by Kimberly Nee
Before Martha could prod further, and Katie lost all ability to keep herself from babbling, she marched to the small table holding the silver tea service. The butterflies beating her insides had much bigger wings than usual, judging by the way they hammered against her. Her breath came more quickly and black dots—alternating with silvery flashes of light—danced before her eyes. As soon as she crossed the threshold into the library, she’d see him. For the first time in almost a year, outside of her dreams. She wasn’t at all certain she wouldn’t faint. How would that look? What would happen if she simply dropped to the floor, sending silver and hot water crashing down around her? Perhaps she should have Martha take in the tray after all.
“Katie?”
Katie peered at Martha over her shoulder, the request hovering at her lips. But the words remained there, unspoken, as a low rumble of laughter rolled toward them. The overwhelming urge to step into the room, to lay eyes upon Rafe once more, rose and stepped over the faintness. She just wanted to see him and, on some level, wanted him to see her. What did it matter now? She should just do it and get it over with. Then it would be behind her and everything would come more easily.
With no way to avoid her duty, she squared her shoulders, as best as she could with the tray, and strode into the room, proud of herself when the silver only clinked a little. She marched past everyone gathered there. The women—Lady Marchand, Lady Sally and Lady Edna—sat on the sofa nearest the hearth, while Lord Marchand stood near the fire, chatting with a dark-haired man who was several inches taller. As she passed, she recognized Rafe’s father and held her breath, hoping he didn’t recognize her as well.
He didn’t. His countenance never changed. Thank heavens.
Rafe had his back to everyone, facing the shelves that lined the wall alongside the hearth. Even if she hadn’t already known he was there, she’d have recognized him at once, with his broad shoulders and the shaggy dark hair that curled haphazardly about them. Her hands trembled as she set the tray on the table before the sofa. “Your tea, m’lady.”
“Thank you, Katherine.” Lady Marchand’s voice was airier than usual. She’d put on an air of formality, considering she usually addressed Katie as “Katie” and almost never as “Katherine”.
It was amusing, watching the Countess as she tried so hard to impress the Sebastiano men. Or perhaps this was simply her way of flirting. Katie couldn’t tell.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?” Katie peered up through her eyelashes to see if Rafe reacted to the sound of her voice. Nothing. He was still busy trailing a fingertip over the row of leather-bound tomes on the third shelf. Good. She didn’t care anyway. And that pang in her belly? A bit of undigested luncheon. That was all.
“No.”
Katie set the strainer over Lady Marchand’s cup and poured the tea. By the time she finished filling all the cups, Rafe must have selected his book, for just as she straightened up, he turned and his gaze locked with hers.
At that moment, all the air in the room felt as if it’d been sucked out.
She winced as a muscle in her neck tightened. He had the most mesmerizing eyes she’d ever seen—swirling amber that seemed to change from yellow to brown depending on the light. They reminded her of topaz stones, polished and beautiful. A memory flashed through her mind of those eyes, heavy-lidded with smoky passion, gazing down at her in a darkened room.
Now, for a fraction of a moment, his eyes widened.
At least, she thought they did. It came and went so quickly, she couldn’t be certain, and his face remained impassive and hard. He was looking at her no differently than he had at any of the servants in the Sebastiano villa back on St. Phillippe.
Had she meant so little to him? Could Rafe so easily push a woman from his life and then promptly forget about her?
Her insides twisted sharply. Had he moved on to another bed?
He’d be perfectly within his rights to do so, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.
Don’t think about it.
But it was there, firmly entrenched in her mind—the image of Rafe holding another woman in his arms. Kissing her with those soft, skilled, wonderful lips. Pinning her beneath him as he—
Her hand shook and the teapot clinked loudly against a cup, to which Lady Marchand admonished, “Take care. I’d rather you didn’t break the cup.”
“I beg your pardon, m’lady,” Katie responded automatically, willing her hand still and her thoughts to simply go blank.
“Was this interesting?” Rafe turned to Lord Marchand, holding out the book he’d chosen, and Katie pressed her lips together as she set spoons on each saucer.
“Oh, yes. I think you’ll find this fascinating—” Lord Marchand’s response was swallowed up by the rush of Katie’s blood through her ears. The air in the room was no longer warm and welcoming but felt hot and oppressive, and she wanted only to take her leave.
The passageway was far cooler, more comfortable, and once she rounded the doorway and was out of sight, Katie sank against the wall. She was quite used to being insignificant to most people, but she’d never thought she was insignificant to Rafe. Once, he’d made her feel as if she was the center of his world.
Now she wondered if it had just been her imagination toying with her.
Their time together had been mercilessly short, and Rafe was the sort to have a lady in every port. Which was just as well. The last thing she needed was to lose this job. Work was difficult to come by on the small island. The Marchand family was one of the most prominent, and hers was a coveted position. She didn’t relish the thought of starting over, and if she received a reference at all, it was guaranteed to be a poor one should Lady Marchand catch her dallying with a man who was not only a guest but also Lady Sally’s intended.
