Desire Me Now (7 page)

“And what of Huxley?” Amelia asked. “Did he not inform you of how Mr. Riley and I
crossed paths?”

“Huxley’s a kind man and knows something of everything, but he’s mum on anything to
do with other people’s secrets that are under Mr. Riley’s protection.”

The housekeeper’s assessment didn’t surprise Amelia. She had a feeling that finding
out any information through Huxley was like prying open a lock without a key. Actually,
it was probably more difficult than even that.

“I see,” Amelia muttered.

“We’re all lucky to have found work here. Everyone has had some misfortune along the
way. You shouldn’t expect anyone to reveal a past best left forgotten.”

“I will heed your warning.”

After showing Amelia where the linens, larder, pantry, and storage areas were located,
she was shown the housekeeper’s office and the place the men, including her son, bedded
down at night, in the event that Mr. Riley ever needed to get a message out at an
odd time of day.

When they entered the servants’ hall once again, everyone had cleared away the items
they’d been working on so Olive could set out bowls for the midday meal. A pot of
stew and two loaves of bread were placed at one end of the old wood table, which was
almost as large as the room and could probably seat twenty. The food’s aroma wafted
to Amelia’s nose and smelled divine as she ladled thick chunks of lamb, carrots, and
potatoes into her bowl.

As everyone took their seats to eat, conversation started on the gossip around town.
While this was no different than the talk around the table at her last place of employment,
there was one thing that Amelia noted almost immediately. Talk was focused on the
people who had regular dealings with Mr. Riley or his businesses.

The servants were pooling their information together from what the housekeeper had
heard from the shopkeepers during her morning errands at various shops; the maids
revealed what they’d heard from the coal deliverer. All the while, Huxley wrote key
points down in a small leather notebook he carried in his pocket. He didn’t write
down everything, just a handful of names. She wondered if she would have to do this
as Mr. Riley’s secretary—gather gossip and apprise him of it.

Between mouthfuls, Jenny said, “While Baker’s son was doing his usual deliveries to
the lords’ and ladies’ houses this morning, he stumbled across Sir Ian Hemming in
the street. He was in a bad way, with his face right bloody and broken from a good
beating. Baker wanted to fetch the bobbies, he did, but Hemming’s valet convinced
him all was fine. Took him—well, practically carried him—inside.”

Amelia’s spoon stilled between her bowl and her mouth. Her breath felt frozen in her
lungs. Sir Ian had been hurt. She swallowed against the nervous lump forming in her
throat. Tears pricked her eyes as she thought of that vile man. Wasn’t it this morning
that Mr. Riley told her that he had close ties to the employment agency? Her head
spun as she thought of the painful-looking bruises she’d spied on Mr. Riley’s knuckles
only a few hours ago.

Could he have . . . Would he dare . . .

She brushed her fingers over her cheek where Sir Ian had hit her.

Amelia set her spoon down, unable to eat another bite. Her head was spinning with
questions that couldn’t be answered, questions she couldn’t put voice to. But she
needed to know the truth. Needed to know if Mr. Riley was somehow involved. Why would
he do that for her?

“Did the baker find out what happened to Sir Ian?” Amelia asked, and all eyes turned
toward her soft-spoken question.

Huxley’s pencil stilled over the paper as his eyes met hers. She could see the questions
burning there, but he didn’t say a word. She wasn’t sure if she’d said something wrong
or if that was not a question they cared to answer. All Amelia knew was that Mr. Riley
had saved her from a fate she didn’t want to contemplate. But she reminded herself
that Mr. Riley was not a peer of the realm. He could not be protected if he hurt someone
above his station.

Not wanting to examine too deeply why she felt compelled to protect him, she focused
on the fact that she owed him for his kindness.

“I have never heard of such a thing happening. Not without provocation. And even then
. . . ” She hoped that the curious inflection coating her voice would appease those
around her as explanation of why she asked about that evil man’s welfare.

