Desired by a Lord (Regency Unlaced 5) (3 page)

Unfortunately, she was also the closest thing Xander had found to a diversion from his boredom in months. “You may stay.”

Her teacup clattered as she attempted to return it to the saucer, having been in the process of lifting it to her lips to take a sip when Xander made his pronouncement.

She carefully placed the teacup and saucer back on the silver tray before answering him. “I may stay?”

He nodded abruptly. “You may.” He might have cause later on to regret that decision, but for the moment, he was prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt.

She eyed him curiously. “Why, my lord?”

Xander frowned as he put his own cup down on his desktop. This, the mistrust in those wary green eyes, was what he received in return for feeling charitable? “Do you want the position or don’t you?” he demanded icily. “Because I am sure there are plenty of your husband’s peers who—”

“I want the position,” Emily hastily interjected. “I was merely surprised at the suddenness of your decision. But yes, my lord, of course I wish to catalog the library here. My late husband spoke very highly of it.”

Whitney gave a hard smile. “I have no intention of letting you loose on the Whitney Library until I am assured of your ability. My late father may have allowed the estate and library to deteriorate these last fifteen years, but I do not intend to let you or anyone else add to that disarray.”

This man was too mercurial in temperament for Emily to be able to keep up with his conversation. “But you just said—”

“I said you may stay,” he drawled. “But you must first prove to me you can do the work before I will allow you to so much as touch any of the priceless books in my library.”

Emily was even more confused. “And how shall I go about doing that?”

“With those books there.” He nodded to the wall of his study behind her, stacked with heavily laden bookshelves. “Prove to me you can bring order to those, and I may consider allowing you to continue into the library.”

Emily’s heart sank as she glanced along the bookshelves and saw, from the titles, these tomes were mainly to do with farming and livestock. A subject about which she knew absolutely nothing.

But she could learn, she told herself determinedly. She was intelligent, quick to learn new things. How difficult could it be to catalog a few hundred farming journals? She accepted the challenge. “Very well, my lord.”

“Excellent.” Whitney gave a satisfied smile. “And, Mrs. Marsden…”

“Yes, my lord?”

“As you are to stay, you may call me Whitney. Or Xander, if you prefer.”

“Xander?”

“It is what my friends call me.” He shrugged those magnificently wide shoulders.

Emily swallowed before speaking. “I would prefer… If you insist upon this lapse in formality…”

“I believe I do, yes.” Blue eyes glittered with mocking amusement at her obvious discomfort.

Her chin rose. “Then I would prefer to call you Whitney.” The use of this man’s first name was far too…intimate for a mere employee, even if in another time, another world, she might once have been his social equal.

“Very well.” He nodded, sitting forward to look at some papers on his desk, the interview apparently over. “While you are settling into the bedchamber I instructed prepared for your husband, I will have Clarke organize a desk to be brought in here for your use.”

Emily blinked. Of course Whitney would expect her to work in here. Where else would she work, when the books were in here? It would also, she realized, allow him to keep watch on her. To ensure she was not here for some nefarious purpose, as he had earlier implied she might be.

Which in turn caused her to question how often Lord Whitney would also be working in his study? Even a few hours a day might be too much, in light of Emily’s heightened and unexpected awareness of him.

She was a healthy woman aged almost three and twenty, and could surely be excused such folly when it came to such an impressively male gentleman as Lord Alexander Whitney. She dared even the sophisticated ladies of the
ton
to remain immune to this arrogant gentleman’s rakish handsomeness and fitness of form.

“You are having second thoughts, Mrs. Marsden?”

She glanced across to see Whitney had now raised one arrogant brow. “Not in the least,” she assured him briskly. She
was
a grown woman, a widow moreover, and in need of employment that paid money. What did a little physical discomfort matter? “I thank you for this opportunity, my—Whitney.” Her cheeks felt warm at the informality.

He nodded. “You have one week to prove to me I did not make the wrong decision,” he announced.

