“Yes,” he lied. He pulled her into the seat next to him and threaded his fingers through hers. “Nothing to worry about.”
She brushed his hair out of his eyes, her dark eyes anxious. “Are you sure?”
He was sure she could see right through him, see the darkness beating in his chest where his heart was supposed to be. “Of course. What else could it be?” And even though she couldn’t possibly know, he held his breath while he waited for her answer.
“I don’t know,” she said with a dainty shrug. Her fingers softly stroked the line of his brows, trying to smooth away a worry she knew nothing about. “But you seem sad.”
Pushing away those very feelings, he smiled. “Never when I’m with you, Lexie,” he said. A worry line formed between her perfect brows, and she looked ready to say something more. Afraid she would learn too much, he leaned forward and kissed her.
He intended to give her a sweet, chaste kiss meant only to silence her. But nothing with Lexie worked out as he planned. When he touched her, it was never chaste.
Before he had a chance to pull away, Lexie threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, crushing her lips against his. He reached up and pressed his thumb lightly against her chin, encouraging her to open her mouth to him, and she responded with surprising enthusiasm. Giving himself over to the power of her kiss, he plunged his tongue into her mouth to couple with hers, gliding deep, and was rewarded by her soft moan of pleasure. Now that he’d finally coaxed her back to her voice, he couldn’t get enough. Her one small moan, breathy and sexually-charged, inflamed him more than anything else, driving out the malaise and the melancholy. How could one woman affect him so? After a year of women, gambling, and booze, how did this one woman make him forget and want to live again?
He pushed those thoughts aside to revel in the pleasure of Lexie’s mouth. Her scent filled his nostrils—delicate, floral, feminine—and her taste... Good God, she tasted divine. The sensation of her soft mouth and her tongue rubbing against his drove him crazy. Being in her arms made him feel like an over-eager lad on the brink of losing all control.
When he broke their kiss, she moaned again, and his shaft, hard and aching, jerked in response. His plans for their first night together didn’t include taking her here in a train car, though he had to admit the thought was intriguing. Actually, the train, the ferry and any place in between—making love to Lexie anywhere was intriguing.
Cupping her face in his hands, he savored the texture of her soft skin beneath his fingers. He stroked her face with his thumbs, and when she opened her eyes, they shone with desire. If he had nothing in the world, he would be a lucky man because he’d put such an expression on Lexie’s face. He had won huge hands of poker and his business ventures were blessed with unexpected success, but he had never felt luckier in his life.
“You are so beautiful, Lexie.”
She smiled faintly and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. Her eyes locked on his, she traced the line of his jaw with her fingers, and he was forced to close his eyes against the intimacy of her touch. He had never wanted anything so much as he wanted Lexie. More than a small part of him worried she would never want him with the same intensity he wanted her. Women always wanted him, but he wanted more than a mere dalliance with her. So much more.
After a year where nothing moved him, the way Lexie stirred his blood made him want to hold her close and push her away at the same time. After so long of feeling so little, the intensity of his passion for this woman unnerved him.
Mostly because he didn’t deserve it.
Brushing away the idea, he intertwined his fingers with hers and pulled her hand into his lap. Her hands should be soft as lilies, not the calloused hands of a servant. She’ll never be a servant again, he mused, squeezing her fingers. He stroked her hand gently with his thumb, marveling that he should be touching her now after all they had been through. That she had agreed to come with him and wanted him in return was a delightful, unexpected gift.
“I’m glad you decided to come with me,” Nicholas said softly, and found himself strangely pained by his admission.
A spark of fear marred her features for a brief second before she flashed him a bright smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Me, too.”
He stroked her arm in a gesture meant to comfort her but did nothing but inflame him. When he touched her, he always wanted more. Once I’ve bedded her, this will pass, he tried to reassure himself, though he knew it wasn't true. A night, a month, a lifetime with Lexie—he suspected no matter how much time he had with her, he would always hunger for more.
