Desire Me Now

by Tiffany Clare

  “Olive will bring tea up shortly, unless you prefer coffee in the morning,” he asked.

  She pushed her fork around on her plate, feeling out of sorts for breakfast when she had to face Mr. Riley after their heated kiss. “I prefer tea,” she said almost absently.

  “As do I. Though coffee after dinner can be quite refreshing.”

  His attempt to engage her in simple conversation to put her at ease was working, but she couldn’t ignore what had happened between them or the fact that they’d almost been discovered. “Do you think the maids saw us?”

  “Is that what has you worried?” He pointedly looked at her food, which she had yet to take a bite of.

  “They might think less of me. And I wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression as to why I was hired.”

  Mr. Riley nodded his understanding at her uneasiness. At her look of confusion, he added, “There is a creak in the old floorboard at the top of the stairs. I had already pulled away by the time the second creak sounded.”

  “That is not reassuring. They would have sensed something more.” Her face had been furiously hot, and she hadn’t been able to meet either servant’s eyes as they set out the food.

  “My staff is trustworthy, Miss Grant. They would never whisper a word of their suspicions if they believed or even suspected something was happening between us.”

  Mr. Riley filled his fork with mash and eggs together and ate it with a gusto she’d never seen a man eat with. He enjoyed food as much as he enjoyed women. That thought had her forkful of eggs stopped midway between her plate and mouth. How would she even know or be able to contemplate that?

  What basis did she have to know he enjoyed women with gusto? Certainly, he was practiced in the art of seduction. It had taken her less than a day to fall victim to his kiss. These thoughts simply wouldn’t do. She needed Mr. Riley out of her head, but how could she do that when he sat across from her, watching her? He was always watching her.

  “It does no one any good to start the day hungry.”

  She was ready to give him a retort when she noticed the scraping and bruising across his knuckles, and her words froze in her throat. She dropped her fork and grasped his hand, pulling it closer and angling it toward the sun coming through the windows. “This must hurt. Let me ring for one of the maids to bring ice.”

  He chuckled and slid his hand from hers. “Nothing I’m not used to. I spent a larger part of my youth bloody and broken. Fighting paved my path to success.”

  She scrutinized him with renewed interest. “You were a pugilist?”

  “That colors it too cleanly. More like the fighter you wanted to bet on in the ring.”

  The steady stride of someone coming down the hall stopped her from asking more questions. Was it normal for a man in London to fight for money?

  “Good morning,” Huxley said upon entering and taking a seat at the table.

  Mr. Riley merely nodded and took another mouthful of his hash and eggs.

  Amelia turned to the older man, thankful to have someone else in the room to break the tension between her and Mr. Riley. “Good day, Huxley. What will you show me today?”

  Before he could answer, Mr. Riley said, “Miss Grant is itching to get her hands dirty. Doesn’t want to get bored taking care of the appointments. Go over the newspapers and rags with her. Show her what to look for.”

  Amelia looked quizzically between the men.

  Huxley must have noticed the questions forming on her tongue and said, “Watching the interests of the company. Verifying any gossip that makes its way through the servants about certain business partners and other interested parties.”

  “You do this every day?” What did they hope to find in the paper that they probably hadn’t already heard through word of mouth?

  “Just double-checking who the parties mentioned are and what activities they are tied to.” After placing his napkin on his empty plate, Mr. Riley stood.

  When she pushed her chair out to follow suit, he rested his hand atop hers, the act at once possessive and intimate. The look he leveled at her caused the air in her lungs to stall and her face to heat. That he could affect her with just a look should have her questioning her sanity in staying in his employ.

  Surreptitiously, she glanced over to Huxley, hoping he didn’t see her reaction to Mr. Riley. He was focused on the untouched sausage on her plate.

  “We’re not so formal here,” Mr. Riley said to her. “Enjoy your breakfast before getting on with your day.”

  She gave him a small smile and settled back in her chair, hating that she missed his touch the moment he stepped away from her. Hating that she didn’t want to lose his company so soon in the day when only moments ago she was glad for Huxley’s arrival.

