Desire Me Now (6 page)

T
heir breakfast trays had been set on a walnut parlor table in the library. Mr. Riley
removed both lids, revealing steaming mounds of scrambled eggs and mash with a generous
side of sausages. He carried the dishes to a small decorative table that faced the
gardens before turning back to Amelia, offering his arm.

The last thing she should be doing was touching him again after all that had transpired,
but she knew she would look silly refusing his aid when she could barely walk well
enough on her own. He escorted her to one of the chairs, sliding it closer to the
table once she was seated.

“Olive will bring tea up shortly, unless you prefer coffee in the morning,” he asked.

She pushed her fork around on her plate, feeling out of sorts for breakfast when she
had to face Mr. Riley after their heated kiss. “I prefer tea,” she said almost absently.

“As do I. Though coffee after dinner can be quite refreshing.”

His attempt to engage her in simple conversation to put her at ease was working, but
she couldn’t ignore what had happened between them or the fact that they’d almost
been discovered. “Do you think the maids saw us?”

“Is that what has you worried?” He pointedly looked at her food, which she had yet
to take a bite of.

“They might think less of me. And I wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression
as to why I was hired.”

Mr. Riley nodded his understanding at her uneasiness. At her look of confusion, he
added, “There is a creak in the old floorboard at the top of the stairs. I had already
pulled away by the time the second creak sounded.”

“That is not reassuring. They would have sensed something more.” Her face had been
furiously hot, and she hadn’t been able to meet either servant’s eyes as they set
out the food.

“My staff is trustworthy, Miss Grant. They would never whisper a word of their suspicions
if they believed or even suspected something was happening between us.”

Mr. Riley filled his fork with mash and eggs together and ate it with a gusto she’d
never seen a man eat with. He enjoyed food as much as he enjoyed women. That thought
had her forkful of eggs stopped midway between her plate and mouth. How would she
even know or be able to contemplate that?

What basis did she have to know he enjoyed women with
gusto
? Certainly, he was practiced in the art of seduction. It had taken her less than
a day to fall victim to his kiss. These thoughts simply wouldn’t do. She needed Mr.
Riley out of her head, but how could she do that when he sat across from her, watching
her? He was always watching her.

“It does no one any good to start the day hungry.”

She was ready to give him a retort when she noticed the scraping and bruising across
his knuckles, and her words froze in her throat. She dropped her fork and grasped
his hand, pulling it closer and angling it toward the sun coming through the windows.
“This must hurt. Let me ring for one of the maids to bring ice.”

He chuckled and slid his hand from hers. “Nothing I’m not used to. I spent a larger
part of my youth bloody and broken. Fighting paved my path to success.”

She scrutinized him with renewed interest. “You were a pugilist?”

“That colors it too cleanly. More like the fighter you wanted to bet on in the ring.”

The steady stride of someone coming down the hall stopped her from asking more questions.
Was it normal for a man in London to fight for money?

“Good morning,” Huxley said upon entering and taking a seat at the table.

Mr. Riley merely nodded and took another mouthful of his hash and eggs.

Amelia turned to the older man, thankful to have someone else in the room to break
the tension between her and Mr. Riley. “Good day, Huxley. What will you show me today?”

Before he could answer, Mr. Riley said, “Miss Grant is itching to get her hands dirty.
Doesn’t want to get bored taking care of the appointments. Go over the newspapers
and rags with her. Show her what to look for.”

Amelia looked quizzically between the men.

Huxley must have noticed the questions forming on her tongue and said, “Watching the
interests of the company. Verifying any gossip that makes its way through the servants
about certain business partners and other interested parties.”

“You do this every day?” What did they hope to find in the paper that they probably
hadn’t already heard through word of mouth?

“Just double-checking who the parties mentioned are and what activities they are tied
to.” After placing his napkin on his empty plate, Mr. Riley stood.

When she pushed her chair out to follow suit, he rested his hand atop hers, the act
at once possessive and intimate. The look he leveled at her caused the air in her
lungs to stall and her face to heat. That he could affect her with just a look should
have her questioning her sanity in staying in his employ.

