“I need to think about it.” She looked at Samuel and the other men. “I found some clothes from the other servants who had left. They are laid out for you all in the rooms by Anna-Mae’s upstairs. Go change then come down so we can eat.”
Samuel nodded, then led the way, the other men following.
She heaved a heavy sigh. She couldn’t turn Mr. Grayson away, but she couldn’t have him stay. What if Hank came back? Would Mr. Grayson still want to see her brother arrested? Worse, what if he recognized her from those few nights at her office in town? Would he realize she’d been the woman in his arms that he’d kissed so wildly?
Chapter Seven
Grinning like a kid skipping to school, Peter buttoned the shirt Samuel had let him borrow. Peter had seen that look of interest on Miss Cecilia’s face moments after he’d walked in the door soaking wet. After her gaze swept over him, her eyes had darkened, her lips parted...even the tip of her tongue touched her bottom lip. The way she’d assessed him in interest made her very desirable, and he couldn’t wait to get to know her better.
She hadn’t met his stare after that. He and the others moved behind a wall to shuck their duds before hightailing it upstairs to dress in drier clothes. Too bad he hadn’t seen her pretty face during that time. It certainly would have been a heap of entertainment.
Then again, he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. After all, if his plans went smoothly, she’d be his partner until he could buy the plantation outright. By that time, he’d probably be her enemy. His gut clenched. He didn’t want that to happen. Upsetting pretty ladies wasn’t something he liked to do.
He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on a servant’s worn brown boots. By the looks of them, the man hadn’t been paid very well for quite some time. Peter shook his head. The plantation was probably worse off than he’d first thought. Hopefully, he could turn it around and make it the thriving piece of land it’d been before Granddad had died.
The wind rattled the windows, drawing his attention to the faded yellow curtains. He frowned. This room used to be his favorite. It had belonged to one of the older servants, Josephine, who was more like an older sister than his grandma’s maid. During wild storms, the cousins would run to Josephine’s room, and she would calm everyone down by telling them stories about fairies.
He chuckled. Sometimes he’d come to the room with his brother, Matthew, to hear them, too. Josephine could really tell a story. Her eyes would grow large, and she’d lower her voice during the scary parts. He and Matthew always wanted to act brave, but Peter had to admit sometimes he’d be too frightened to return to his room.
He grinned. Ahhh...good memories.
Stretching his arms over his head, he held back a yawn. A small pain pierced his side, and he grimaced. How could he forget his wound so soon? His injury ached almost as much as when he’d broken his leg back at Pa’s ranch. During those weeks, the sheriff was trying to find the man who had killed Matthew.
Peter shook his head, trying to release the heartache. Now, he’d sooner move on with his life and start new. It didn’t hurt as much.
The cotton fabric of the shirt tightened across his arms and chest, the buttons pulling apart between each one. He grumbled. The shirt was too small. Peter stood and glanced down at his pants, and a laugh bubbled from his throat. They were at least three inches shorter than his legs. The blasted material fit this part of his body like a coat of paint. But at least they were dry.
As he scrubbed his fingers through his damp hair, he pushed the bulk away from his eyes. He needed a haircut, but he didn’t want to waste his precious money on something as mundane. Turning this plantation around was top on his list, and he planned to see it making money by the end of the harvest.
He left the room, stepping as quietly as he could down the hallway. There was only one place he wanted to go now.
His room—the very room he’d occupied during his visits here.
Taking careful steps, he snuck down to the second floor. He stopped. Listened. Nothing, so he proceeded.
The third door on the right from the end of the hall led to his old bedroom, and he stopped in front of the entrance to wipe his moist palm on the borrowed pants. His mouth had dried, and a knot of anticipation the size of Texas lodged in his throat.
He rested his hand on the knob and put his ear against the door. All remained quiet inside, so he turned the handle. His heart hammered against his ribs and threatened to destroy the serenity of the moment.
A shadowy room greeted him. So did a familiar scent. He leaned in farther and took a deep inhale. Lilacs. He grinned. Miss Cecilia’s room.
How fortunate.