With a sigh, he leaned back against the cushioned bench and said, “If you are unsure, Lexie, I can send you back.” His voice sounded stiff. Even he recognized it for the lie it was.
The corners of her mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile. “You don’t want that,” she said, her voice a gentle purr.
“No,” he breathed. “I don’t. But I would do it for you.”
She smiled and, with her free hand, gave his chest a soft pat. “Of course you would.”
Rashly, he said, “I would do anything for you.”
And if she asked you to let her go? his conscience questioned. He wouldn’t even entertain the thought.
“Anything?” she asked, a shadow passing behind her dark eyes. His heart leapt, sudden apprehension gripping him. Would he be able to let her go, if that was what she wanted? She must have seen the question on his face, because with a small smile and a wave of her hand, she said, “There’s no need, Mr. Wetherby. I’m not asking you for anything.”
He sensed she didn’t believe him, and he didn’t protest. Couldn’t. He had made his offer, and she had refused. It would have to be enough.
She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and settled in next to him, laying her head on his shoulder, and he put his arm around her shoulders. She snuggled closer to him, sharing his warmth despite the heat of the car, her body pressing into his in rhythm with the motion of the train, a rolling movement reminding him of the carriage ride back from the Governor’s Ball. Then, as now, the movement of her body seemed sinewy and graceful, where for anyone else, it would have been jarring.
And even if she didn’t believe his words, she settled into the space of his arms and closed her eyes as if she believed he were an honorable man.
It had been a long time since anyone had thought him honorable, if anyone ever had. Nicholas was a lot of things—charming, handsome, smart, lucky—but honorable? Especially when it came to women? He hadn’t thought honor worth the effort, not when the easy pleasures of a woman’s body were so easily won. But now, with Lexie in his arms, he wondered if he had underestimated its worth.
They sat like that for some time, and Nicholas relished the rocking of the train, lulled by it. After a time, he turned to Lexie to kiss her, only to find she had fallen asleep.
A woman sleeping in his arms. Two months ago, he never would have conceived of the possibility. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman slept in his arms. He doubted such a thing had ever happened. Women liked him enough to dally with him, but that was all they ever wanted from him, and he had never wanted more.
He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, and she pressed her body into his, snuggling closer to him. Christ, she was beautiful.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured sleepily. “I’m so sorry, Papa.”
What did she have to be sorry for? Her lousy, no good father had gambled her away, called her vile names, and beat her. If anything, he owed her an apology. Nicholas kissed her head and whispered, “What for, Lex?”
She muttered something incoherently, and ran her hands along his chest, encircling him in her embrace. She gave a little cry, shifting restlessly in his arms, and he held her tight. While he wanted to know the secrets of her heart, whatever they were, he hated to see her in distress. And he wouldn’t ask her to reveal them while she slept.
“Shh, Lexie, sweet. Shh. It’s okay. Hush,” he murmured again
st her temple as he stroked her dark hair with his free hand, and she quieted against him.
He held her in his arms, and, after a time, Nicholas, too, fell asleep.
Several hours later, Lexie stood in front of the house Nicholas had procured for them. A white Victorian-style row house facing the bay, it had steep gables and the clean lines typical of the current fashion. The small front courtyard was overgrown with weeds, but Lexie noticed the carefully laid herringbone pattern of the bricks beneath the tinder-dry brush.
Diamond-paned windows graced either side of the blue door. Nicholas fiddled with the keys for a moment and fumbled with the lock before pushing open the door and allowing her inside.
They stopped short in the entry. A thick layer of dust clung to everything—the floors, the banisters, the walls even. The sunlight spilling in behind them caught the dust disturbed by their entrance, and Lexie saw it floating through the air. White sheets covered the furniture, and cobwebs draped from the ceiling and clung to the dirty curtains.
