She swallowed her half-chewed bite of food as she tore her gaze from his strong body and looked him in the eye. She shook her head. In the silence, she took the opportunity to slide off the stool and straighten out her dress where it had folded at her hips.
“You needn’t get up on my account,” Mr. Riley said.
“I beg to differ.” She walked—well, limped—over to the chopping board in the middle of the room and set her sandwich on a cloth napkin. When he continued to watch her every move, she asked, “Is there something you need from me, Mr. Riley?”
He stepped into the room, his presence having a devastating effect on the rate of her heartbeat.
“Many things, Miss Grant. Many things.” He stared at her in a way that had a new awareness skittering across her body and replacing the hunger pangs with something that made her ravenousness for something other than food.
She knew very well that he didn’t require her in a secretarial sense, and she swallowed against the bubble of nerves that gave her goose bumps from the not entirely unpleasant sensation she always felt when they were alone together.
She picked up her cane and leaned into it, partly for support and partly in fear that her jelly-like legs would give out at any moment. “I must meet Huxley at eight tomorrow morning. Unless you would like me to get someone for you.”
“As I was saying”—he walked over to the larder and bent down to one of the lower shelves to pull out a plate wrapped in cloth—“Joshua always prepares extra plates when someone misses dinner.” He set the dish on the cutting block in front of her.
“Are you not hungry?” she asked.
“I ate at the club, Miss Grant. But thank you for your concern.” He pulled the stool over to the table. “I insist you take a seat.”
She did, not out of obedience, she told herself, but because the food smelled heavenly as she unwrapped it, revealing a pie decorated with a rabbit on the top to identify the contents. It was still warm to the touch, and she felt her mouth water; this was a far better meal than the one she’d prepared. There was even a fork tucked along the side of the dish, but she hesitated to pick it up; she put her hand back in her lap. It seemed strange to eat while Mr. Riley watched her. She swallowed against the hunger building in her and tore her gaze from the tasty-looking pastry.
“Don’t wait on my account,” he said.
It was silly to feel nervous around him. But questions had burned on her tongue since the last night they’d seen each other, and only Mr. Riley could shed light on those answers.
She picked up the fork and stabbed it through the pie crust, which was flaky and looked delicious. She took a bite, her mouth melting around the still-warm filling of rabbit, turnip, raisins, and other ingredients she couldn’t distinguish. The pie was sweet and savory at the same time.
While she ate, Mr. Riley watched her with quiet regard. She pushed the plate toward him, wondering if he’d come down here to find an evening meal or if he’d followed her once his guests had left.
He took the fork from her hand and scooped up a bite for himself before handing the empty utensil back to her. She tried not to think of his mouth having been where she now placed hers, but she allowed the utensil to linger in her mouth longer than needed.
When she offered him the fork again, he shook his head.
“I insist you eat your fill.”
She pulled the plate closer and picked through the last half of the pie, feeling more than full but enjoying it too much to let it go to waste.
She wasn’t sure what prompted the question, but she said, “I wanted to ask what you did to your hand.” Mr. Riley didn’t so much as cringe. Perhaps she had assumed wrong on what had caused his cuts. Even now, he unashamedly displayed his bruised and abraded hand in plain sight. And she didn’t pretend she hadn’t seen the damage to his knuckles.
“That, Miss Grant, is a question I believe you do not truly want answered.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because the answer might unsettle you.”
She looked away from him and back down to her pie. She forced herself to take a few more bites. Needing to hear the truth from Mr. Riley’s mouth became imperative, and before she could think better of her question, she blurted out, “Did you have anything to do with Sir Ian’s current circumstance?”
He unfurled his hand and laid it flat on the table as he continued to watch her. More than ever, she needed to know what his involvement had been, though she feared she already knew the answer. Had in fact always known the answer.
“It’s a crime to exert force over those who are weaker than you are. And that so happens to be one thing I cannot and will not tolerate from anyone.” He reached across the table and lightly touched the side of her face with the back of his hand. “If I had something to do with his current circumstance, what would you do?”
Amelia swallowed. Sir Ian had deserved what he got. And thinking that might make her a terrible person, but if someone hadn’t dealt harshly with him, as she presumed Mr. Riley had, Sir Ian might do far worse to the next unsuspecting worker under his care. Though that didn’t explain why was she so forgiving of Mr. Riley when she should be appalled. Because no one had ever stood up for her before now, not even her own flesh and blood.
“I’m not entirely sure what I would do.” She scrutinized him for a moment; there was no denying that he would be much stronger than Sir Ian. “I suppose I would ask why.”
Could you possibly ask a stupider question, Amelia?
“Can you not guess?” he asked.
She could only mentally shake her head at herself. Because he wanted her and had admitted as much. What disturbed her was not that he’d just admitted to Sir Ian’s injuries, but the fact that she was thrilled he’d cared enough to right something that had gone so wrong for her.
She set her fork down, not sure how to extract herself from his company without seeming rude. This man twisted up her thoughts, and she needed to get away from him before she admired him any more than she currently did. He stood and took her plate.
