Desire Me Now (9 page)

“Why, when you already know he has stolen from you?”

“Because I will make an example of him. Stealing is a whipping offense, Miss Grant.
I will have the full letter of the law behind me when I deal with him. He is not the
first to try to take advantage of me, and he certainly will not be the last, but action
taken against him will stay the hand of most men who are on the fence between making
the right or wrong decision.”

“Thank you for your honesty.”

“What other questions have I skirted?”

“You are forgiven for anything you have not yet answered, but I want you to be straightforward
with me in future. It is only fair, given that we are to work so closely.”

“How close?”

She swallowed, but didn’t duck away from him. She liked his nearness, his dominance.

“If you do not take this opportunity to run from me, Miss Grant, I might do something
you will regret later.”

“The last thing I want to do is run from you.” She snapped her mouth shut. Had she
really just admitted that to him? Why couldn’t she have said because her ankle hurt
too much to attempt the feat? Her breath audibly hitched in her lungs.

“I could think of better ways to make you breathless.” There was so much promise in
his words, and it was hard to ignore what he meant. But she had to, or she’d lose
her train of thought.

He caressed the back of his hand over her cheek. “After the abuse you have suffered
. . . ”

She reached for his hand, bringing it between their bodies, ensuring that she couldn’t
step tighter into the circle of his arms as she craved. Her fingers wrapped around
his much-larger ones. “It is different between us.” Different from any of her brother’s
friends who had made unwelcome advances toward her. “The last thing I feel when I’m
with you is fear.”

“I will not hurt you, but I cannot pretend to be a good man either.”

So he could easily break her heart if she allowed this desire to bloom into something
more. As long as he was forthcoming about that.

He stepped closer. Close enough to crush their hands between them. Her body trembled
at the nearness. She knew she was about to make a monumental change to their relationship,
one that might jeopardize their professional relationship—not now, but down the road.
And she couldn’t steer herself away from the imminent danger. She didn’t have the
wherewithal or the willpower.

His arm snaked around her lower back to pull her forward, and he crushed her pelvis
tightly against his, with her skirts pressed up against him and between her legs.
She was sure the only reason she was still standing on her jelly-like legs was because
his hand was placed possessively over her lower back, holding her up.

“I want your complete surrender.”

She bit her lower lip and swallowed against the lump of nerves sizzling like a slow
burn through her whole body. What did complete surrender look like?

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What if I cannot give you that?” She couldn’t
think straight when Mr. Riley surrounded her as he did now. She couldn’t think straight
whenever he was even in the same room as she was.

“You will,” he said with conviction.

Her breath froze in her lungs with his declaration that she would be his. If she were
honest with herself, part of her wanted him to make that decision for her; maybe she’d
regret her actions less that way.

What would it mean to be his?

Before she could find her voice, he kneeled and lifted her into his arms. The action
caused the breath to whoosh from her lungs. She knew the right thing to do would be
to protest, beg him to put her down. But she couldn’t bring herself to do that.

“Where are you taking me?” she finally managed, though her voice was husky with a
need she did not fully understand.

“Don’t worry, Miss Grant.”

He looked at her with those stormy gray eyes and just like that, she was lost. She
couldn’t even voice that she wasn’t worried. Not when she felt so safe in his arms.
Not when she wanted to be where she was in this very moment and stay there for an
eternity before reality crept back in.

“I would never do anything you’re not ready for,” he added.

Those words should have frightened her, brought her back to her senses, or at the
very least made her think about what she was allowing to happen. But they did no such
thing. She wanted to know what happened when she didn’t run from what she felt for
this man.

Shame should burn in her for the feelings bombarding her right now, but the truth
was, curiosity won over.

Amelia wanted to give Mr. Riley more than she’d ever given anyone, not because she
owed it to him, but because she wanted to explore things with him that she’d never
explored with another. She wanted to give him a part of herself she’d never openly
shared.

Why now? Why him?

He set her down on her feet just outside her bedroom door. Her hands and arms were
tucked between them, and she had no desire to put space between them.

He gave her a chaste kiss on her forehead and stepped away from her. She was feeling
weak-kneed and had to lean against her door, or she feared she’d slither right down
to the floor.

“Good night, Miss Grant.” He turned away from her, tucking his hands in his pockets
as he walked toward his room.

She opened her mouth to call him back, but what would she say? What exactly did she
want from him? It was better that he’d left her. She needed to think about what had
happened, what she’d almost allowed. She needed to give herself a good shake and wake
up from this fairy-tale-like dream she thought she was living.

W
hen Amelia opened her bedchamber door, it was hard to miss the large ivory box placed
neatly at the foot of her bed. She paused on the threshold and turned her gaze to
the rest of the room. Nothing else was different, aside from the unmistakable presence
of a gift.

The idea of receiving a gift since she and Mr. Riley had come to an understanding
of what their future held felt wrong, and it degraded what was between them. Though
had they really come to an understanding?

He’d told her that he would have her surrender, and she hadn’t disagreed.

Closing the door behind her, she made her way to the bed. She could ignore the box
and worry about it later. She had only come up to her bedchamber to freshen herself
up for dinner. The lavender bow around the box was elaborate and perfectly tied. It
was smooth and satiny as she pulled it loose. Tentatively, she lifted the lid, and
her hand flew to cover her mouth in surprise.

A blush-rose dress was folded neatly inside. A note rested on top of the material.
Flipping the heavy parchment open, she read the rough scroll:

Miss Grant,

It would please me if you would join me for an evening out. Jenny will come around
to help you ready.