She gave Nicholas a smile before she ventured into the sitting room. She flipped the covering on one of the sofas, kicking up dust, but she found sturdy, expensive furnishings beneath. Moving to one of the chairs, she pulled the covering off that too and ran her hands over it. The chair was comfortable and well made, with elegance in the simplicity of the fabric. The furnishings were all like that: practical and well made, not ostentatious yet still striking her as elegant. Perfect for a busy, well-to-do family, she mused. She sneezed.
“Bless you,” Nicholas said automatically, his voice hollow. When she looked up at him, she noticed how he shifted his weight, how he clutched the keys to the house in his hand, how he made no move to join her. “You know, Lexie, you don’t have to do this.”
She smiled briefly before turning to deposit the furniture coverings in the corner. “Of course I do,” she said. Already, she envisioned how she would rearrange the furniture, what this room would look like cleaned up. She flung open the drapes, and dust flew through the air and clung to her hair. While the drapes were a dark color—she suspected that beneath the thick layer of dust, the heavy velvet had once been forest green, a color of which Nicholas would certainly approve. Underneath them were sheer lace curtains.
This was the type of house where a man like Nicholas could settle with a woman. With a little work, this place would be a home.
“I...I will get us a hotel.”
“No, you won’t,” Lexie responded, pulling aside the lace curtains and gazing out through dirty windows to the overgrown back garden. Running her finger over the grimy window, she mused, “How long do you think this place has been empty?”
“About a year.”
“Mm. I wonder why they left it like this.” Silence stretched between them, and Lexie turned back to the sitting room. Whoever had owned this house had left so many treasures. Why would anyone abandon them? The furniture in this room alone would have fed her family for months, if not an entire year. “How did you find this? Did you get it from the bank?” No one would abandon a place like this, not unless forced, and the furnishings seemed too personal for a rental. To Lexie, losing the house to debts seemed like the most logical explanation.
“Something like that,” he responded stiffly. “Really, Lexie, let’s get back in the carriage and go to a hotel.”
“Nonsense,” she said as Mrs. Ferguson and her husband Seamus entered behind Nicholas. He didn’t turn to look at them. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on her face. Tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear, Lexie continued. “This house is lovely. It just needs a little work. This is nothing Mrs. Ferguson and I can’t handle, right?”
The older woman’s gaze shifted from her employer to Lexie and back again. “Mr. Wetherby is right. Perhaps this isn’t the best place for us.”
She frowned at the Nicholas’s housekeeper. “Of course it is,” she said, turning from them and gesturing to the room. “Can’t you just imagine it? It would be so lovely. A few minor changes and some cleaning and this place will be a home. Don’t you just feel the love here?” she asked, a little breathless, for she certainly could. It wasn’t just the expensive furniture or the size of the house, or even the fact that the entire front room had views of the bay. Love was in lace sheers beneath dark drapes, in walls painted primary colors but capped with delicately feminine crown molding, in the fragile blown-glass paperweight sitting on a large, dark desk.
“You didn’t tell her?” Lexie heard Mrs. Ferguson hiss.
She turned back to them to find the housekeeper regarding Nicholas with a pained expression. “Tell me what?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Nicholas answered sharply.
“Och, lad, you need to tell her.”
“We will not be discussing the matter further.”
“Tell me what?” Lexie repeated.
Nicholas scowled at Mrs. Ferguson, but when he turned to her, his face was impassive. Since they’d left Sacramento, he’d been distant, uncomfortable. His gaze shifted, and he stared out the window behind her head. His voice and his stance uncharacteristically guarded, he asked, “Do you like it here, Lexie? Do you like this house?”
She looked around the dust-covered room, but she envisioned spending long, leisurely summer nights down here with him. She imagined the meals she would cook for him once she found the kitchen. In her mind’s eyes, the red oak floors gleamed with a fresh coat of wax, the oriental rugs were beaten out, and the chandelier in the foyer sparkled in the morning sun. Once the garden was cleaned up, she could imagine sitting outside on the stone bench, admiring the fountain in the fading light of twilight or watching the sun rise over the bay at dawn.
