Desire Me Now

by Tiffany Clare

  “Didn’t care to ask,” Josie said, her eyes narrowing on Amelia.

  Amelia wasn’t sure if Josie disliked her or was just trying to figure out why she’d asked the question at all. “I am a country girl. Events like this are uncommon in the country,” she admitted.

  That seemed to satisfy everyone’s interest at the table.

  “Perhaps the valet thought it best to wait for Sir Ian to decide his next course of action—though that won’t happen until he can talk again. Jaw was broken, from what I heard. And his eyes were so swollen, he could barely open them.”

  Amelia curled her hands under the table, squeezing them together. She must remember to bite her tongue. She was too new to be asking questions that pried into Mr. Riley’s business, no matter that she was his secretary and would work closer with him than anyone else around the table, aside from Huxley.

  Taking a deep breath and shaking off the sudden discomfort she felt at the mention of Sir Ian’s name, Amelia focused on her lunch, even though her appetite was gone; it was like dust gumming up in her mouth, but she ate it nonetheless. Her thoughts were focused solely on Mr. Riley, recalling the way he tended to her cuts as gently as he’d checked her ankle when he’d first found her.

  There was no denying what was staring her so blindly in the face. Mr. Riley had known what Sir Ian had done to her. But what was she supposed to do with that realization? She couldn’t confront him, no matter how badly she wanted to. A secret part of her was thrilled at the thought of Mr. Riley seeking some form of justice on her behalf, no matter how wrong those actions might be. No matter how much she should be against the very idea.

  She would keep her assumptions to herself for now, though she wondered if the rest of the household suspected anything, Huxley in particular. She couldn’t bear to look at any of them with the thoughts swirling through her head. She kept her eyes averted and focused solely on her food as she listened to the rest of the gossip they’d dug up in the last few days.

  The maids gave Huxley other tidbits of information they’d heard through various delivery people, as did the cook. They were fonts of information that had her wondering if they’d been hired not only because they’d needed a job, as she did, but because of their ability to worm through all the gossip that came their way and pick out the parts that might be relevant to Mr. Riley’s various ventures.

  While she listened, she learned—that the son of a ship merchant was selling his wares higher to Mr. Riley than the other companies owned by men of a higher station, and the rumors speculating what Mr. Riley’s next property acquisition would be. Huxley was right; Mr. Riley dabbled in a bit of everything.

  Amelia remained silent throughout the meal, absorbing every bit of information about her mysterious employer.

  The one thing she came away with, after sitting with Mr. Riley’s household, was that he’d garnered the undivided trust of his staff, which made him a good man in her estimation. She had a newfound respect for him.

  As she thought back to her morning with her employer, she could recall with perfect clarity how the press of his mouth upon hers felt. Her face heated, and she set her spoon down and wiped her mouth with the napkin, hoping it covered her red cheeks long enough that she could get her thoughts and emotions under control.

  If Olive or Hannah had seen or even guessed what had gone on when they’d brought breakfast to the library, they gave no indication of it. Amelia wondered now if that was because they honestly hadn’t suspected anything or if Mr. Riley could do no wrong in their eyes. Just because he could do no wrong didn’t give her reason to believe the staff would treat her with the same regard, and she must remember that above all things.

  After an hour, they all parted ways to continue on with their duties. Amelia left with Huxley, heading back up to the study to continue going through the papers. When they sat down to work, she looked longingly toward the library. Her companion must have noticed her waning attention.

  “If you prefer the library,” he said, “we can set up a desk in there.”

  “Only if that is Mr. Riley’s preference.” Odd, but Mr. Riley had asked her that very thing this morning.

  “I assumed you liked the view,” Huxley said. “Won’t matter much to Mr. Riley.”

  “I think we should move my desk in there, then. The gardens are very peaceful.”

  “Distracting, more like.”

  She laughed. “Do you find them so?”

  “Women’s prerogative.”

  “I have known plenty of gentlemen with an inclination toward a green thumb,” she said, amused.

  He harrumphed his response before they focused on the stack of papers again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The sky darkened outside, shrouding the library in shadows as night drew nearer. After moving her desk into the library, Huxley had left her to her own devices, telling her that dinner was served at seven thirty. It was well past that hour now.

  She’d been determined to finish sorting through at least one stack of invitations and was confident in her choices for Mr. Riley’s attendance. Of course, Huxley had counseled her at great length, giving her clear instructions on whom she should send regrets to, which had narrowed her stack considerably, though it hadn’t stopped her from reading the contents of each and every letter so she could learn more about her employer.

  By all accounts, he was deeply desired company. His invitations ranged from balls to soirees in renowned houses with marriageable daughters to lords and ladies with the grandest of estates. There was even an invitation to attend the opera from a widow who had more money than sense, or so Huxley had informed her.

  Two letters were personal in nature and had evidently been mixed into the stack in error. When she realized what she was reading, she looked around her to make sure she was alone before continuing.