“I can do that,” she said, making her way to her feet too.
“Easier for me, I think.” He disappeared into the next room but was back at her side within a minute. “Let me accompany you upstairs.” It was a friendly offer.
She nodded. She couldn’t very well say she wanted to go alone because he might ask why. And what answer would she give him? Sorry, Mr. Riley, but I’m worried that I will ask you to kiss me again if we don’t go our own ways. That certainly wouldn’t do, so she took his proffered arm and let him lead the way.
He was kind enough to pause at each stair landing to let her sore ankle rest. Who knew three flights of stairs could wind her so easily?
Unable to keep their silence, halfway up their ascent, she asked, “Did you sort out the business with your manager changing the ledgers?”
Mr. Riley’s hand tightened at her elbow. Was he surprised by the question? “Not yet.”
He didn’t expand on that, so she would ask Huxley for an update in the morning. If she was to be his secretary, it would not be in name only. “Mr. Riley.”
“Miss Grant.”
“I think I should make a few things clear.”
Before they cleared the top landing, Mr. Riley backed her up against the wall. An ornate picture frame, at least five feet tall and just as wide, dug into her shoulder and back. He loomed over her, forcing her to tilt her head back to look up at him. She noticed a hint of mischief in his eyes. It was odd that she didn’t feel threatened by his show of dominance.
“What should be made clearer?” he asked.
“My position, for one. I will not be shielded from business dealings. I cannot do my job efficiently or very effectively if I’m not given all the information I require to do my job.”
“Fair enough.” Mr. Riley braced one hand against the wall near her arm and leaned in closer.
“When I ask you a question, I would prefer that you did not skirt around it.”
&
nbsp; “So you want to know what happened to the manager. Nothing, actually. We are waiting to catch him in action.”
“Why, when you already know he has stolen from you?”
“Because I will make an example of him. Stealing is a whipping offense, Miss Grant. I will have the full letter of the law behind me when I deal with him. He is not the first to try to take advantage of me, and he certainly will not be the last, but action taken against him will stay the hand of most men who are on the fence between making the right or wrong decision.”
“Thank you for your honesty.”
“What other questions have I skirted?”
“You are forgiven for anything you have not yet answered, but I want you to be straightforward with me in future. It is only fair, given that we are to work so closely.”
“How close?”
She swallowed, but didn’t duck away from him. She liked his nearness, his dominance.
“If you do not take this opportunity to run from me, Miss Grant, I might do something you will regret later.”
“The last thing I want to do is run from you.” She snapped her mouth shut. Had she really just admitted that to him? Why couldn’t she have said because her ankle hurt too much to attempt the feat? Her breath audibly hitched in her lungs.
“I could think of better ways to make you breathless.” There was so much promise in his words, and it was hard to ignore what he meant. But she had to, or she’d lose her train of thought.
He caressed the back of his hand over her cheek. “After the abuse you have suffered . . . ”
She reached for his hand, bringing it between their bodies, ensuring that she couldn’t step tighter into the circle of his arms as she craved. Her fingers wrapped around his much-larger ones. “It is different between us.” Different from any of her brother’s friends who had made unwelcome advances toward her. “The last thing I feel when I’m with you is fear.”
“I will not hurt you, but I cannot pretend to be a good man either.”
So he could easily break her heart if she allowed this desire to bloom into something more. As long as he was forthcoming about that.
He stepped closer. Close enough to crush their hands between them. Her body trembled at the nearness. She knew she was about to make a monumental change to their relationship, one that might jeopardize their professional relationship—not now, but down the road. And she couldn’t steer herself away from the imminent danger. She didn’t have the wherewithal or the willpower.
His arm snaked around her lower back to pull her forward, and he crushed her pelvis tightly against his, with her skirts pressed up against him and between her legs. She was sure the only reason she was still standing on her jelly-like legs was because his hand was placed possessively over her lower back, holding her up.
“I want your complete surrender.”
She bit her lower lip and swallowed against the lump of nerves sizzling like a slow burn through her whole body. What did complete surrender look like?
Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What if I cannot give you that?” She couldn’t think straight when Mr. Riley surrounded her as he did now. She couldn’t think straight whenever he was even in the same room as she was.
“You will,” he said with conviction.
Her breath froze in her lungs with his declaration that she would be his. If she were honest with herself, part of her wanted him to make that decision for her; maybe she’d regret her actions less that way.
What would it mean to be his?
Before she could find her voice, he kneeled and lifted her into his arms. The action caused the breath to whoosh from her lungs. She knew the right thing to do would be to protest, beg him to put her down. But she couldn’t bring herself to do that.
“Where are you taking me?” she finally managed, though her voice was husky with a need she did not fully understand.
“Don’t worry, Miss Grant.”
He looked at her with those stormy gray eyes and just like that, she was lost. She couldn’t even voice that she wasn’t worried. Not when she felt so safe in his arms. Not when she wanted to be where she was in this very moment and stay there for an eternity before reality crept back in.
“I would never do anything you’re not ready for,” he added.