Emily knew her capabilities to be more than adequate to pick up the gauntlet this man had thrown at her feet.

It was the challenge of her unexpected attraction to Whitney himself which would prove the more difficult.

By late the following morning, Xander had already realized the impracticality—and physical torture—of having Emily Marsden in his study with him—or without?—for hours on end.

The previous evening, Clarke had informed him that Mrs. Marsden was fatigued from her journey. That she had been down to the kitchen to collect tea and biscuits and taken them up to her bedchamber with the intention of retiring for the evening.

Xander had been disappointed. After four months of seclusion—he had refused all invitations from his gossipy neighbors, avoiding both their company and relieving him of the chore of having to return the politeness—he had actually been looking forward to having female company at the table with him for dinner.

Consequently, when she entered the study this morning, it was the first time he had seen Emily Marsden’s hair uncovered. As he had surmised yesterday, it was a vivid shade of red. Quite beautiful, in fact, if not for its lustrous color being diminished by the severity of the unbecoming and tight bun once again secured at Mrs. Marsden’s slender nape.

At least she was not wearing more widow’s weeds this morning, but instead had on a gown of a small-red-and-green-check material. Something Xander felt sure she had fashioned herself, no doubt to allow for maximum comfort during her task of going up and down a stepladder—brought into the study earlier by one of the footmen, under Mrs. Marsden’s instruction—and removing books from their shelves, her height such that she could not reach the top two shelves.

The bodice of the gown was as prim as the one she had worn yesterday, full-sleeved and buttoned up tight to her throat. But there was something different about the skirt. The material seemed to be joined together between her legs, to all intents and purposes making it into a pair of baggy trousers.

Xander found himself watching in fascination every time she climbed the ladder to take a book from one of the top shelves, at which time the material would pull tight, often exposing a delectable glimpse of her shapely ankles and calves.

In truth, his cock had been up and down as many times this morning as Emily Marsden had climbed the ladder!

Not a particularly comfortable circumstance. In fact, it was not only uncomfortable but also damned frustrating when in connection to a young widow who was not to his usual taste at all.

For her part, Mrs. Marsden went about her work as if completely unaware Xander was even in the room with her.

Which, for some reason, he found more irritating, possibly even insulting.

He was known as something of a rake in Town, and he could only assume this was chagrin on the part of marriage-minded mamas because of his having ignored their debutante daughters Season after Season, and so avoided the parson’s mousetrap for so many years. He had certainly never broadcast the sexual liaisons he had with older, more experienced women. Nor had he ever been at a loss for women who wished to share his bed, or for him to share theirs.

Emily’s concentration on her task was such that she treated him as if he were a piece of the furniture, to be walked around if he should happen to be in her way and ignored the rest of the time. A circumstance Xander was starting to find intolerable.

“Did you design that gown yourself— Careful!” he warned sharply as Emily turned to look at him so suddenly, the stepladder on which she was standing began to wobble precariously beneath her.

Xander rose quickly to his feet as he saw the look of horror on Emily’s face when she knew she had lost the battle to regain her balance, and the stepladder began to slide to one side, with her clinging to it, white-knuckled and white-faced.

Years of swordplay and boxing had not only kept Xander fit but honed his reflexes, and he brought those into play as he crossed the room in two long strides. “Jump,” he instructed grimly, booted feet planted firmly on the blue Aubusson carpet as he readied to catch her.

Two wide green eyes stared down at him in disbelief.

“Leave go of the ladder and jump. I promise I will catch you.” He spoke in the voice that his subordinates in the army had known to their peril not to ignore.

Emily jumped.

Skirts raised, arms outstretched, hands reaching, she launched herself away from the ladder toward him.

Emily’s eyes were closed, heart pounding loudly, as the stepladder clattered to the wooden floor even as she found herself encompassed by two strong arms and held against a hard and muscular chest. She was just thankful that, instead of allowing her to make painful contact with the floor, possibly breaking a few bones in the process, Whitney had kept him promise to catch her.

