Desire Me Now

by Tiffany Clare

  “They most certainly should have, for placing you were they did.” There was a note of underlying anger in his comment. And she wondered again how much he knew of her employment with Sir Ian. If he contacted the agency for her yesterday, it was likely they told him which house she’d served in.

  “You should know that I have a vested interested in the agency that placed you. And their services are always available to any woman in need of a safe job place.”

  She looked at him, unsure how she was meant to reply. He seemed so sure of himself, which was expected of men. But she knew that a woman with even the hint of a poor reputation could easily be tossed out into the street as if she were no better than a pile of kitchen refuse.

  “I failed to mention that a very close friend of my mother’s runs the agency,” he said. “They assured me that your last employer would not find another placement through them.”

  Her head was spinning with the information he might have garnered in going to his mother’s friend. Would he know what happened? He’d revealed something decent about himself in telling her that. He did not condone the actions of a man who took advantage of his power. And she hated to admit that it allowed her to trust him enough that the constant fear that cloaked her dissipate a little.

  Too many questions were swirling around in her head, and she decided it was best to change the topic. “Your house is very beautiful. The library, especially.”

  When he looked her over from head to toe with a scrutinizing expression, her lungs were robbed of air. Did he find her lacking?

  That she cared was worrisome. She was usually more levelheaded than to fall victim to a handsome face. But there was a masculinity and prowess to his nature that made her feel so utterly and foolishly feminine. Like he would catch her if she fell . . . which he’d already accomplished today.

  “You can use any room you desire to do your work. Meals can be brought up to the library, if that is your preference,” he said.

  She looked at the stately room where she sat. It was something out of fairy tales or a room reserved for the women born into the upper echelon of society. She wasn’t a fairy-tale princess, and while she was an earl’s daughter, she certainly hadn’t been born into great riches and privilege. She felt undeserving.

  “I couldn’t possibly . . . ” She shook her head. “The rest of the staff might think less of me if I were given such an advantage.” Staring at a loose thread on her sleeve, she was unable to voice just how important it was for her to fit in. It wasn’t like she’d ever lived with a plethora of servants when growing up—only a cook, who also helped to clean the family cottage where they lived when her father’s health started to fail some years ago.

  After her father’s death, the family finances had plunged to dangerous lows. It didn’t help that her brother liked to gamble.

  The worst thing for her wasn’t the idea of losing her childhood home; it was realizing just how little her brother thought of her. His debts had amassed so high that in exchange for clearing them, he had promised her to a man she loathed. A man far crueler than Sir Ian had been.

  She wanted that life far behind her, and in order to do that, she must wholly embrace her role as a working woman. And a tiny part of her wanted to believe that Mr. Riley was the man who would give her exactly what she wanted.

  Mr. Riley walked over to the entrance and rang the servants’ bell before taking a seat across from her.

  Shyly, she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. Why did she find herself speechless when he remained broodingly silent? She was normally a better conversationalist than this.

  “What tasks will you have me accomplish today, Mr. Riley?”

  A maid interrupted them before he could answer. She was young, not more than sixteen, and slight. She had a face full of freckles and large brown eyes that gave her an air of innocence.

  “Havin’ yer breakfast here today, Mr. Nick?” The girl’s accent was thick and difficult to understand.

  Amelia recoiled at the common way the maid addressed the master of the house. But then she realized that Mr. Riley was nothing she would expect of a successful businessman. And he was nothing like her brother or the men he allowed to stay at her home in Berwick.

  “We are. Joshua’s usual will suffice.”

  The maid left without bowing.

  “Are the staff always so informal?” Her brother would have had the poor girl tossed out of the house.

  “Olive has lived here since she was ten. Then, she was nothing more than a soot-covered, terrified child. She refused to speak for the first three years in my service, not even to the other women. I’m glad she found her voice. She can address me any way she pleases,” he said with a finality that brooked no further questioning.

  “How wonderful that she can speak freely without being seen as disobedient.” Amelia stared at her entwined hands in her lap, not sure if she’d said too much. Everything he revealed about himself spoke of an admirable and honest man. It was hard to distrust him.

  “You never need fear speaking your mind in this house,” he said gently. “It is something I encourage.”

  This all had to be a dream. She never expected to meet a man like Mr. Riley. Never expected to not have to live with some sort of guarded fear.

  With frightening reality, Amelia realized just how much she wanted to know more about the man who hadn’t thought twice about plucking her out of an abysmal situation. What he’d revealed about the maid settled her feelings of being offered this job so hastily. So much so that she resolved to stay on longer than a few days. Perhaps she’d give it a week, to see how she felt.

  Mr. Riley sat poised and still in his chair, studying her with watchful regard as she digested his words. There was no doubt in her mind that he was a kindhearted man. And her respect for him grew by the second.

  “Olive is a very lucky girl to have found employment in your house,” she said. It went without saying that she believed herself to be just as lucky as Olive.