Did everyone know how awful Sir Ian was? Or was she the only person with firsthand
knowledge in that respect? Then she wondered if Mr. Riley’s servants knew any of Sir
Ian’s servants and if they might have talked about the governess who had left without
word.

As nice as the staff seemed around the table, she didn’t want any of them knowing
her business. It was bad enough that the evidence of the cruelty delivered to her
in her last job marked her face. At least the bruise was fading fast with the salve
Mr. Riley had given her to aid in the healing process.

“Didn’t care to ask,” Josie said, her eyes narrowing on Amelia.

Amelia wasn’t sure if Josie disliked her or was just trying to figure out why she’d
asked the question at all. “I am a country girl. Events like this are uncommon in
the country,” she admitted.

That seemed to satisfy everyone’s interest at the table.

“Perhaps the valet thought it best to wait for Sir Ian to decide his next course of
action—though that won’t happen until he can talk again. Jaw was broken, from what
I heard. And his eyes were so swollen, he could barely open them.”

Amelia curled her hands under the table, squeezing them together. She must remember
to bite her tongue. She was too new to be asking questions that pried into Mr. Riley’s
business, no matter that she was his secretary and would work closer with him than
anyone else around the table, aside from Huxley.

Taking a deep breath and shaking off the sudden discomfort she felt at the mention
of Sir Ian’s name, Amelia focused on her lunch, even though her appetite was gone;
it was like dust gumming up in her mouth, but she ate it nonetheless. Her thoughts
were focused solely on Mr. Riley, recalling the way he tended to her cuts as gently
as he’d checked her ankle when he’d first found her.

There was no denying what was staring her so blindly in the face. Mr. Riley had known
what Sir Ian had done to her. But what was she supposed to do with that realization?
She couldn’t confront him, no matter how badly she wanted to. A secret part of her
was thrilled at the thought of Mr. Riley seeking some form of justice on her behalf,
no matter how wrong those actions might be. No matter how much she should be against
the very idea.

She would keep her assumptions to herself for now, though she wondered if the rest
of the household suspected anything, Huxley in particular. She couldn’t bear to look
at any of them with the thoughts swirling through her head. She kept her eyes averted
and focused solely on her food as she listened to the rest of the gossip they’d dug
up in the last few days.

The maids gave Huxley other tidbits of information they’d heard through various delivery
people, as did the cook. They were fonts of information that had her wondering if
they’d been hired not only because they’d needed a job, as she did, but because of
their ability to worm through all the gossip that came their way and pick out the
parts that might be relevant to Mr. Riley’s various ventures.

While she listened, she learned—that the son of a ship merchant was selling his wares
higher to Mr. Riley than the other companies owned by men of a higher station, and
the rumors speculating what Mr. Riley’s next property acquisition would be. Huxley
was right; Mr. Riley dabbled in a bit of everything.

Amelia remained silent throughout the meal, absorbing every bit of information about
her mysterious employer.

The one thing she came away with, after sitting with Mr. Riley’s household, was that
he’d garnered the undivided trust of his staff, which made him a good man in her estimation.
She had a newfound respect for him.

As she thought back to her morning with her employer, she could recall with perfect
clarity how the press of his mouth upon hers felt. Her face heated, and she set her
spoon down and wiped her mouth with the napkin, hoping it covered her red cheeks long
enough that she could get her thoughts and emotions under control.

If Olive or Hannah had seen or even guessed what had gone on when they’d brought breakfast
to the library, they gave no indication of it. Amelia wondered now if that was because
they honestly hadn’t suspected anything or if Mr. Riley could do no wrong in their
eyes. Just because he could do no wrong didn’t give her reason to believe the staff
would treat her with the same regard, and she must remember that above all things.

After an hour, they all parted ways to continue on with their duties. Amelia left
with Huxley, heading back up to the study to continue going through the papers. When
they sat down to work, she looked longingly toward the library. Her companion must
have noticed her waning attention.

“If you prefer the library,” he said, “we can set up a desk in there.”