Heavy steps boomed on the stairs. He scanned the hallway, looking for a place to hide. Glancing inside the room, he shrugged. No place better than a darkened room.
He slid inside and softly closed the door. Voices of the other servants echoed through the hall. It could have been Jeremiah and Kane. He waited, but Samuel and Leroy’s voices didn’t follow.
Leaning against the door, Peter let out a relieved sigh. Shadows surrounded him, but as he blinked, shapes gradually appeared in the form of a large, bulky bed, piled with pillows. He rolled his eyes.
Women.
Then more objects became clearer. A few heavily cushioned chairs, dressers, and armoires, and even a vanity with a stool were also in the room.
Another scent in the air tickled his nose. He pinched the end of it to keep from sneezing.
Dust?
Why did this room smell like it’d been vacant for a while?
Moisture gathered around his neck. He swiped his fingers between the collar and his skin. Cursed weather! Now he almost missed the freezing temperatures from Montana’s winters.
Lightning flashed, brightening the room for a moment, and he moved his attention to the window. An image from years past touched his memory. It was on a night like this. A memory of Elizabeth, an older cousin, popped into his head.
He let out a chuckle. He’d caught her trying to sneak out the window one night to meet her beau. Being the teasing cousin, he’d threatened to tattle. She couldn’t persuade him otherwise. In the end, he’d only pretended to tell Grandma, and Elizabeth thinking he did, opened her mouth and let the truth fly out. He shook his head. Grandma had punished her afterward. Elizabeth hadn’t spoken to him for a month after that.
A loud noise from down the hall jerked him back to the present. Samuel and Leroy’s voices echoed on the back stairs. Peter’s heart sank. He’d better hightail it downstairs before Miss Cecilia became suspicious. Couldn’t have her doing that. Not before he put his plan into action.
EMBERS POPPED IN THE fireplace, cracking the piece of wood in half. Cecilia stirred the fire with a poker, heat scorching her skin almost as bad as boiling molasses. Hopefully, the forthcoming storm season would cool things off just a touch. Of course, standing by the fireplace didn’t help matters, either.
She turned away and arranged the wet clothes on the back of a chair. His clothes. Her heart fluttered, and she placed her hand on her chest, wishing she could control the palpitations.
Trailing her fingers over his shirt, she closed her eyes and remembered the way the material had molded to his muscular and tan skin...skin that had been like Heaven to touch while he was laid up in her office.
She blinked her eyes open and swallowed the cotton dryness lodged in her throat. Why did she act in such a way? Why couldn’t she think of him as her patient now?
Right now she wasn’t Doctor Copeland, but the very lonely mistress of Belle Grove. She was also the determined mistress, and she wouldn’t let the handsome stranger distract her.
She hurried away from the fireplace and stood in front of a window, but the heat from the room still burned inside her. The windows rattled against the storm, and she pressed her hand on the pane. Now would be a good time to go outside and let the rain soak her. That might be the only thing that would cool her down.
Footsteps clamoring on the se
cond floor pulled her gaze upward. The men would be down for supper soon. She walked into the kitchen and prepared the table for the evening meal. What would she say to Mr. Grayson while they ate? How could she act as if she’d never seen him before, touched him, been held in his strong arms, or kissed his tempting lips?
A sense of longing heated her face, and she waved her hand to circulate some cool air against her warm skin.
Boisterous voices from the servants’ stairs drew her attention to the entryway. Her heart knocked against her corset and threatened to bust it open. She anticipated seeing Peter...um, Mr. Grayson again, but when only Kane and Jeremiah came into her view, her heart rate slowed.
“Somethin’ sho smells good, Miz Celia.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Kane. It’s just stew.” She moved to the stove. After dipping the ladle in the pot, she poured it into a bowl and handed it to him.
Kane nodded, his stare on the food. “Thank ya kindly.”
Beside him, Jeremiah rubbed his hands together and took a deep breath. “Umm. After a hard evenin’ like we’ve had, I’m so hungry I could eat a bear.”
She laughed and dished his stew in a bowl. “Sorry to disappoint you. It’s only vegetables and venison.”
He smiled wide, displaying a few crooked teeth. “That’s okay, Miz Celia. I’ll eat it anyways.”
