by Regina Scott
His heart had nearly stopped when she had stormed into the room, head high. It had nearly leaped from his chest when he thought for a moment she had recognized him. But she had sent him about his tasks, and for that he had to be thankful. Miss Collins was a delicious distraction, but he had other plans.
He had, however, developed a greater respect for her abilities. He was amazed at the number of details the party entailed, and how many of them had been completed in a relatively short time. According to Mr. Lloyd and the others, the feat was entirely the work of one Miss Katherine Collins. Now, with the guests due to arrive in a few hours, there were no confused directions, no sense of panic or even anxiety. People knew their duties and did them promptly. The food that was cooking smelled delicious; the decorations were delightful. He could almost regret he was going to miss the event.
He changed his opinion that afternoon. Bixby cornered him as Alex helped Mr. Lloyd lay out the silver.
“You there, fellow. You seem to have some muscle. Come with me.”
Mr. Lloyd stepped helpfully forward. “If I may, Mr. Bixby, I need James here. Perhaps one of the others…”
Bixby frowned, looking down his long nose and drawing himself up to his full height. “Do you have a particular preference for this fellow, sir?”
Around him, the other footmen exchanged glances. Alex met the gaze of his so-called employer. He could not risk discovery. Mr. Lloyd must have read the message, for he drew himself up as well. “Certainly not! I simply do not like having my people commandeered.”
“You will like less the report I give Miss Collins if you are uncooperative,” Bixby informed him, making the man blanch. “Now, come along, James, is it? I haven’t got all day.”
Alex followed him upstairs to the familiar withdrawing room. Bixby waved a hand to encompass the settee, chairs, and side tables.
“Miss Collins has determined that this room would be more suitable for the dancing,” he explained. “Move all the furniture to the walls and roll up the rug. I’ll bring the polish.”
“By myself?” Alex asked, glancing at the many pieces of furniture.
Bixby raised a brow. “Is there some problem, James? I assumed a strapping fellow like you would be used to hard work. Is there some reason I should exempt you?”
A disinclination to maim myself? That would hardly do. The other footmen did their tasks and said nothing. He had to play the role if he was to get his answers. He dropped his gaze. “No, Mr. Bixby. I’ll ’op right to it.”
It took him over an hour to finish the task. He tried to slip away twice to continue his quest, but once he ran into Bixby and the other time Miss Collins. The butler had merely scowled, but Alex’s sprite had eyed him with a raised brow as if she began to suspect he was not the footman he appeared. He hurried back to the room and threw himself into his work to prove otherwise. Finally, when he could see his face in the walnut flooring, he rose to stretch cramped muscles. Turning to go, he met Miss Collins once again.
He thought she might praise his work, but she merely glanced around the room and sighed. “Still not enough room. It simply will not do. Put it all back.”
“Back?” Alex stared at her.
She frowned, and he remembered to drop his gaze humbly. “Yes, back. I apologize, James, I did not realize you were hard of hearing.” She raised her voice and moved her hands in pantomime. “Put it back!”
“I’m not…” Alex began, but Mr. Bixby appeared in the doorway.
“Is something wrong, miss?”
“Yes,” she replied with a sigh of regret. “Apparently poor James here is hard of hearing. I was asking him to return the room to the way it was. It will not do for the dancing after all.”
“Ah, very well then.” Now Bixby too began to shout. “There you are, James! Miss Collins wants you to put it all back!”
“So I heard,” Alex quipped as they left him to his task.
The rest of the afternoon was no better. He no sooner finished the room than he was hustled off to sweep the front step. He felt hideously exposed as people strolled past, but no one made any remarks or even looked curious. Perhaps servants really were invisible unless they called undo attention to themselves. He felt sufficiently encouraged to try once more to break away for the upstairs, but Bixby cornered him neatly and set him to carrying tubs of water to the second floor so that Miss Templeman could arrange flowers.
Neither did he have a moment after that. He polished windows and shined silver. He rubbed oil in newel posts that already looked shiny to him. He carried Miss Templeman’s arrangements to the sitting room and placed them no less than six times as Miss Collins uncharacteristically dithered about where they would show to best advantage.
His eyes burned from the perfume of the flowers and the tang of the lemon polish. His fingernails were broken and discolored. His muscles ached, and he seemed to have developed a permanent cramp in his right shoulder. Still, he did not have an opportunity to search the upper floors. He decided to make one last try after dinner when the family would be changing. It wasn’t until he sat down with the other servants for some well-deserved dinner of his own, however, that he began to suspect they were on to him.
He had barely taken a grateful bite of the savory stew the housekeeper Emma served the visitors when Katherine burst into the room, eyes convincingly wide in panic. They all rose.
“Mr. Lloyd,” she cried, “the musicians are here. I completely forgot about erecting a platform. I must have assistance. Give me James.”
Mr. Lloyd was obviously resigned to the popularity of his new employee. He sighed. “But of course, miss.”
Alex wanted to argue. The smell of the stew set his stomach to growling. But they were all looking at him expectantly. He had no choice but to follow her out.