“I do. I really, really do.”
Nicholas gave her a nod. “Then we’re staying.” He smiled in a way that had surely melted hearts, yet his eyes were pained, and Lexie’s heart twisted. Something had tempered his jovial nature, and she couldn’t figure out what it was, but it had been bothering him since before they’d left Sacramento. She wanted to believe it was all business, but she didn’t.
She had the sinking suspicion she was to blame.
“You’re sure?” she asked. She wanted to stay, but he was so uncomfortable she wanted to at least offer him the option of leaving.
“Of course,” he answered brusquely. Turning to Mrs. Ferguson, he said, “Make sure she gets any help she needs. If you need to hire someone, do it.” Mrs. Ferguson opened her mouth to protest, but Nicholas waved her words away. “No arguments. The decision is made.” As silence fell between them, something passed between Mrs. Ferguson and Nicholas Lexie couldn’t interpret. She made a mental note to ask the housekeeper about it later.
Eventually, Nicholas nodded in her direction before taking his leave. As he stalked from the room, he called over his shoulder, “Lexie, you will set yourself up in one of the guest rooms upstairs.” His tone left little room for argument.
“Of course,” she said.
By the time she got the words out, Nicholas was already gone.
Chapter 12
Lexie’s days were a flurry of activity as she and Mrs. Ferguson worked on the house—moving furniture, dusting, waxing the floors to a polished gleam. The chandelier on its own took an entire day to clean, and three strong stable lads to hang it back up. She’d worked hard and was pleased with her handiwork. She wished Nicholas were around to see it.
She wasn’t sure where he slept, but he didn’t sleep here. In fact, since he had left that first day, he hadn’t been back. She wondered what she had done to offend him so.
More than anything, she wondered where he lay his head, and with whom. Mrs. Ferguson, who had been so enlightening when Lexie hadn’t been speaking to Nicholas, merely reassured her that, if he had invited her here, he had not found alternate companionship. If Nicholas’s housekeeper knew where he rested, she steadfastly kept her silence.
Much as she had been keeping her own counsel in regard to Nicholas’s heart. If Mrs. Ferguson knew the reason behind the di
stance she sensed in Nicholas—and Lexie suspected she did—she never told Lexie.
A few days later, when she came down in the morning, she found him in the foyer regarding the chandelier, pride and bitterness mingling in his expression. She stopped on the stairs.
“You’ve been busy,” he commented, without taking his eyes off the chandelier.
“Yes.”
He glanced around. “Looks good.”
“Thank you,” she said, moving past him into the sitting room. She caught herself wringing her hands and went to open the curtain facing the back garden. She’d not been this awkward around him since the first days she had been in his employ. He had inexplicably become a stranger once again, and she sensed Nicholas felt the same way.
“It...I...um...I like what you’ve done with the place.”
She didn’t turn, but she did smile at his awkward attempt at praise—it seemed so incongruous with everything she knew about him, so out of character for the man she had come to know in Sacramento. Nicholas Wetherby was far more complicated than she had originally thought, and was deeper than anyone gave him credit for. “Thank you. Would you care for some breakfast? I’ll make you something.”
“No need to trouble yourself.”
She walked back to him, and the way he looked at her—with greedy, hungry eyes—did not escape her. At least that hadn’t changed. She laid a gentle hand on his chest, dragging it across his body as she moved past him. “It’s no trouble,” she said lightly, savoring the jolt of awareness passing through her.
He caught her hand and pulled her close, trapping her hands between their bodies, his expression serious. “You’re not a servant here, Lexie. You don’t need to wait on me.”
“Who says I’m doing it just for you? Maybe I’m famished,” she countered with a lopsided smile.
“Maybe. I just wanted to make things clear.”
“Duly noted,” she returned. “Would you like some breakfast now?”
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