“Only if that is Mr. Riley’s preference.” Odd, but Mr. Riley had asked her that very
thing this morning.

“I assumed you liked the view,” Huxley said. “Won’t matter much to Mr. Riley.”

“I think we should move my desk in there, then. The gardens are very peaceful.”

“Distracting, more like.”

She laughed. “Do you find them so?”

“Women’s prerogative.”

“I have known plenty of gentlemen with an inclination toward a green thumb,” she said,
amused.

He harrumphed his response before they focused on the stack of papers again.

T
he sky darkened outside, shrouding the library in shadows as night drew nearer. After
moving her desk into the library, Huxley had left her to her own devices, telling
her that dinner was served at seven thirty. It was well past that hour now.

She’d been determined to finish sorting through at least one stack of invitations
and was confident in her choices for Mr. Riley’s attendance. Of course, Huxley had
counseled her at great length, giving her clear instructions on whom she should send
regrets to, which had narrowed her stack considerably, though it hadn’t stopped her
from reading the contents of each and every letter so she could learn more about her
employer.

By all accounts, he was deeply desired company. His invitations ranged from balls
to soirees in renowned houses with marriageable daughters to lords and ladies with
the grandest of estates. There was even an invitation to attend the opera from a widow
who had more money than sense, or so Huxley had informed her.

Two letters were personal in nature and had evidently been mixed into the stack in
error. When she realized what she was reading, she looked around her to make sure
she was alone before continuing.

The first letter was addressed to Nick, without his last name. The handwriting slanted
deeply to the right and the ink smeared across the page, telling her that the person
wrote with his—or her—left hand. All it said was, “
As requested. More to follow.
” It wasn’t signed.

Enclosed with the letter was a list of addresses in Highgate and associated names.
Beside the names, a monetary value was clearly indicated, perhaps the worth of the
property or what the person owed. Some individuals were given a second number between
one and three, which could be the number of owners on each property, she supposed.

The second letter was very neatly penned, and she assumed it was from a woman. The
name on the bottom certainly wasn’t helpful in determining the writer’s sex; it was
signed
Ser
. Again, it was addressed to Nick without his last name. The letter was dated three
weeks ago, so she hoped it wasn’t too important.

This letter detailed the start of new classes in a school and enrollment figures from
the first week through to the end of the previous month. There was a note advising
Nick that she’d hired Cece as an assistant in her classroom.

Did Nick own a school too? What an odd choice, considering the rest of the businesses
in his conglomerate, which mostly seemed to be properties.

She stuffed both letters back into their respective envelopes and placed them in a
separate stack to carry to the study when she retired for the evening.

Penning the last address of the evening on the invitations, she wiped off her pen
on a cloth, put the lid back on the inkwell, and sat back in the chair to watch the
lights grow dimmer outside. Gas lamps began to glow and replace the sun’s light, but
it wasn’t enough to blind her view of the cloudy sky. For the first time in a long
time, she felt content. And safe. It brought a small smile to her lips.

She startled when something heavy thudded on the desk in the study.

She stood from her desk, knowing she should go into the study and make her presence
known, but stopped on hearing Huxley’s angered tone. “He has taken a percentage of
the profits coming in. Selling merchandise off the ship before it’s logged in our
books.”

Amelia recalled the gossip discussed in the staff quarters over luncheon. She shouldn’t
be standing in the shadows, listening to their exchange, but the only escape was through
the French doors to the balcony. She couldn’t leave without drawing their attention
now, so she decided to stay put in the library until they left.

She hated that she had reduced herself to eavesdropping. She made her way quietly
over to the wall of books, took down a volume, and then curled up on the sofa to read,
hoping she could tune out the voices and play ignorant, should they realize she was
there.

“He’s already a ruined man,” Mr. Riley said with a finality that left no room for
disagreement. Whether the manager of the shipping company had ruined his own name
or Mr. Riley had done it for him, she couldn’t say, but she thought perhaps it might
be a combination of both. The edge of ruthlessness should have frightened her, but
Mr. Riley filled his home with misfits and people in need, which made it difficult
to find fault in his character.