  He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Back to your original query, Miss Grant. How familiar are you with navigating high society and the ton?”

  Was he testing her? Wanting to prove he hadn’t made a mistake taking her in, she thought it best to give him no reason to question her ability. “Enough to sort through your invitations.”

  She didn’t tell him that she knew Debrett’s backward and forward.

  “Then that is exactly what you shall do today. My correspondence has been sorely neglected for the past few months.”

  She breathed a small sigh of relief, knowing that he wasn’t having second thoughts about hiring her. “Mr. Huxley showed me your appointment calendar and the stack of invitations yet to be answered. Are there any additional tasks you want me to complete?”

  “The invitations will take you a few days. But I’ll leave you with my appointment book, and as you learn more about my businesses, you will know how to book my days. We’ll worry only about those items this week, Miss Grant, as I don’t want you overworked when you have already sustained injury on my watch.”

  She took affront that he thought her unable to take on tasks because of a turned ankle. “I assure you that I’m more than capable of taking on additional responsibilities.”

  Lips pursed in an unmovable line, he looked at her for a long, silent moment. She had the impression he was judging her on her word but did not offer her request a yea or nay.

  She was desperate to know more about him. Clearing her throat, she asked, “What exactly is it that you do, Mr. Riley?”

  “When I was younger than you are now, I invested in a number of properties and ventures. Most have succeeded very well over the years. Not wanting to pigeonhole myself, so I’ve dabbled in just about everything. In the beginning, some ventures failed, but the majority have thrived and have allowed me to amass a collection of successful interests. Now I mainly focus my attentions on acquiring properties.”

  The more he spoke, the more of an enigma he seem
ed. In Berwick, she’d never heard of a Mr. Riley, but that might have more to do with his not being a peer than anything else. She was not oblivious to the happenings around town where some of the more prominent members of the ton were concerned, but Amelia knew next to nothing else about the city or its array of inhabitants.

  That was why it had been so appealing to get lost in the crowd—in a city difficult for her brother to locate her, should he care enough to find her. And she suspected he would when his debts climbed, as they were sure to do.

  “How will I know which invitations you wish to accept?”

  “Huxley will provide you with the names of anyone I choose not to associate with and those who have aligned themselves with my ventures. As for the rest . . . I will trust your judgment.”

  “No questions asked?” She couldn’t hold the shock back from her voice.

  “No questions asked, Miss Grant.”

  “What if I make a mistake?”

  “I can assure you it will not be the end of the world.”

  “Thank you for giving me this opportunity.” She knew she’d be lost if not for his generosity.

  “I have other motives for taking you in.” She stiffened as he stood from his chair and walked toward her. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

  Then what other motives did he have for hiring her? It was evident he required a secretary. But Sir Ian was in need of a governess, and that hadn’t turned out in her favor.

  “I see where your thoughts are leading you,” he said softly, as though worried he’d said too much.

  She looked at him sharply. “And where is that?” She cringed at the harshness in her tone. She could not forget her manners when Mr. Riley had shown her nothing but kindness.

  He sat on the edge of the ottoman that separated the two chairs and reached for her face. She winced at the first soft glide of his fingers across her bruised cheek.

  “It pains me to see this reaction in you.” With gentle fingers he grasped her chin and tipped her face up so he could meet her eyes. He looked at her as though he saw right through her. “You won’t always flinch away from me.”

  The promise in those words sucked the air right out of her lungs.

  Under other circumstances, the perceptiveness in his sharp slate-gray gaze might frighten her. Instead, the quiet patience she saw there made her feel safe. She knew with every fiber of her being that this man would protect her from knowing any more harsh realities. Protect her from the likes of any more Sir Ians. And that thought stilled the anxiety inside her.

  “What do you want from me?” she whispered.

  His gaze never broke from hers as he caressed the side of her face, rubbing his thumb over the mark left by Sir Ian. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

  Her lips parted with the promise and conviction in his voice. She thought about what she should say, but she was unable to formulate a coherent sentence when he was touching her.

  “Do you feel it?” he asked, as he leaned in closer, his sharp eyes piercing right through to her heart. “Do you feel something undeniable happening between us?”

  The pitter-patter in her chest had her heart beating overtime the nearer Mr. Riley drew. How could he feel how she did? Was such a thing even possible?

  “I know your curiosity will win out,” he said without needing her to answer.

  It was so hard to define what she felt. But it couldn’t be denied that she felt something she’d never felt around any other man.

  His thumb brushed over her parted lips, the motion slow and seductive. Erotic. She struggled to take another breath, afraid to dispel what had started between them. She never wanted the intimacy of their stolen moment to end.

  Mr. Riley’s thumb brushed against her tongue as she darted it out to moisten her dry lips. Tasting the salt of his skin, she closed her eyes, trying to find her equilibrium in her world that was fast spinning out of control.

