nodded and said, “Of course."
Straightening, he leaned over to plant a light kiss atop her head. “Tomorrow we shall dine in peace."
"Of course."
With that, he turned heel and strode from the room, the soles of his gleaming Hessians thumping soundly against the carpet. He found Adam waiting for him in the carriage out in front of the town house. “I am going to break that weasel's neck,” he growled, settling in beside him. “Interrupting a man's evening meal like this over a worn-out matter."
Adam's eyes glittered in the semi-darkness. “Yes, well, that's all part and parcel with the responsibility of running Eagleton."
"Don't even start, Adam. I am not a boy. I do not need to report back to my father at every turn."
"Perhaps not, but it isn't too much to ask that you at least let him know you are alive."
Drew sighed, stretching his legs out before him, crossing his ankles. “Let's not speak of it now, Adam. Give me the news from home instead."
"There is blessed little to report, I'm afraid. I was in Bridgeport over the winter. Darcy is tottering around now. Speaks actual words, though they are somewhat garbled. Kendall and Julian are well, planning to come down to Brunswick for a visit in July. Your brother is the same—although he is determined to sail over here himself and scour London for you. And Diana is Diana. Still most concerned with young men and fancy dresses."
"It's a relief to know some things never change.” Drew leaned his head back against the seat cushion. “Make certain to tell everyone I am alive and well and in one piece."
"Might I tell them when you are planning to return?"
Drew decided it would be worth telling if it kept Garrett from storming into London in a temper, looking for his errant brother. “Yes, Adam. Tell them I'll be home in the fall. I plan on sailing out in a few weeks."
Adam looked most pleased with himself. “Terrific. Then I have nothing to fear about returning myself. Your father is getting more and more difficult by the day.” He gave Drew a knowing grin. “I cannot say for certain, but I do believe your mother has banned him from their bedroom because he's been such an ogre these past few weeks."
Drew thought about his mother and felt a slight pang of guilt. “Well, then most definitely tell her. I don't wish her to worry any more than she has to."
The salty breeze wafting through the window let Drew know they'd reached the harbor. He stifled a sigh as the carriage rocked to a halt and he prepared to do battle with the greedy merchant and his overpriced wares.
Six
Drew hadn't returned by the time Heather went to bed. The hour was late and she could barely keep her eyes open. She hardly noticed that Mrs. Markham led her back to his room for the night. She didn't care much, either, as she crawled beneath the covers, drifting off to sleep almost immediately.
When she woke the next morning, the surly housekeeper was nowhere to be found. Heather didn't know if Drew even returned to the town house the night before. He wasn't there beside her, but the bed was so rumpled, it was impossible to say if she'd done it in her sleep, or if he'd slipped in beside her. She didn't see any of the clothing he'd been wearing the previous day, but he might also have opted to sleep in one of the other rooms.
She sighed softly, rising from the bed. One of the maids had laid out fresh clothes for her to wear, but she was on her own to dress herself. After handling that chore for the last six months, she was more than capable of doing just that.
Breakfast had been laid out in the dining room, but Drew wasn't there, either. Heather didn't feel overly hungry, but she filled a plate with eggs, a slice of ham, and a croissant just the same and brought her plate over to sit by the large window. Beyond the rippled glass, the sun was trying to break through the gloomy clouds, but she didn't have much hope it would succeed. She slowly buttered her croissant, trying not think about where Drew might be.
It was funny, but when he'd agreed to give her time to settle in, she felt relieved, but only for a moment. Then, she had to admit to feeling a bit disappointed. She knew this was as f
ar as she would go in life now, would forever be relegated to the status of mistress. Still, it was by far better than where she'd been a little over twenty-four hours earlier. Far better indeed.
Besides, there had to be things in life far worse than being mistress to Drew Kennedy. He was handsome, he was sexy, and he seemed to be a gentleman in every sense of the word. He was in London alone, but she did wonder if a wife awaited his return back in America.
She nibbled at the flaky croissant, unable to remove the image of him in her room at Delilah's from her mind. She could still see him, standing before her, partially undressed, and giving her only a hint of the masculinity that lay beneath the fine silk and linen of his clothing. And every time that image sprang forth, the butterflies awoke in her belly.
These were not nervous butterflies, though. Rather, they were the same as the ones she would feel as a child when her birthday drew near and she knew a gift was forthcoming. The anticipation of being in Drew's arms elicited that kind of flutter. She was nervous, true, but couldn't help her smile just the same. She especially looked forward to more kissing. Even with her limited kissing experience, she couldn't deny she enjoyed the feel of his lips on hers.
She sat there for over an hour, nibbling the same croissant and staring out the window, lost in her thoughts. A second hour passed, and still no Drew.
Finally, two and a half hours after Heather had entered the breakfast room, Mrs. Markham hurried in. “You are still eating, then, Miss Heather?"
Heather jumped, dropping the remnants of her croissant on to her plate, into the pile of ice-cold eggs. “Oh, dear, I hadn't realized how much time passed,” she replied, squinting at the clock on the mantel. “Has Captain Kennedy returned?"
"Not yet.” Ellen Markham's voice was clipped as she rang the delicate china bell in the center of the table. Two maids hurried into the room and began clearing away the leftovers.
Mrs. Markham turned to her. “If it pleases you, Miss Heather, I've arranged for you to spend the day shopping in Town. Captain Kennedy has accounts set up with most of the merchants, and I was told to tell you that you are welcome to make use of them."