Silence descended for a full two minutes, and she thought her ruse had been discovered,
but then they discussed other business matters for almost twenty minutes before Huxley
made his excuses and left. The creak of the chair in the second room meant Mr. Riley
was also wrapping up his affairs for the night, so she could leave undetected. She
held her breath and waited as time ticked by. Why she thought she should have such
luck . . .

A small lamp turned low on the table next to her shed just enough light to allow her
to read. So when Mr. Riley walked toward the tall windows, hands tucked in his pockets,
she made no sound to give away her position. He wouldn’t have seen her on entering,
given the position of the chairs and sofa, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t notice
her once he left.

As she contemplated how to make herself known, Mr. Riley said, “How was your first
day?”

He didn’t turn to face her when he spoke. Would he sack her now that he knew she’d
been listening?

“Quite well.” She cleared her throat delicately as she stood from the sofa. “The staff
were welcoming, and Huxley was a font of information as we went through a good third
of the paperwork today.”

Should she apologize for overhearing his conversation? For not making him aware that
she was in the library. Perhaps she should pretend not to have heard his conversation
at all, but that didn’t feel right.

“I should have said something when you first came in,” she said.

He turned around and faced her. She wished she could understand why he affected her
the way he did, because not for the first time, she found herself speechless under
his intense scrutiny. It was as though he could see right through her and knew her
every thought. A silly notion, but one that gripped her every time she was alone with
him.

“I should retire for the night.” Her voice was a whisper that barely filled the silence
around them.

He didn’t respond, just studied her in his silent way for a long moment. Though she
had every intention of doing just as she said, she couldn’t find the strength to leave
the room. There was so much to be said—about what had happened this morning and how
they should move forward from that.

With a leisured grace and dominant air that should have had Amelia retreating, he
approached her. She held her breath until he was but an arm’s stretch from her. She
had to put distance between them. What he wanted spoke so intimately in her mind that
she knew she would lose herself too soon to this man if she didn’t learn a little
self-preservation fast.

She swallowed against the trepidation building in her throat when she couldn’t find
the words she needed to tell him to give her some space. “We cannot repeat what happened
between us this morning. I won’t be able to look at myself in the mirror if I lived
under false pretense and deception. If we continue on amorally, it will not be long
before we are discovered. That’s not a chance I’m willing to gamble on.”

Suddenly, they were a hand span apart. Mr. Riley caressed the back of his knuckles
over her good cheek. “How can I make it any clearer that you’ll be mine in the end,
Amelia?”

Why? Why did he want to pursue her so persistently? And why did she want him to do
exactly as he promised?

She closed her eyes, wishing she could just as easily close off her desire toward
this man.

“I need this job,” she whispered, almost afraid to break the spell that had washed
over them.

“And it is yours. That has never been in question.”

“Would not your actions be considered taking advantage of your position?” she boldly
asked. She snapped her mouth shut, shocked she had even suggested it.

He surprised her with a calm response. “I might be master of this household, but I
am not a master over any person, including you. You will come to me of your own free
will and on equal footing, Amelia. I won’t have you any other way.”

His determination and conviction had her stomach in a flutter. And the feeling wasn’t
wholly undesirable. “You sound so sure.” But with every word he uttered, she felt
herself inching closer to him, trapped under his seductive spell.

“I always am when I know what I want.” He stated it as if it was nothing more than
fact.

When his gray eyes ensnared hers, she swallowed hard and held his gaze, believing
every word he said. If she stayed, she would succumb to the need and desire burning
brighter in her every time she was with him. She would succumb, because his resolve
made her want to lean into him—kiss him—and damned be the consequences.

He reached behind her head and pulled the hairpins free, letting sections of her chignon
fall around her shoulders. She supposed she should have stopped him but couldn’t bring
herself to do that. She wanted to know what he was about, what game he was playing
to try to win her over of her own free will.