Those words should have frightened her, brought her back to her senses, or at the very least made her think about what she was allowing to happen. But they did no such thing. She wanted to know what happened when she didn’t run from what she felt for this man.
Shame should burn in her for the feelings bombarding her right now, but the truth was, curiosity won over.
Amelia wanted to give Mr. Riley more than she’d ever given anyone, not because she owed it to him, but because she wanted to explore things with him that she’d never explored with another. She wanted to give him a part of herself she’d never openly shared.
Why now? Why him?
He set her down on her feet just outside her bedroom door. Her hands and arms were tucked between them, and she had no desire to put space between them.
He gave her a chaste kiss on her forehead and stepped away from her. She was feeling weak-kneed and had to lean against her door, or she feared she’d slither right down to the floor.
“Good night, Miss Grant.” He turned away from her, tucking his hands in his pockets as he walked toward his room.
She opened her mouth to call him back, but what would she say? What exactly did she want from him? It was better that he’d left her. She needed to think about what had happened, what she’d almost allowed. She needed to give herself a good shake and wake up from this fairy-tale-like dream she thought she was living.
CHAPTER TEN
When Amelia opened her bedchamber door, it was hard to miss the large ivory box placed neatly at the foot of her bed. She paused on the threshold and turned her gaze to the rest of the room. Nothing else was different, aside from the unmistakable presence of a gift.
The idea of receiving a gift since she and Mr. Riley had come to an understanding of what their future held felt wrong, and it degraded what was between them. Though had they really come to an understanding?
He’d told her that he would have her surrender, and she hadn’t disagreed.
Closing the door behind her, she made her way to the bed. She could ignore the box and worry about it later. She had only come up to her bedchamber to freshen herself up for dinner. The lavender bow around the box was elaborate and perfectly tied. It was smooth and satiny as she pulled it loose. Tentatively, she lifted the lid, and her hand flew to cover her mouth in surprise.
A blush-rose dress was folded neatly inside. A note rested on top of the material. Flipping the heavy parchment open, she read the rough scroll:
Miss Grant,
It would please me if you would join me for an evening out. Jenny will come around to help you ready.
—Nick
Amelia sat heavily at the corner of the bed, fingering the edge of the note. Why had he put her in a position where she’d have to explain what had happened between her and Mr. Riley? She was certain Jenny would want to know why he’d purchased a dress for Amelia at all. What would the staff think of her? Hot shame washed over her face. She should decline the gift and have it returned to Mr. Riley at once.
Reaching into the box, she pulled out the dress. There was a heavy layer of plum pulled into a becoming fall at the base of the back and layered in with the blush. The front was decorated in layers of lace and mauve satin. She laid the dress out on the bed and found a pair of matching pink gloves in the bottom of the box, with a wooden fan trimmed in the same lace as was on the dress. She spread out the fan to reveal a painting of an elegant woman wearing ivory, sitting in a swan-shaped sleigh, with a man pushing her through a snowy backdrop. It was a work of art. And apparently Mr. Riley left no detail untouched.
At the brush of knuckles on her door, she snapped the fan shut and put it back in the box. Jenny popped her head in. “Mr. Rile
y sent me up to have you readied.”
Unable to face the maid’s scrutiny or judgment, she focused on the evidence of Mr. Riley’s gifts spread out over her bed. “I cannot imagine why he should want to take me anywhere.”
“I take it he didn’t tell you all your duties.” Jenny came into the room and stood beside Amelia. Amelia fingered one of the lace bits on the back of the dress that was shaped into a rosette. “You will be there to even out the numbers of a client dinner. I’m glad I have not the tact or elegance you have with language. Cannot much imagine me squeezing into a dress like this and then minding my manners all evening.”
That brought a smile to Amelia’s face. Jenny had a good, kind heart and knew exactly how to ease the doubt that niggled at the corners of Amelia’s mind.
“Not sure how we will style your hair, as you’re to be ready in an hour, but we should at least get you dressed and proper-looking for your role tonight.”
Amelia wanted to ask what role that was, but didn’t have the courage to say it outright. She started to remove her clothes as Jenny walked over to the wardrobe and pulled open the doors. She rummaged through a drawer tucked into the bottom of the cabinet, fishing through the materials and making a mess of the neat stacks Amelia had made when cleaning out the room.
“Found what we need,” Jenny said, revealing a small bustle made with bunches and frills of fabric that would help drape the dress properly at the back.
With Amelia standing in her chemise and corset, Jenny went about securing the bustle around Amelia’s waist. She was dressed and perched carefully in front of her mirror in no time at all.
“Were you a lady’s maid?” Amelia asked.
“My mum was. Spent my youth in a grand house.”
Amelia didn’t ask why Jenny had left the grand house, fearing that it would mean having to reveal something of her own past. “Well, I think you would make a wonderful lady’s maid.”
“Let’s see how you feel after your hair is done. I’m not as accomplished in that department.”
“Why not just pin it up and see if we can find a strand of beads to weave through it?” Amelia suggested.
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