  The first letter was addressed to Nick, without his last name. The handwriting slanted deeply to the right and the ink smeared across the page, telling her that the person wrote with his—or her—left hand. All it said was, “As requested. More to follow.” It wasn’t signed.

  Enclosed with the letter was a list of addresses in Highgate and associated names. Beside the names, a monetary value was clearly indicated, perhaps the worth of the property or what the person owed. Some individuals were given a second number between one and three, which could be the number of owners on each property, she supposed.

  The second letter was very neatly penned, and she assumed it was from a woman. The name on the bottom certainly wasn’t helpful in determining the writer’s sex; it was signed Ser. Again, it was addressed to Nick without his last name. The letter was dated three weeks ago, so she hoped it wasn’t too important.

  This letter detailed the start of new classes in a school and enrollment figures from the first week through to the end of the previous month. There was a note advising Nick that she’d hired Cece as an assistant in her classroom.

  Did Nick own a school too? What an odd choice, considering the rest of the businesses in his conglomerate, which mostly seemed to be properties.

  She stuffed both letters back into their respective envelopes and placed them in a separate stack to carry to the study when she retired for the evening.

  Penning the last address of the evening on the invitations, she wiped off her pen on a cloth, put the lid back on the inkwell, and sat back in the chair to watch the lights grow dimmer outside. Gas lamps began to glow and replace the sun’s light, but it wasn’t enough to blind her view of the cloudy sky. For the first time in a long time, she felt content. And safe. It brought a small smile to her lips.

  She startled when something heavy thudded on the desk in the study.

  She stood from her desk, knowing she should go into the study and make her presence known, but stopped on hearing Huxley’s angered tone. “He has taken a percentage of the profits coming in. Selling merchandise off the ship before it’s logged in our books.”

  Amelia recalled the gossip discussed in the st
aff quarters over luncheon. She shouldn’t be standing in the shadows, listening to their exchange, but the only escape was through the French doors to the balcony. She couldn’t leave without drawing their attention now, so she decided to stay put in the library until they left.

  She hated that she had reduced herself to eavesdropping. She made her way quietly over to the wall of books, took down a volume, and then curled up on the sofa to read, hoping she could tune out the voices and play ignorant, should they realize she was there.

  “He’s already a ruined man,” Mr. Riley said with a finality that left no room for disagreement. Whether the manager of the shipping company had ruined his own name or Mr. Riley had done it for him, she couldn’t say, but she thought perhaps it might be a combination of both. The edge of ruthlessness should have frightened her, but Mr. Riley filled his home with misfits and people in need, which made it difficult to find fault in his character.

  Silence descended for a full two minutes, and she thought her ruse had been discovered, but then they discussed other business matters for almost twenty minutes before Huxley made his excuses and left. The creak of the chair in the second room meant Mr. Riley was also wrapping up his affairs for the night, so she could leave undetected. She held her breath and waited as time ticked by. Why she thought she should have such luck . . .

  A small lamp turned low on the table next to her shed just enough light to allow her to read. So when Mr. Riley walked toward the tall windows, hands tucked in his pockets, she made no sound to give away her position. He wouldn’t have seen her on entering, given the position of the chairs and sofa, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t notice her once he left.

  As she contemplated how to make herself known, Mr. Riley said, “How was your first day?”

  He didn’t turn to face her when he spoke. Would he sack her now that he knew she’d been listening?

  “Quite well.” She cleared her throat delicately as she stood from the sofa. “The staff were welcoming, and Huxley was a font of information as we went through a good third of the paperwork today.”

  Should she apologize for overhearing his conversation? For not making him aware that she was in the library. Perhaps she should pretend not to have heard his conversation at all, but that didn’t feel right.

  “I should have said something when you first came in,” she said.

  He turned around and faced her. She wished she could understand why he affected her the way he did, because not for the first time, she found herself speechless under his intense scrutiny. It was as though he could see right through her and knew her every thought. A silly notion, but one that gripped her every time she was alone with him.

  “I should retire for the night.” Her voice was a whisper that barely filled the silence around them.

  He didn’t respond, just studied her in his silent way for a long moment. Though she had every intention of doing just as she said, she couldn’t find the strength to leave the room. There was so much to be said—about what had happened this morning and how they should move forward from that.

  With a leisured grace and dominant air that should have had Amelia retreating, he approached her. She held her breath until he was but an arm’s stretch from her. She had to put distance between them. What he wanted spoke so intimately in her mind that she knew she would lose herself too soon to this man if she didn’t learn a little self-preservation fast.

  She swallowed against the trepidation building in her throat when she couldn’t find the words she needed to tell him to give her some space. “We cannot repeat what happened between us this morning. I won’t be able to look at myself in the mirror if I lived under false pretense and deception. If we continue on amorally, it will not be long before we are discovered. That’s not a chance I’m willing to gamble on.”

  Suddenly, they were a hand span apart. Mr. Riley caressed the back of his knuckles over her good cheek. “How can I make it any clearer that you’ll be mine in the end, Amelia?”