“I believe you may cease trying to strangle me now,” he advised in a dryly amused voice.

Which was when Emily realized her arms were clinging tightly about Whitney’s neck and her face was buried against the warmth of that gentleman’s throat.

He really did smell divine. Edmund’s clothes always had a musty smell, and Edmund himself of the strong medicine he took for a chesty and persistent cough.

Whitney was once again that wonderful mixture from yesterday: outdoors, lemon, and sandalwood. And another spicy and intoxicating aroma which she believed to be all Whitney.

A spicy and intoxicating aroma she could not deny was having that strange effect upon her own body. That all-encompassing heat that yesterday had caused her breasts to swell uncomfortably beneath the bodice of her gown and made her limbs tremble. The sensation between her thighs was both pleasurable and yet strange at the same time. She felt…hot down there, swollen, so sensitive, the brush of her undergarment against her flesh felt almost painful.

She was also aware of a dampness wetting her drawers, at the same time as her nostrils were assailed by another aroma. Subtle and different from Whitney, but just as heady a spice.

An aroma Emily realized was permeating from her own body.

She had taken a bath very early this morning. Her clothes were all clean—

“Emily…?”

She raised startled eyes, shocked at Whitney’s use of her first name, but also by the husky tone of his voice. Her eyes widened as she looked up into his face and saw his eyes had become navy blue in color, and there was a flush along his cheekbones, his nostrils flared, sculpted lips slightly parted as he breathed shallowly.

Nostrils flared…

Oh dear Lord, Whitney was as aware of the spicy aroma of what she could only assume was her arousal as she was of his!

It was impossible for Emily to break away from that mesmerizing dark gaze. She felt as if she were drowning in a sea of dark tempestuous blue, as Whitney’s head began to lower slowly toward hers.

No!

She had not traveled to Yorkshire to jump from the frying pan into the fire. To become Whitney’s plaything, because she wished to avoid the unscrupulous blackmail being visited upon her in Derbyshire.

She turned her head away from Whitney’s kiss as she pushed against the hardness of his chest. “Put me down immediately,” she instructed coldly. His arms felt like steel bands about her back and below her thighs. “Release me now, my lord,” she snapped waspishly.

Xander’s grip tightened briefly in response to Emily’s sharp command before he forced his fingers to relax their hold. He slowly lowered her booted feet to the floor. All the time he did so, he was aware of the perfume of her arousal, heady and sweet and causing the stiffness of his cock to throb in the same rhythm as his heart now beat.

Emily Marsden was as aroused by his proximity as he was by hers.

An arousal she obviously had no intention of acting upon.

Quite right too. What the bloody hell did he think he was doing, even thinking of making love to a woman in his employ? Moreover, in broad daylight, in his own study, when anyone might see them through the window or knock upon the door and enter. Clarke would be in his element, the elderly man’s bad opinion of Xander proven beyond doubt, if he were to walk in on Xander seducing his newest employee. A widow, at that.

Not that Xander gave a damn what Clarke thought of him. He knew the butler would probably hate Xander to his dying day for what the elderly man perceived as Xander’s abandonment of his own father for the last fifteen years of his life.

No, Xander’s recriminations were for a different reason entirely.

He was very new to the role of managing his own estate, having lived exclusively in London in the years since his disagreement with his father. But even so, Xander already appreciated that the name Whitney was held in high esteem in the area. That he was now the representative of that name. Gaining the reputation as a debaucher of the young widow in his employ would, no doubt, damn him forever in the eyes of his neighbors and estate workers.

It would also be unfair to kiss Emily when Xander had no intention of taking his attraction beyond these four walls.

He straightened before releasing his grip on her arms and stepping back. “I trust you are unharmed, Mrs. Marsden?”

All the formality in the world would not erase the last few minutes of intimacy from Emily’s mind. Whitney had called her Emily. Had held her in his arms. Had looked as if he was about to kiss her. Worse, she was sure he had known of her arousal.

An arousal which still held her in its grip.