When he was done pulling out the last of her pins, he tucked them in the pocket of
his waistcoat.

“And what would anyone think if they were to see me in such a state?” she asked.

“I can fix it later.”

“Later?” she said in a soft, intrigued whisper. What was he doing to her?

“No one will disturb me in my study during the evening. The place is ours for the
night.”

“I know nothing of you.”

“What is it you want to know?”

“Why do you want this?”
Why do you want me
, was what she’d meant to ask.

“You remind me of someone I once admired a great deal.”

“But no longer?”

“She died a long time ago.”

Her head tilted back, her lips parted expectantly. “You don’t know me well enough
to confess admiration.”

Mr. Riley’s hand held the back of her head, fingers woven tightly through her hair
as though to hold her still, should she try to flee, but she had no such notion. It
didn’t occur to her that she should turn away as his mouth lowered to hers. It didn’t
occur to her that she should stop him as his lips drew closer and closer to descending
upon hers.

His kiss was gentle and coaxing—it was meant to titillate and persuade her into wanting
more. And did she ever want more. He was seducing her slowly and winning over her
resolve to remain a professional working girl with every brush of his lips against
hers. She was losing herself to this man, and when she thought about it now, that
didn’t seem like such a bad thing, at least not while he was kissing her.

Amelia didn’t care that he hadn’t answered her question. Any protest she wanted to
utter as his lips parted over hers was also forgotten, and he sucked the top and then
the bottom lip, pulling them between his before repeating the process. She was lost
to his touch.

She should feel great shame for her actions; instead, she felt foolishly prideful
at his devoted attention.

Taking all this to heart, she must never forget her roots or the past that had led
her to this particular moment in time. With a force of will that she had thought was
all but gone since the first brush of his lips, Amelia found a small vestige of pride
for the woman she was raised to be and turned her head away, breaking their kiss and
denying the one thing she wanted most right now.

A ragged breath rushed from her lips. Tightly squeezing her eyes shut, she recalled
the last image of her brother, raising his hand against her in anger. That thought
alone was enough to douse cold water over the moment, putting her in a palpable chill.
She wrapped her arms around her middle as goose bumps rose along her arms.

Because she denied Mr. Riley her mouth, he pressed his lips to her cheek. His hand
was still wound tightly through her hair, but she didn’t try to shake him free.

“This cannot happen.” To her surprise, her voice didn’t waver, and she could not have
been more thankful that she was holding herself together. Losing herself in this man—to
any man—was a very bad idea, and she needed to erect walls between them, fast.

“This will be, Amelia.” He kissed her cheek once more. This time, the press of his
mouth was like a brand of ownership being burned against her skin. And she wanted
him to brand more than her mouth.

Knowing he was reluctant to stop—she felt his hesitancy to release her—she said, “I
need to retire for the evening if I’m to get an early start on the remaining invitations.”

Hand sliding away, he let her escape the comfort of his embrace.

As she turned to leave, he called to her. “Amelia.”

She couldn’t turn to face him. If she did, she knew she would do more that she would
regret come morning. It was time to take charge of her life, of her future, and if
she was going to do that, she needed to avoid moments alone with Mr. Riley.

“Your hair pins,” he said, reminding her.

She pinched her lips together, angry that she’d forgotten. Where was her mind? She
turned back to the object of her deepest affection, but she couldn’t look him in the
eye. She might see something there that would draw her back into his arms, and she
had to fight her attraction to him.
It will pass with time
, she told herself. Pass, if she ignored it.

She held out her hand, hoping he’d relinquish the pins so she could be on her way.

Instead of giving them to her, he turned her around and pulled her hair back, twisting
it around until she had a bun low at her nape, and then he pinned it in place. His
hands rested on her shoulders when he was done, squeezing them gently. She felt the
heated fan of his breath against the small bit of skin exposed around her nape, and
then his lips were on her. She swallowed heavily, closed her eyes once again, and
soaked up the feel of him.