“This way!” she shouted, waving a hand toward the yard. He almost corrected her again but decided it wasn’t worth the argument for the few more moments he intended to be in her presence. Following her, he found himself in an old carriage house. She motioned to the wall, where rested a set of large oak planks that had probably been used to raise the carriage of the previous owners for repairs. “See those?” she shouted. “Carry them to the house!”
He frowned, moving closer to eye the boards. They were heavy and dusty. “I think we’d do better with a couple on men.”
She moved to lay a hand on his arm. “Oh, James, I am certain you can handle these yourself.”
Inadvertently he met her gaze and saw the merriment in her grey eyes. She was laughing at him. She knew! Had she intended him to earn the blisters he could feel on his palms? Well, two could play at this game. If she wanted to watch him work, he’d be happy to oblige. He stepped politely back.
“Mayhap you’re right, miss,” he said humbly. “But ‘twould be a real shame to ruin Mr. Lloyd’s fine livery.” He began to unbutton the coat.
“What are you doing?” Was it his imagination that she seemed a bit breathless?
“Removing my coat, miss. To lift something so heavy a fellow needs room to move.”
She backed away from him as he pulled off the coat. He held it out to her, and she snatched it from him. “I’ll wait in the house,” she snapped, backing toward the door as if she could not take her eyes off his white shirt.
“What?” he shouted, unbuttoning his cuffs to roll them up. “Did you say something about going out, miss? Please don’t leave me. I need you to point out the way to go.”
“Now what are you doing?” she all but gasped as he removed his cravat and opened the top button of his shirt. She stared at him, obviously fascinated. He flexed his muscles as if in a stretch, and her eyes widened. Hiding a grin, he bent to heft the timber onto his shoulder.
“Lead on,” he told her.
She skittered out of the carriage house as if the building were on fire. He followed her into the house and up the stairs to the sitting room, where he set the plank down. There were no musicians in sight. Instead, conspicuous under the windows w
as a neat platform draped in white.
“Fancy that,” he said. “You didn’t need this after all. Maybe you’d like me to carry it back down for you.”
“Yes, perhaps that would be best,” she agreed, swallowing.
He bent to pick up the beam and paused, then rose, staring at his shoulder. “Now look there. I’ve gone and dirtied my shirt. Perhaps I should remove that as well, before I get more dust on it.”
She swallowed again. “Yes, perhaps you should.”
The minx. She was still enjoying herself. He rolled his shoulders and watched her catch her lower lip with her teeth. And such a nice lower lip it was, rounded, rosy, tender. Before he knew it, he closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms.
Her kiss was as sweet as he’d expected, her breath a soft whisper against his mouth. Her curves nestled into him as if designed to fit his body. He reveled in the feel of her, until he felt her hands push against his chest. He raised his head.
“Are all footmen so bold?” she murmured, eyes wide.
“Only when their mistresses are so very desirable,” he promised.
“Mistress!” She gasped and pulled hastily away. “I am not your mistress, Lord Borin, in any sense of the word.” She threw his coat at him.
He caught it neatly. “No, you are not,” he agreed, shrugging into it. “And that kiss was all the payment I need for the near slavery you put me through today.”
“If you pretend the role of footman, my lord, you cannot be surprised when you are asked to play the part.”
“And when you send your staff to spy on me, you cannot be surprised when I retaliate in kind.”
She paled. “There was nothing nefarious about my actions. If a man shows interest in my stepsister, should I not make sure he is a gentleman?”
“Your stepsister? I showed no interest in her. I only arrived at your door because you chose to spy on me. Do you care to explain?”
She stepped up to him and put a hand on his chest. Though the coat lay between them, he fancied he could feel the gentleness of her touch.
“My guests will be arriving shortly,” she said. “I cannot explain as I should. Will you wait on us tomorrow, my lord, say three o’clock? I promise to tell all then.”
Could he trust her? Those upturned grey eyes were deep with unspoken emotions. He thought he saw regret, concern, interest, and desire. Were any of them true? Or was this still a game she played? The only way to know was to take her up on her offer.
“Very well,” he said. “We will speak of this again, tomorrow.”
Chapter Eleven
Katherine wasn’t sure how she made it through the rest of the evening. She smiled and danced and talked of commonplaces with her guests as if nothing had happened. Her body miraculously kept functioning when she was certain she had left her heart in Lord Borin’s hands.
Oh, but his kiss had been wonderful: Warm, filling, heady. Why should that surprise her? From the beginning she had thought him a magnificent specimen of manhood. Why would his kiss be any less magnificent?
What she hadn’t expected was her reaction. She had chosen him for Constance after all. It was a logical, dispassionate choice. He had face, fortune, and family to recommend him. She hadn’t involved her own preferences in the equation. Why then did her heart beat faster when he took off his coat, her face heat when he bared his arms? Why did her mind persist in wondering whether the rest of him was so marvelously strong and supple? Why did her hands itch to smooth over that bare skin or stroke the golden hairs that peered from the V of his open shirt? She certainly shouldn’t revel in the way their bodies melded together or their lips meshed. Above all, she shouldn’t lose herself in his kiss, wishing never to part.