Rafe’s lack of reaction still hurt. It might be for the best, but it stung just the same. Her pain only intensified when another rumble of laughter—several rumbles, of varying pitch—rolled their way from the library.
“Well, fine,” she muttered, scowling at the library doors. “I’ve wasted enough time pining for you, Captain Sebastiano. I’m through with all of it.”
“Pining for whom?” Martha asked as she came down the corridor. “They’re going to think you’re going mad, you know, if you keep talking to yourself.”
“Let them. They already wonder about me as it is. Why do they show such curiosity? I’m nothing but a maid.”
“You’re a maid with a shadowy past. And everyone is curious about someone with a shadowy past.” Martha held her hands up, palms out, and wiggled her fingers as if to show smoke. “They all think you’re a long-lost princess, or wife to someone infamous like Captain Morgan.”
“Captain Morgan’s been dead for ages, before I was even born.” Katie shook her head. “I will admit it would be exciting if I was a long-lost princess. I should like an armoire stuffed to the gills with the finest silk and satin and velvet ball gowns, and to wear diamonds and rubies and sapphires just because it’s Wednesday, and never wear the same gown twice. I could get used to that.”
“Girls are still allowed to dream, aren’t we?” Martha tucked a loose curl back beneath her cap. “The bell rang again, but I’ll go see what they need. Mrs. Bates was looking for you, so you’d best see what she wants.”
“Where is she?”
“The laundry.”
The laundry was down below, beneath the kitchen. It was a dark, dank, musty-smelling room, and Betsy, the laundress, was always wrinkled and waxy-looking. Her hands were battered and rough from so much time immersed in water, scrubbing clothes on the ribbed washboard, and chapped from the harsh soap used to get everything clean. It wasn’t Katie’s favorite room in the house. She cast one last look at the library, long enough that Martha nudged her and said, “Mrs. Bates?”
“Right.” It was never wise to keep the housekeeper waiting.
Katie cleared her throat to catch the housekeeper’s attention. “Mrs. Bates? Martha said you were looking for me?”
“Stay right here, Betsy,” said Mrs. Bates, her scowl tight. “We aren’t finished discussing this.”
Betsy nodded, frowning at her outstretched hands. “Yes, Mrs. Bates.”
“Katie, I need you to go above and see to it that the Captain Sebastianos’ chambers are readied. Betsy has just informed me that only half the rooms’ linens were sent up this morning.”
“Why?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Mrs. Bates shot another frosty glare at the laundress, who now stared at something on the floor. “But, since it appears our linens have taken a holiday, this needs to be dealt with at once. I’ll not have either man going to his Lordship because he’d like to go to sleep, only he can’t because his bed is nothing but a bare mattress.”
Katie eyed the huge basket piled high with freshly laundered linens. She hated bed-making with a passion, as it meant wrestling with uncooperative sheets on rather large beds, but since saying no wasn’t an option, she bobbed her head. “Of course, Mrs. Bates.”
“I’ve told Martha to help you as soon as she finishes in the library. Between the two of you, it shouldn’t take too long.” She squinted at the small clock on the shelf above one of the washtubs. “They’ll be along to dress for supper in a bit, so you’d best hurry.”
The basket was every bit as heavy as it looked, and by the time she reached the second floor, where the bedchambers were, Katie was out of breath and sweating as if she’d just sprinted from the beach in the dead of summer. Her arms were rubbery and her muscles burned, and she actually grunted, “Ooof!” as she dropped the basket on the floor.
The linens were still warm from the sun and lightly tinged with the scent of a sea breeze. It was difficult to tell whose room she was in, as the sea chest at the bed’s foot looked neither old nor new, and it was shut, so she couldn’t take a peek at the contents. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of lifting the lid, but thought better of it. Getting caught with an open sea chest would be nearly as bad as being caught dallying with a guest. Both meant one last walk through the kitchen doors, with no hope of ever returning.
Despite being one of her least favorite chores, bed-making did give her mind a chance to wander. Her thoughts bounced from the houseguests to her walk on the beach, to whether or not they’d have pie for dessert. Occasionally, her thoughts made it as far away as Kingston and a handsome bartender with sleek dark skin and a brilliant smile. Then those thoughts leaped back to the houseguest with rougher olive skin and an equally brilliant smile.
“Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you?”
Rafe’s voice came from nowhere, and she spun around, stumbling over the long sheet. He lounged in the doorway, arms folded over his broad chest. Time had neither dimmed nor embellished her memory of him. He still looked every bit as handsome. His dark hair was a little longer, a bit wilder in its curl as it fell about his face, but that was the only difference.
She tried to gather her scattered wits, her mind racing at top speed to keep ahead of him, ahead of her own maddening thoughts. “What makes you think I thought that at all?” she asked, skirting the bed to the far side to smooth the remaining sheet.
“What are you doing here? How long have you been here? I thought you were returning to Jamaica. That was the last thing you said to me. You were going home.” He caught the opposite end of the sheet and pulled. “And you left before I could even try—”
“Plans change.” Her voice was as taut as the sheet they held. She tugged at the linen. “And I really don’t need your help, Captain.”