  “Make sure you find a cane for Miss Grant, Huxley. She shouldn’t be walking around the house without support.”

  Huxley grunted at the request, as his mouth was full with one of the sausages he’d been eyeing.

  When Mr. Riley was gone, she said, “We can arrange for your own plate before we begin the appointment books.”

  “No need; been down to the kitchen already—didn’t want it going to waste.” He pushed out from the table, assessing her for a moment. “I will find a cane for you to hobble around on; then we can get started.”

  Huxley left to do just that, and it gave her time to think over the events of this morning. What had she been thinking? Pressing her fingers against her mouth, she swore she still felt the touch of Mr. Riley’s lips upon hers.

  She closed her eyes and tried to banish all thoughts of her employer from her head. It didn’t work. Instead, she fantasized about having more time alone with him, more time in his arms before the maids came in with breakfast. Had they had more time alone, she wondered just how far Mr. Riley would have taken that kiss.

  When Huxley returned to the library, he had a gentlemen’s cane. The top was lacquered black with a band of silver around the base of the handle. As she stood, Huxley held it out to her. It was a bit tall, but it did make walking easier.

  They worked companionably through the morning, sorting all the invitations she would respond to that afternoon.

  “What will you do when I take over the secretary position?” she asked Huxley.

  “Mr. Riley needs a trusted man down at the wharf. He owns a strip of land there. Needs someone to run the operation, as the books are looking funny.”

  “Funny, how?”

  “Someone thinks they can steal from Mr. Riley’s pocket without being caught.”

  She felt as if his words were a warning to her. “How disappointing, considering Mr. Riley’s evident generosity toward those who work for him. Or so I have noticed since coming here.”

  “He’s a hard man, Miss Grant, and has had a hard life. And the man you see—any man, really—behind closed doors isn’t always the same man outside his home.”

  This comment seemed like a warning, but what was he warning her from? Did he suspect something more than an employee-employer relationship between Mr. Riley and her?

  Truthfully, Huxley’s words could be applied to even the likes of her brother, who was charming, confident, and a man of the world in a public setting. Behind closed doors, he was none of those things; he was a monster, bent on harsh cruelty and a dark hatred that had her living in fear for too long before her escape.

  She swallowed those memories, feeling a tremble overtake her hands for the briefest moment before she tempered her emotions. Squeezing her hands into tight fists, she met Huxley’s gaze head on.

  He assessed her for a long moment, and she wondered if she’d given away something of herself in her silent contemplation and in her reaction to his words. Her stomach chose that moment to rumble, saving her from having to offer a response.

  Checking his pocket watch, Huxley handed her the cane. “Might as well take lunch. Everyone wants to meet you.”

  Why that surprised her, she couldn’t say. She hoped she wasn’t a disappointment to
the staff or that they saw her as usurping any of their positions by being here. A silly thought but valid, considering her terrible luck with employment to date.

  “And where does the staff convene at this time of day?” she asked, limping out of the library with the aid of the cane and toward the stairs that led to the lower level.

  “They’ll be assembled in the dining hall.” He paced evenly next to her, though she could tell he was ready to catch her, should her footing not be true.

  “How many people are employed by Mr. Riley?”

  “Aside from us, four housemaids, a footman, and a cook. As well as the housekeeper and her son, Devlin, a boy of nine years, and the groundsman who lives above the old carriage house.”

  As they neared the bottom step to the lower level, the noise grew louder around her, making it sound as though thirty people worked here, not ten. The kitchen hall seemed to be a very busy place. As she and Huxley stepped into the large rectangular room, everyone paused and looked up at her. Olive was darning a sock but gave her a big grin before going back to her work, tying off a stitch.

  “This is Amelia Grant, the new secretary who will be tending to Mr. Riley’s direct affairs outside of the house,” Huxley said by way of introduction.