But she’d done all those things and more, and she very much feared she’d do them all again given the opportunity. She did not know whether he was merely flirting or whether he too felt the stirrings of something more powerful. Either way, these feelings could spell their doom. Constance must marry, and Lord Borin was not only the perfect candidate, but the only man in whom she’d shown interest. They didn’t have time to wait for someone else to appear.
Constance was, of course, disappointed when Lord Borin did not attend the ball. Given Katherine’s discovery of him, she realized he could hardly make an appearance. In fact, he had left after promising to call on the morrow. When next she saw him, she would have to go carefully. Simply explaining would likely wound his male consequence. Perhaps she should paint Constance as a poor waif. Some fellows seemed to like to play the knight-errant. She could almost see Lord Borin in the role. For now, she had to make his excuses to her stepsister.
“He sent word of some unexpected exertions during the day,” she told Constance. “No doubt it had something to do with a horse or his boxing. He said he would call tomorrow.”
To her relief, Constance did not press her. She seemed satisfied that he would be calling. Katherine attended her through the party and then made several arrangements before retiring to bed. She wanted to be ready when the viscount called.
He arrived promptly at three. Gone were all traces of the gangly, fat-cheeked footman. He was his usual handsome self in a cinnamon coat of wool superfine and tan trousers. He bowed to her and Constance. She didn’t think it her imagination that he seemed disappointed that he was not to meet with her alone. He would simply have to wait. Constance must have her time first.
“We missed you last night, my lord,” her stepsister murmured with a flutter of her golden lashes.
“I regret that I could not attend,” he replied graciously. “But I am certain you had any number of admirers to keep you busy.”
Katherine watched as Constance simpered.
“You are too kind,” her stepsister murmured. “There were a number of gentlemen in attendance. Mr. Whattling asked after you, and I am certain Mr. Wardman would have if he hadn’t been smitten with Katherine.”
Katherine felt herself blush at the reminder of how the slender Mr. Wardman had puffed his way through no less than two country dances with her.
Alex smiled. “Yes, I have noticed your stepsister has that effect on people.”
Her cheeks felt even hotter, but she refused to acknowledge his compliment. He waited a moment, then, apparently realizing she would not speak, he engaged Constance once more in discussion of the party. Katherine sat quietly as they continued to converse about commonplaces. As she had planned, Eric poked his head into the room a few minutes later, and she nodded. He squared his shoulders and marched into the room, bowing before the viscount, who raised a brow.
“Lord Borin,” Katherine said. “May I present my brother, Eric Collins?”
Alex rose and bowed before shaking her brother’s hand. Her heart could not help but warm at how seriously he took Eric. “Mr. Collins, a pleasure, sir.”
“Your servant, my lord,” Eric responded with equal formality. “And may I say you have a smashing set of blacks. They look to be real goers.”
“What an excellent judge of horseflesh you are, Collins. They are my personal favorites in my stables.”
“Tattersalls?” Eric asked.
“But of course.”
Her brother puffed out a wistful breath. Katherine had to jerk her head to encourage him to continue with the plan they had set. He grimaced as if recalling himself. “Sorry to intrude. May I borrow my stepsister? My uncle has need of her.”
Constance frowned, rising. “Now? How odd. Excuse me, Lord Borin. I promise to return shortly.”
Eric looked as if he would like to return as well, but Katherine shook her head once, and he deflated. She breathed a sigh as they left the room.
“Another subterfuge?” the viscount asked. “Was that necessary?”
“I fear so. You see, my stepsister has no knowledge of what I did. And I prefer to keep it that way.” She took a deep breath and hurried on. “I would like your word as a gentleman that you will never tell anyone what I am about to divulge.”
&nbs
p; He sobered as he reseated himself. “You have my word, Miss Collins.”
She took another breath and went on to explain the situation with Lord Templeman and Constance. She tried to paint the picture of Constance in need, desperate, searching. Watching him, she saw no signs that she had succeeded in touching his heart. His jaw remained tight, his eyes bright and passionless.
“So you see,” she concluded, “I was left with no choice but to find her a suitable husband.”
“Certainly I see your concern,” he replied, “and I applaud your interest in caring for your stepsister. Perhaps, however, you should simply ask the next gentleman his intent rather than following him about.”
The next gentleman. He did not understand. Why could he not see Constance’s worth? “I am certain you are correct,” she told him, “but I fear there will be no other gentleman. At least, not in time.”
“I am sorry for your problem, my dear, but I will not sacrifice myself for your stepsister.”
“But why is it such a sacrifice?” she pressed, perplexed. “You could not ask for a lovelier bride or a more devoted one. And her fortune is huge.”
“I will not enter into a debate over Miss Templeman’s merits. Suffice it to say that I am as finicky in my bride as your stepsister is in her groom. I will help you in any other way I may, but I cannot marry Miss Templeman.”
All that planning, wasted! She could hear the determination in his voice. He would never submit now. His precious male consequence was more wounded than she had guessed. Men were entirely unreasonable once they reached that state, she knew from experience. Her disappointment must have shown on her face for he reached out to pat her hand.
“There now, Miss Collins. It is done. No more secrecy between us. You can call back the fellow you’ve had following me the last few days.”
Katherine started. “Someone else has been following you?”