“I don’t mind,” he responded easily.
She tried to pull the sheet from his grip, only to have him tighten his hold on his end. Her teeth gritted together. “Rafe.”
“What?” His eyes were round with feigned innocence. “I’m only trying to help.”
“Well, stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“That! Stop helping!” She snapped the sheet from his grasp and his end fluttered to the floor. “I can manage just fine on my own, thank you.”
“You could. But it’ll get done faster if you stop being stubborn and let me assist you.”
She tried to snatch the linen away, to ball it up before he could get a hold of it, but she wasn’t fast enough. As he lifted it, she discarded the notion of simply ripping it out of his hands again. What purpose would it serve, to make more work for herself?
“Fine,” she grumbled, tucking her end under the mattress.
“So gracious,” he teased, smoothing the sheet down. She didn’t look at him, but felt his smug grin and had to tamp down the urge to throw a pillow at him. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
She circled the bed, giving him a wide berth, and shrugged as she bent back to her task. “Obviously, I had a change of plans.”
“Why?”
The colorful quilt was next, pulled up to the head of the bed and smoothed flat before she answered. “Because that’s how it worked out.”
“Balboa wouldn’t take you back?” He reached for one of the massive pillows, fluffing it carelessly before tossing it onto the bed.
It might have been her imagination, but his voice sounded hot around the edges. She straightened, hands on her hips, trying to keep her own voice offhand as she asked, “Are you actually angry at me?”
He held her stare for a long moment, his expression still neutral. “No.”
She folded her arms over her chest. The look she gave him was the same one she would use on Balboa’s unruly customers. The one that made said patrons fidget or apologize within minutes. “Well, for someone who isn’t angry, you certainly sound it.”
“Fine. Yes, all right, I am. But I have every right to be as furious as I wish.”
“Oh, is that so? And what gives you that right? I was the mistreated one, wasn’t I?” She unfolded her arms and circled the bed to attack another pillow while she struggled to come up with a properly snappy retort. “From what I recall, you didn’t exactly fight for me to stay, did you? You didn’t fight for me at all.”
“What was I supposed to do?”
“What were you supp—” She caught herself before her voice rose to a shout. “To begin with, you could have stood up for me.” She slammed the last pillow in place and jerked the basket up to jam against her hip. “But you didn’t.” She glanced up at him and lifted her shoulders, as if without a care in the world. “You didn’t.”
A dull flush swept up into his olive skin, but she took no joy in his discomfort. She hated seeing him this way, preferring his more self-assured—downright cocky, at times—side to this one. It was easier to be angry with him when he was cocky.
“I can explain, Katie.”
“You can explain?” She let out a dry laugh. “Is that so? From where I sit, there is no need for an explanation.” She carted the basket to the doorway, where she paused beside him and shook her head. “You had a choice—and I’ll give you it couldn’t have been easy—and you chose your family. There was no reason for me to stay and no reason for me to tell you where I was going. And really, you did me a great favor, Captain Sebastiano.” She forced a smile. “Instead, I’ve come here and made a new life for myself.”
“As a maid.”
She didn’t miss the note of derision in his deep voice, and it only shored up her determination not to soften toward him. Her fingers tightened about the basket’s woven handles. The rough hemp bit into her flesh with sharp teeth, but she ignored it. “Yes. There’s nothing wrong with choosing to be in service, and the Marchand family is wonderful. Lady Sally is k
ind and sweet, and Lady Marchand is a fair employer. I could have done far worse than this.”
“So, you’re happy?” His hand hovered at her elbow.
“Why do you care whether or not I’m happy?” She stepped out of his reach. “It’s no longer your concern.”
As she tried to pass by him, he caught her by the arm. “There’s no need to be nasty, Katie. Of course I care. I don’t want you to be miserable.”
“Then you’re off the hook, because I’m not miserable.” She shook off his hold. “And if you’ll excuse me, I’ve work to do. And I’d wager Lady Sally is eager for you to return to the library.”
She half-expected him to reach for her again, but he surprised her by folding his arms. “Very well. I’m glad you’re happy.”
“Then we can both be happy.” She tossed this over her shoulder as she hurried down the corridor to the senior Captain Sebastiano’s chambers. And “hurry” was the perfect description, for if she slowed down, even a little, she’d be tempted to double back and throw herself at him. She had her pride, but sometimes she’d give it all up just to feel his arms around her one last time. For one last magical night with him.
But he didn’t stop her, and she didn’t halt her stride. By the time she reached his father’s chambers, Rafe’s footfalls had faded into the distance. He’d gone back down below.
Katie realized her hands were trembling, despite her grip on the basket’s handles. Still, she thought she had handled herself perfectly. No scene. No hated tears.
But even as she tried to busy herself with making the bed, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would have melted against Rafe if he’d pulled her into his arms again.
Chapter Four
Lady Sally sat at her dressing table, frowning at her reflection in the glass. “Katie, could you do something different with my hair this evening?”