  “Good afternoon,” Amelia greeted them. “I’m pleased to meet you all. I have already met Olive and Hannah.” Amelia smiled at the two women she’d seen in the library that morning. Hannah’s deep brown eyes were warm and inviting, her posture comfortable where she sat at the table, working on fine embroidery at the edge of a pillowcase.

  “Nice to be properly introduced, Miss Grant,” Hannah said. Her voice was soft and accented, and Amelia guessed her native tongue was German. Hannah’s hair was so blonde that it was almost white, and she wore it pulled back in a neat chignon.

  A woman with twinkling blue eyes and a kind smile took Amelia’s hands in her own. Her skin was smooth and untouched by age, despite her gray hair. “Mrs. Coleman. I am the housekeeper. Mr. Riley has needed someone in your position for a long time. We are all so glad to have you join us.”

  “Thank you,” Amelia said, not sure how she should respond to the kindness from the staff.

  “My son runs errands, so you’ll meet him over dinner. Devlin is presently out delivering letters for Mr. Riley.”

  While the maids wore gray dresses, Mrs. Coleman’s was a rich, dark blue. The other two maids, whom she hadn’t met—twins, easily set apart, as one had a scar that slashed through her right eyebrow and arched around her cheek—stood from the table and in tandem said, “Jenny” and “Josie.” They were red-haired, robust women who stood a few inches taller than Amelia, with hands worn and craggy from a life of hard work. Jenny, the one without the scar, had kinder brown eyes than her sister, as though life hadn’t been as cruel to her. Both spoke with a soft Scottish lilt.

  Amelia dipped her head. “A pleasure.”

  “Liam, miss,” a tall lanky boy of no more than twenty years said, extending his hand. Amelia didn’t hesitate to accept his hand, even though it was not at all proper for a lady to do. Height alone told her this was the footman. His blond hair was parted to one side and pomaded tidily in place. An apron covered his uniform, as he was in the midst of polishing the silver.

  A rotund, balding man came forward and clasped his hands on either of her arms, as if giving her a good measure up. “You can call me Joshua.” He looked her up and down, the motion made eerie as one eye—made of glass—stayed in place as he did so. “Just a wee thing you are. Give me a month to fix you up to a better state.”

  She wanted to argue that she was perfectly healthy but bit the inside of her cheek. It was important that she make a good impression. They did all have to live under the same roof, and Amelia had every intention of befriending each and every one of them.

  She smiled. New beginnings, she kept thinking. The staff here were nothing like those at Sir Ian’s. New beginnings, indeed, and by all appearances, the fresh start she’d intended when she’d arrived in London.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you all. I was lucky to have landed in this position and couldn’t be more grateful for your welcome and your kindness.”

  “How did you end up in Mr. Riley’s service?” Jenny asked. Josie jabbed her elbow into her sister’s ribs.

  Of course they would be curious to know where she came from and what she’d done in the past. “My fall here was not so glamorous. As that is literally how I met Mr. Riley.”

  “Is that the way of it, then?” The housekeeper came around the table and took her arm, waving off Huxley. “Let me show you where everything is down here, though I’m sure it’s not much different from the last household where you were engaged.”

  “No, not much different from the last.” She kept her smile to herself, since Mrs. Coleman was referring to the layout and not the situation, which she found to be the exact opposite of the last place.

  “So you fell into service here?” the housekeeper said.

  “Did Mr. Riley not tell you he had hired me?”

  “He did, but where you came from and how he acquired your services is your own business,” Mrs. Coleman said. It sounded like a warning that she shouldn’t ask the others how they’d ended up in Mr. Riley’s employ. She had no problem respecting their privacy, considering she needed to keep a tight lid on her past.

  “And what of Huxley?” Amelia asked. “Did he not inform you of how Mr. Riley and I crossed paths?”

  “Huxley’s a kind man and knows something of everything, but he’s mum on anything to do with other people’s secrets that are under Mr. Riley’s protection.”