  Senses heightened with the absence of eyesight, she was still shocked when the warmth of his breath brushed across her lips a moment before his lips sealed over hers. His lips were soft but unrelenting, searching yet patient. He pulled at her mouth in a coaxing manner and tasted her bottom lip before covering her mouth again and stealing the breath she exhaled in surprise.

  She should discourage his advances. Push him away. But she was lost to his touch. And while she relished the feel of his mouth on hers, she needed to anchor herself. Stop this madness.

  Instead of doing what she should do, her hands fisted in the soft material of his wool coat, and she pulled at his lips as he’d pulled at hers. That she even knew how to do such a thing astonished her.

  She was running on pure instinct now.

  With his hands buried in her hair, the hairpins pressed painfully against her scalp. She knew she should care about what she was allowing, but she didn’t stop him, and she certainly couldn’t stop herself. He lifted her from the chair and pulled her body along the solid length of his, never releasing her lips from the sweet torture he delivered. She moaned into his mouth and hated the need that filled that sound.

  He confused her and made her yearn for things she had no right to want.

  He pulled away from her suddenly, and it left her swaying where she stood. Her eyes snapped open, and she stared at him, bewildered. Lost.

  She reached for the arm of the chair to steady herself, as Mr. Riley had moved away from her to stand at a decent distance—something she should have done from the beginning.

  The door opened, and a maid entered the room, carrying a silver tray. Another staff member followed her, an identical breakfast tray in her hands. Amelia and Mr. Riley stood there in silence as their breakfast was set out. She didn’t dare look at him again and dropped her gaze to the pale blue swirling design in the Aubusson rug.

  She swallowed against the nerves that made it difficult for her to speak. She couldn’t even look at the staff who had entered the room. They would know what she’d done—they might have even seen what she’d been engaged in. She’d lowered herself to no more than a whore.

  Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision, as the two servants left the library. Mr. Riley’s black polished shoes came into view a moment before he lifted her chin to look at her again. Why did she feel so lost?

  “There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  She wanted to believe him. But . . . “There is everything to be ashamed of.” She shook her head, hating that she had to apologize, knowing that if given a chance to repeat the sequence of events that had led to that kiss, she’d commit all the same sins again and again.

  What in the world was wrong with her?

  “Why did you kiss me?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer, but a part of her needed to know. And talking was safer right now.

  “I have wanted to do that since you first stumbled into my path. Do you feel something growing between us?”

  She’d been ignoring that feeling, thinking and hoping it would pass with time. She’d assumed she’d developed hero worship after Mr. Riley had rescued her and then taken care of her when she’d been at an ultimate low.

  She couldn’t deny the truth now. She did feel something for him; something not easily defined as mere lust but a deep desire to learn more about him and why he made her feel so out of sorts with what she thought was right.

  Not that she would ever admit to that.

  Who was she to garner the attention of this man? Women probably threw themselves at his feet and begged him to ruin them on a regular basis. That thought left her feeling cold. She eyed the door, longing for escape.

  “Don’t leave, Amelia.” He stepped closer to her, near enough that she could kiss him again if she so desired. She ignored that desire. “Work for me as we planned. Just stay.”

  There was a kind of desolation in his voice at the thought of her abandoning him. But that was impossible. And she was reading too much into his request. Logically, she knew she couldn’t feel this sort of attachment to someone she had ju
st met. Someone she didn’t really know.

  “I’m afraid of what I will do,” she admitted, more for herself than for him.

  “Then don’t think about it. Go with what your instincts tell you. If there is one thing I have always done, it is to follow my first inclination. I might be in a very different position today, had I ignored those natural reflexes.”

  He caressed her cheek again. She nearly nestled into his palm before realizing what she was doing. With a heavy sigh, she pulled away from him before she made any more mistakes. This was not a good way to start her first official day as his secretary.

  She couldn’t help but ask. “And what do your instincts say about me?”

  “I don’t need my instincts to tell me where this is going. It is more base than that. I desire you. And there is nothing that can stop me from fulfilling and exploring what I want. You will be mine in the end, Amelia.”

  Her heart picked up speed at his admission. Her breathing grew more rapid as she assessed him. She desired him too. She, Amelia Marie Somerset, who wanted nothing more than to escape one vile man’s sick craving to marry her and claim her, was willing to let the man in front of her ruin her because she felt so much different with him than she had with anyone else.

  What would she lose of herself in the process of courting dangerous games with this man? Focusing on the hard angles of his face and the steady expression he wore, one thing was certain.

  This man would ruin her.

  And more startling was the realization that she would do nothing to stop him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Their breakfast trays had been set on a walnut parlor table in the library. Mr. Riley removed both lids, revealing steaming mounds of scrambled eggs and mash with a generous side of sausages. He carried the dishes to a small decorative table that faced the gardens before turning back to Amelia, offering his arm.

  The last thing she should be doing was touching him again after all that had transpired, but she knew she would look silly refusing his aid when she could barely walk well enough on her own. He escorted her to one of the chairs, sliding it closer to the table once she was seated.