  Why? Why did he want to pursue her so persistently? And why did she want him to do exactly as he promised?

  She closed her eyes, wishing she could just as easily close off her desire toward this man.

  “I need this job,” she whispered, almost afraid to break the spell that had washed over them.

  “And it is yours. That has never been in question.”

  “Would not your actions be considered taking advantage of your position?” she boldly asked. She snapped her mouth shut, shocked she had even suggested it.

  He surprised her with a calm response. “I might be master of this household, but I am not a master over any person, including you. You will come to me of your own free will and on equal footing, Amelia. I won’t have you any other way.”

  His determination and conviction had her stomach in a flutter. And the feeling wasn’t wholly undesirable. “You sound so sure.” But with every word he uttered, she felt herself inching closer to him, trapped under his seductive spell.

  “I always am when I know what I want.” He stated it as if it was nothing more than fact.

  When his gray eyes ensnared hers, she swallowed hard and held his gaze, believing every word he said. If she stayed, she would succumb to the need and desire burning brighter in her every time she was with him. She would succumb, because his resolve made her want to lean into him—kiss him—and damned be the consequences.

  He reached behind her head and pulled the hairpins free, letting sections of her chignon fall around her shoulders. She supposed she should have stopped him but couldn’t bring herself to do that. She wanted to know what he was about, what game he was playing to try to win her over of her own free will.

  When he was done pulling out the last of her pins, he tucked them in the pocket of his waistcoat.

  “And what would anyone think if they were to see me in such a state?” she asked.

  “I can fix it later.”

  “Later?” she said in a soft, intrigued whisper. What was he doing to her?

  “No one will disturb me in my study during the evening. The place is ours for the night.”

  “I know nothing of you.”

  “What is it you want to know?”

  “Why do you want this?” Why do you want me, was what she’d meant to ask.

  “You remind me of someone I once admired a great deal.”

  “But no longer?”

  “She died a long time ago.”

  Her head tilted back, her lips parted expectantly. “You don’t know me well enough to confess admiration.”

  Mr. Riley’s hand held the back of her head, fingers woven tightly through her hair as though to hold her still, should she try to flee, but she had no such notion. It didn’t occur to her that she should turn away as his mouth lowered to hers. It didn’t occur to her that she should stop him as his lips drew closer and closer to descending upon hers.

  His kiss was gentle and coaxing—it was meant to titillate and persuade her into wanting more. And did she ever want more. He was seducing her slowly and winning over her resolve to remain a professional working girl with every brush of his lips against hers. She was losing herself to this man, and when she thought about it now, that didn’t seem like such a bad thing, at least not while he was kissing her.

  Amelia didn’t care that he hadn’t answered her question. Any protest she wanted to utter as his lips parted over hers was also forgotten, and he sucked the top and then the bottom lip, pulling them between his before repeating the process. She was lost to his touch.

  She should feel great shame for her actions; instead, she felt foolishly prideful at his devoted attention.

  Taking all this to heart, she must never forget her roots or the past that had led her to this particular moment in time. With a force of will that she had thought was all but gone since the first brush of his lips, Amelia found a small vestige of pride for the woman she was raised to be and turned her head away, breaking their kiss and denying the one thing she wanted most right now.
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br />   A ragged breath rushed from her lips. Tightly squeezing her eyes shut, she recalled the last image of her brother, raising his hand against her in anger. That thought alone was enough to douse cold water over the moment, putting her in a palpable chill. She wrapped her arms around her middle as goose bumps rose along her arms.

  Because she denied Mr. Riley her mouth, he pressed his lips to her cheek. His hand was still wound tightly through her hair, but she didn’t try to shake him free.

  “This cannot happen.” To her surprise, her voice didn’t waver, and she could not have been more thankful that she was holding herself together. Losing herself in this man—to any man—was a very bad idea, and she needed to erect walls between them, fast.

  “This will be, Amelia.” He kissed her cheek once more. This time, the press of his mouth was like a brand of ownership being burned against her skin. And she wanted him to brand more than her mouth.

  Knowing he was reluctant to stop—she felt his hesitancy to release her—she said, “I need to retire for the evening if I’m to get an early start on the remaining invitations.”

  Hand sliding away, he let her escape the comfort of his embrace.

  As she turned to leave, he called to her. “Amelia.”

  She couldn’t turn to face him. If she did, she knew she would do more that she would regret come morning. It was time to take charge of her life, of her future, and if she was going to do that, she needed to avoid moments alone with Mr. Riley.

  “Your hair pins,” he said, reminding her.

  She pinched her lips together, angry that she’d forgotten. Where was her mind? She turned back to the object of her deepest affection, but she couldn’t look him in the eye. She might see something there that would draw her back into his arms, and she had to fight her attraction to him. It will pass with time, she told herself. Pass, if she ignored it.

  She held out her hand, hoping he’d relinquish the pins so she could be on her way.