“Are Samuel and Leroy coming? And Mr. Grayson?”
“Yassum, Miz Celia. They’ll be comin’ soon.”
Within minutes, Samuel and Leroy rushed into the kitchen, stopping short when they saw her by the stove. Samuel’s grin widened. “Ya made yer mouth waterin’ stew again, didn’t ya?”
She handed him his filled bowl. “Yes, I did, and thank you, Samuel. Flattery will get you a second helping, if you’re not careful.” She picked up Leroy’s and passed it to him. Her gaze swung in the direction they came. “Where’s Mr. Grayson?”
Leroy shrugged. “Suppose he’s still changin’.”
Nodding, she turned back to the pot of stew. She swirled the wooden spoon around, waiting for the sound of his footsteps. Nothing. Her heart’s rhythm pounded in anticipation, and as each second passed, it grew. If her heart failed her now, it would be his fault.
The top stair squeaked. She stilled, except for her eyes, which shifted to the servants’ entry. A few more steps creaked. She held her breath. Finally, a boot materialized, then another. Long legs came into view. The rest of him filled the small space of the entry. His borrowed clothes fit at least two sizes too small and clung to every hard plane and muscled valley. She gaped, but she couldn’t help herself. Sighing, she moistened her dry throat with a swallow and lifted her eyes to meet his.
He smiled. “Hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
Breathing slower, she calmed her quick heartbeat. “Of course not, Mr. Grayson.”
With shaky hands, she dished his stew into a bowl. He neared, which made her limbs quake, and she silently cursed the effect he had on her. Why, she’d never been like this as the doctor. Even after he’d kissed her. Perhaps because she dressed as a woman now and didn’t have a mustache and beard to hide behind.
Clutching the bowl, she swung to pass it to him, but bumped into his outstretched hands. Warmth from his skin sparked a fire in hers. She inhaled sharply, biting her tongue from the sigh that wanted to follow.
“Here, let me take that from you, Miss Cecilia.”
His large hands cupped the bowl. His fingers brushed hers before he took control of the dish. When he stepped back, she released her breath with deliberate slowness.
How long she’d stood there staring at his hands, she didn’t know, but when he cleared his throat, she raised her gaze to his dark eyes. His intoxicating stare held her mesmerized. Once again, her heart lodged in her throat, making it impossible to swallow.
“Thank you kindly, Miss Cecilia.” His dark eyebrow rose. “Are you going to join us at the table?”
She forced her attention to move elsewhere...anywhere but on him. She looked at the table. The other servants watched her with wide eyes.
She smiled. “Um, no, thank you.” She glanced back at Peter. “I’ve already eaten.”
Peter moved to the table, and she latched her gaze to the immodest display of his snug clothes. Her cheeks burned, and she spun back to the stove. Silently, she cursed. Stop it!
She breathed deeply, trying to grasp even a portion of control.
She didn’t focus on what the men at the table discussed, only the deep timbre of Peter’s voice. Tingles of excitement danced over her skin and made her stomach flutter. She squeezed her eyes closed and said a silent prayer. How could she stop her body’s reaction? She wasn’t even looking at him, and she still became flustered. Perhaps she had become ill after all.
“Miss Cecilia?”
She snapped out of her thoughts and twisted around. Once again, all eyes rested on her, but Peter’s hazel eyed stare was where she focused. “Yes?”
He wiped the corner of his mouth with the linen napkin on the table. He’d definitely been raised a gentleman.
“I just wondered if you have thought any more about what we discussed earlier.”
She cocked her head. “And what was that?”
“About me working for you.”
Oh, yes. The deal. She folded her arms and walked toward the table. “Actually, I have, Mr. Grayson.” She glanced at Samuel, whose wide eyes practically begged her to keep Peter on.
“And?” Mr. Grayson asked.
She stopped across the table from him. “I would really like you to work for me. It seems you know quite a bit about the cane field.”
“Yes, Ma’am, I do. I spent plenty of summers helping my granddaddy on his sugarcane plantation. And when I wasn’t there, I was at my family’s cattle ranch. I’m not shy to hard labor.”