  The housekeeper’s assessment didn’t surprise Amelia. She had a feeling that finding out any information through Huxley was like prying open a lock without a key. Actually, it was probably more difficult than even that.

  “I see,” Amelia muttered.

  “We’re all lucky to have found work here. Everyone has had some misfortune along the way. You shouldn’t expect anyone to reveal a past best left forgotten.”

  “I will heed your warning.”

  After showing Amelia where the linens, larder, pantry, and storage areas were located, she was shown the housekeeper’s office and the place the men, including her son, bedded down at night, in the event that Mr. Riley ever needed to get a message out at an odd time of day.

  When they entered the servants’ hall once again, everyone had cleared away the items they’d been working on so Olive could set out bowls for the midday meal. A pot of stew and two loaves of bread were placed at one end of the old wood table, which was almost as large as the room and could probably seat twenty. The food’s aroma wafted to Amelia’s nose and smelled divine as she ladled thick chunks of lamb, carrots, and potatoes into her bowl.

  As everyone took their seats to eat, conversation started on the gossip around town. While this was no different than the talk around the table at her last place of employment, there was one thing that Amelia noted almost immediately. Talk was focused on the people who had regular dealings with Mr. Riley or his businesses.

  The servants were pooling their information together from what the housekeeper had heard from the shopkeepers during her morning errands at various shops; the maids revealed what they’d heard from the coal deliverer. All the while, Huxley wrote key points down in a small leather notebook he carried in his pocket. He didn’t write down everything, just a handful of names. She wondered if she would have to do this as Mr. Riley’s secretary—gather gossip and apprise him of it.

  Between mouthfuls, Jenny said, “While Baker’s son was doing his usual deliveries to the lords’ and ladies’ houses this morning, he stumbled across Sir Ian Hemming in the street. He was in a bad way, with his face right bloody and broken from a good beating. Baker wanted to fetch the bobbies, he did, but Hemming’s valet convinced him all was fine. Took him—well, practically carried him—inside.”

  Amelia’s spoon stilled between her bowl and her mouth. Her breath felt frozen in h
er lungs. Sir Ian had been hurt. She swallowed against the nervous lump forming in her throat. Tears pricked her eyes as she thought of that vile man. Wasn’t it this morning that Mr. Riley told her that he had close ties to the employment agency? Her head spun as she thought of the painful-looking bruises she’d spied on Mr. Riley’s knuckles only a few hours ago.

  Could he have . . . Would he dare . . .

  She brushed her fingers over her cheek where Sir Ian had hit her.

  Amelia set her spoon down, unable to eat another bite. Her head was spinning with questions that couldn’t be answered, questions she couldn’t put voice to. But she needed to know the truth. Needed to know if Mr. Riley was somehow involved. Why would he do that for her?

  “Did the baker find out what happened to Sir Ian?” Amelia asked, and all eyes turned toward her soft-spoken question.

  Huxley’s pencil stilled over the paper as his eyes met hers. She could see the questions burning there, but he didn’t say a word. She wasn’t sure if she’d said something wrong or if that was not a question they cared to answer. All Amelia knew was that Mr. Riley had saved her from a fate she didn’t want to contemplate. But she reminded herself that Mr. Riley was not a peer of the realm. He could not be protected if he hurt someone above his station.

  Not wanting to examine too deeply why she felt compelled to protect him, she focused on the fact that she owed him for his kindness.

  “I have never heard of such a thing happening. Not without provocation. And even then . . . ” She hoped that the curious inflection coating her voice would appease those around her as explanation of why she asked about that evil man’s welfare.

  Did everyone know how awful Sir Ian was? Or was she the only person with firsthand knowledge in that respect? Then she wondered if Mr. Riley’s servants knew any of Sir Ian’s servants and if they might have talked about the governess who had left without word.

  As nice as the staff seemed around the table, she didn’t want any of them knowing her business. It was bad enough that the evidence of the cruelty delivered to her in her last job marked her face. At least the bruise was fading fast with the salve Mr. Riley had given her to aid in the healing process.