Surreptitiously, she glanced over to Huxley, hoping he didn’t see her reaction to
Mr. Riley. He was focused on the untouched sausage on her plate.

“We’re not so formal here,” Mr. Riley said to her. “Enjoy your breakfast before getting
on with your day.”

She gave him a small smile and settled back in her chair, hating that she missed his
touch the moment he stepped away from her. Hating that she didn’t want to lose his
company so soon in the day when only moments ago she was glad for Huxley’s arrival.

“Make sure you find a cane for Miss Grant, Huxley. She shouldn’t be walking around
the house without support.”

Huxley grunted at the request, as his mouth was full with one of the sausages he’d
been eyeing.

When Mr. Riley was gone, she said, “We can arrange for your own plate before we begin
the appointment books.”

“No need; been down to the kitchen already—didn’t want it going to waste.” He pushed
out from the table, assessing her for a moment. “I will find a cane for you to hobble
around on; then we can get started.”

Huxley left to do just that, and it gave her time to think over the events of this
morning. What had she been thinking? Pressing her fingers against her mouth, she swore
she still felt the touch of Mr. Riley’s lips upon hers.

She closed her eyes and tried to banish all thoughts of her employer from her head.
It didn’t work. Instead, she fantasized about having more time alone with him, more
time in his arms before the maids came in with breakfast. Had they had more time alone,
she wondered just how far Mr. Riley would have taken that kiss.

When Huxley returned to the library, he had a gentlemen’s cane. The top was lacquered
black with a band of silver around the base of the handle. As she stood, Huxley held
it out to her. It was a bit tall, but it did make walking easier.

They worked companionably through the morning, sorting all the invitations she would
respond to that afternoon.

“What will you do when I take over the secretary position?” she asked Huxley.

“Mr. Riley needs a trusted man down at the wharf. He owns a strip of land there. Needs
someone to run the operation, as the books are looking funny.”

“Funny, how?”

“Someone thinks they can steal from Mr. Riley’s pocket without being caught.”

She felt as if his words were a warning to her. “How disappointing, considering Mr.
Riley’s evident generosity toward those who work for him. Or so I have noticed since
coming here.”

“He’s a hard man, Miss Grant, and has had a hard life. And the man you see—any man,
really—behind closed doors isn’t always the same man outside his home.”

This comment seemed like a warning, but what was he warning her from? Did he suspect
something more than an employee-employer relationship between Mr. Riley and her?

Truthfully, Huxley’s words could be applied to even the likes of her brother, who
was charming, confident, and a man of the world in a public setting. Behind closed
doors, he was none of those things; he was a monster, bent on harsh cruelty and a
dark hatred that had her living in fear for too long before her escape.

She swallowed those memories, feeling a tremble overtake her hands for the briefest
moment before she tempered her emotions. Squeezing her hands into tight fists, she
met Huxley’s gaze head on.

He assessed her for a long moment, and she wondered if she’d given away something
of herself in her silent contemplation and in her reaction to his words. Her stomach
chose that moment to rumble, saving her from having to offer a response.

Checking his pocket watch, Huxley handed her the cane. “Might as well take lunch.
Everyone wants to meet you.”

Why that surprised her, she couldn’t say. She hoped she wasn’t a disappointment to
the staff or that they saw her as usurping any of their positions by being here. A
silly thought but valid, considering her terrible luck with employment to date.

“And where does the staff convene at this time of day?” she asked, limping out of
the library with the aid of the cane and toward the stairs that led to the lower level.

“They’ll be assembled in the dining hall.” He paced evenly next to her, though she
could tell he was ready to catch her, should her footing not be true.

“How many people are employed by Mr. Riley?”

“Aside from us, four housemaids, a footman, and a cook. As well as the housekeeper
and her son, Devlin, a boy of nine years, and the groundsman who lives above the old
carriage house.”

As they neared the bottom step to the lower level, the noise grew louder around her,
making it sound as though thirty people worked here, not ten. The kitchen hall seemed
to be a very busy place. As she and Huxley stepped into the large rectangular room,
everyone paused and looked up at her. Olive was darning a sock but gave her a big
grin before going back to her work, tying off a stitch.