She nodded. “I recall you mentioning that when I met you out in the fields earlier.”
He placed his spoon on the table and leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his muscular chest. “I’ve noticed there are a lot of tools needing to be replaced. I’d like to help you, Ma’am. You have a very large piece of land that could produce a lot of sugar. If managed correctly, you could be a very wealthy woman.”
She licked her dry lips. When his gaze dropped there, she realized the error of her action. She swallowed and straightened her shoulders. “Before my parents died, the land was very productive. Unfortunately, my brother and I have fallen on hard times. As you have noticed—” She motioned with her hand toward the table. “These are my only servants.”
Beside Peter, Samuel nudged his arm. “’Cept for my ma who’s gone to N’Awlins. She’ll be back any day now.”
Cecilia smiled at Samuel, silently saying a prayer of thanks that Anna-Mae didn’t find another job elsewhere. “Yes, Anna-Mae is a godsend.” She cleared her throat. “But what I’m trying to say, Mr. Grayson—”
“Please, call me Peter.”
She hitched a breath. Dare she be so informal? Then again, he would be her servant soon, after all.
“Fine...Peter.” She nodded. “But working here will be very exhausting. You’ll be required to do the work of ten men, just as these other men do.”
“I understand that, Ma’am, and I’m still willing to help.”
She shrugged. “I know it’s a lot, but—”
“Miss Cecilia? Do you want me or not?”
His intoxicating hazel eyes bore into hers, almost melting her to the floor. Want him? Lord knew she certainly needed him. “Peter, why do you want to purchase tools for the plantation?”
“The way I see it, you need help to make this plantation prosperous again.”
“I do, but it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to purchase our tools.”
He grinned. “You’re not asking. I volunteered.”
She fisted her hands, her nails tempting to spear her palms. Where had he gotten the money? Perhaps she’ll never know.
He leaned forward in his chair. “Please, Miss Cecilia.
I really need this job.”
She nodded. “You can stay with the others in the servants’ quarters by the mill.”
“That’s fine.” A grin touched his mouth, and his whole body relaxed.
Her heart skipped a beat. Why did he look at her that way? Why did his eyes smolder the longer his lips stretched in a smile?
“Thank you, Miss Cecilia. I won’t let you down.”
He leaned forward and scooped his spoon into his bowl, lifting a heap. His eyes stayed on hers when he shoveled it into his mouth. She tightened her lips to keep from copying his actions.
“Hmm...” He closed his eyes and patted his stomach.
Trickles of pleasure moved inside of her from the depth of his voice. She pressed her clenched hands against the fluttering in her belly.
He looked at her. “Very good stew, Ma’am. Fine as cream gravy.”
She chuckled. “Thank you, Peter. It’s good to know I haven’t lost my touch.”
He paused, his eyes narrowing down at the food. “In fact, it tastes familiar.” He scratched his head. “I think I’ve tasted this before.”
Her heart dropped to the floor, and she lost her breath. She’d made it for him while he’d recovered at her office.
Oh, no!
Chapter Eight
Peter swallowed the delicious mouthful of food, his attention never leaving for very long the beautiful woman standing across the table from him. Familiarity nudged the corner of his memory, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out where he’d tasted the stew before. It didn’t matter. The longer he stared at Cecilia, the more the thought of food disappeared and different ideas popped into his head. Images of her in his arms, her mouth crushed against his in a heart-pounding, desire-stirring kiss.
It’d been a while since he wooed a true lady, and anticipation made his heart pound with excitement. He swallowed again, mainly to moisten his suddenly dry throat.
She turned away, and the contact was broken, but he couldn’t keep his gaze from roaming over her length. Although very slender, she still had womanly curves men like himself enjoyed admiring. The coffee-colored dress emphasized her brunette hair, and the humidity had made the short ends along the side of her face curl and cling to her cheekbones. The black netting covering the bulk of hair at the base of her neck was at an awkward tilt. Her ocean blue eyes were the prettiest he’d ever seen. Sometimes narrowed in suspicion, other times wide and curious, but they still glittered like sun touching water on a calm day. Unbelievably mesmerizing.
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