“This is Amelia Grant, the new secretary who will be tending to Mr. Riley’s direct
affairs outside of the house,” Huxley said by way of introduction.

“Good afternoon,” Amelia greeted them. “I’m pleased to meet you all. I have already
met Olive and Hannah.” Amelia smiled at the two women she’d seen in the library that
morning. Hannah’s deep brown eyes were warm and inviting, her posture comfortable
where she sat at the table, working on fine embroidery at the edge of a pillowcase.

“Nice to be properly introduced, Miss Grant,” Hannah said. Her voice was soft and
accented, and Amelia guessed her native tongue was German. Hannah’s hair was so blonde
that it was almost white, and she wore it pulled back in a neat chignon.

A woman with twinkling blue eyes and a kind smile took Amelia’s hands in her own.
Her skin was smooth and untouched by age, despite her gray hair. “Mrs. Coleman. I
am the housekeeper. Mr. Riley has needed someone in your position for a long time.
We are all so glad to have you join us.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said, not sure how she should respond to the kindness from the
staff.

“My son runs errands, so you’ll meet him over dinner. Devlin is presently out delivering
letters for Mr. Riley.”

While the maids wore gray dresses, Mrs. Coleman’s was a rich, dark blue. The other
two maids, whom she hadn’t met—twins, easily set apart, as one had a scar that slashed
through her right eyebrow and arched around her cheek—stood from the table and in
tandem said, “Jenny” and “Josie.” They were red-haired, robust women who stood a few
inches taller than Amelia, with hands worn and craggy from a life of hard work. Jenny,
the one without the scar, had kinder brown eyes than her sister, as though life hadn’t
been as cruel to her. Both spoke with a soft Scottish lilt.

Amelia dipped her head. “A pleasure.”

“Liam, miss,” a tall lanky boy of no more than twenty years said, extending his hand.
Amelia didn’t hesitate to accept his hand, even though it was not at all proper for
a lady to do. Height alone told her this was the footman. His blond hair was parted
to one side and pomaded tidily in place. An apron covered his uniform, as he was in
the midst of polishing the silver.

A rotund, balding man came forward and clasped his hands on either of her arms, as
if giving her a good measure up. “You can call me Joshua.” He looked her up and down,
the motion made eerie as one eye—made of glass—stayed in place as he did so. “Just
a wee thing you are. Give me a month to fix you up to a better state.”

She wanted to argue that she was perfectly healthy but bit the inside of her cheek.
It was important that she make a good impression. They did all have to live under
the same roof, and Amelia had every intention of befriending each and every one of
them.

She smiled.
New beginnings,
she kept thinking. The staff here were nothing like those at Sir Ian’s. New beginnings,
indeed, and by all appearances, the fresh start she’d intended when she’d arrived
in London.

“It is a pleasure to meet you all. I was lucky to have landed in this position and
couldn’t be more grateful for your welcome and your kindness.”

“How did you end up in Mr. Riley’s service?” Jenny asked. Josie jabbed her elbow into
her sister’s ribs.

Of course they would be curious to know where she came from and what she’d done in
the past. “My fall here was not so glamorous. As that is literally how I met Mr. Riley.”

“Is that the way of it, then?” The housekeeper came around the table and took her
arm, waving off Huxley. “Let me show you where everything is down here, though I’m
sure it’s not much different from the last household where you were engaged.”

“No, not much different from the last.” She kept her smile to herself, since Mrs.
Coleman was referring to the layout and not the situation, which she found to be the
exact opposite of the last place.

“So you fell into service here?” the housekeeper said.

“Did Mr. Riley not tell you he had hired me?”

“He did, but where you came from and how he acquired your services is your own business,”
Mrs. Coleman said. It sounded like a warning that she shouldn’t ask the others how
they’d ended up in Mr. Riley’s employ. She had no problem respecting their privacy,
considering she needed to keep a tight lid on her past.