    
—Nick

Amelia sat heavily at the corner of the bed, fingering the edge of the note. Why had
he put her in a position where she’d have to explain what had happened between her
and Mr. Riley? She was certain Jenny would want to know why he’d purchased a dress
for Amelia at all. What would the staff think of her? Hot shame washed over her face.
She
should
decline the gift and have it returned to Mr. Riley at once.

Reaching into the box, she pulled out the dress. There was a heavy layer of plum pulled
into a becoming fall at the base of the back and layered in with the blush. The front
was decorated in layers of lace and mauve satin. She laid the dress out on the bed
and found a pair of matching pink gloves in the bottom of the box, with a wooden fan
trimmed in the same lace as was on the dress. She spread out the fan to reveal a painting
of an elegant woman wearing ivory, sitting in a swan-shaped sleigh, with a man pushing
her through a snowy backdrop. It was a work of art. And apparently Mr. Riley left
no detail untouched.

At the brush of knuckles on her door, she snapped the fan shut and put it back in
the box. Jenny popped her head in. “Mr. Riley sent me up to have you readied.”

Unable to face the maid’s scrutiny or judgment, she focused on the evidence of Mr.
Riley’s gifts spread out over her bed. “I cannot imagine why he should want to take
me anywhere.”

“I take it he didn’t tell you all your duties.” Jenny came into the room and stood
beside Amelia. Amelia fingered one of the lace bits on the back of the dress that
was shaped into a rosette. “You will be there to even out the numbers of a client
dinner. I’m glad I have not the tact or elegance you have with language. Cannot much
imagine me squeezing into a dress like this and then minding my manners all evening.”

That brought a smile to Amelia’s face. Jenny had a good, kind heart and knew exactly
how to ease the doubt that niggled at the corners of Amelia’s mind.

“Not sure how we will style your hair, as you’re to be ready in an hour, but we should
at least get you dressed and proper-looking for your role tonight.”

Amelia wanted to ask what role that was, but didn’t have the courage to say it outright.
She started to remove her clothes as Jenny walked over to the wardrobe and pulled
open the doors. She rummaged through a drawer tucked into the bottom of the cabinet,
fishing through the materials and making a mess of the neat stacks Amelia had made
when cleaning out the room.

“Found what we need,” Jenny said, revealing a small bustle made with bunches and frills
of fabric that would help drape the dress properly at the back.

With Amelia standing in her chemise and corset, Jenny went about securing the bustle
around Amelia’s waist. She was dressed and perched carefully in front of her mirror
in no time at all.

“Were you a lady’s maid?” Amelia asked.

“My mum was. Spent my youth in a grand house.”

Amelia didn’t ask why Jenny had left the grand house, fearing that it would mean having
to reveal something of her own past. “Well, I think you would make a wonderful lady’s
maid.”

“Let’s see how you feel after your hair is done. I’m not as accomplished in that department.”

“Why not just pin it up and see if we can find a strand of beads to weave through
it?” Amelia suggested.

“Wouldn’t have thought of that. Let me call for Mrs. Coleman.” Before Amelia could
protest, Jenny walked over to the bed where the servants’ bell was tucked behind the
canopy’s fall of fabric.

Jenny returned to Amelia’s side and went about pinning pieces of hair into an elaborate
bun on top of her head. The young woman had a way of making it look more intricate
a style than it really was. Amelia stared at her reflection in the mirror, a little
in awe to see herself dressed up. She had never worn a dress of such beauty. In fact,
it was more lavish than anything she’d ever seen.

It wasn’t long before Mrs. Coleman came into the room, and she seemed not at all surprised
that Amelia was being readied for a grand affair. Jenny explained what they needed,
hoping there was something in the house they could use for Amelia’s hair. Mrs. Coleman
squeezed Amelia’s shoulder, her eyes misting a little as she looked her over. Then
she was gone. Amelia wanted to ask why she’d caused such a reaction from the housekeeper,
but bit her tongue.

She must pretend that her being dressed for the evening was a normal affair and that
Huxley would have filled this task of accompanying Mr. Riley before her arrival, but
there was a niggling doubt at the back of her mind saying otherwise. So what exactly
did the rest of the household think of her? Did they assume she was Mr. Riley’s mistress?

Clearing her throat, Amelia asked, “Why do you suppose a secretary is needed to attend
this meeting?”

“Mr. Riley needs another set of eyes and ears,” Jenny explained. “Think of it as a
test. He’s gonna need to know how you interpret people, your impressions of them.
This will be the best setting to get to know the people he has aligned himself with.”

“Why would Huxley not attend?”

Just as Jenny was twisting the last strand of Amelia’s hair into the bun, Mrs. Coleman
came back into the room holding out a strand of onyx beads.

It looked like a necklace, but it was only the length of a choker. Jenny took it and
wrapped it through Amelia’s hair like a flower wreath on May Day.

“There,” said Jenny stepping back, admiring her handiwork.

Amelia walked to the middle of the room so she could see the full look in her small
mirror. A gasp of shock escaped when she saw the image staring back; she barely recognized
herself.

“Why should I attend at all? I’m still trying to understand everything Mr. Riley does.”
She smoothed her hand over the front of her dress. “I feel awkward and fear Mr. Riley’s
business partners will find me lacking. Surely he has a friend who can attend in my
place.”

Mrs. Coleman stepped toward her and brushed a stray piece of hair from Amelia’s temple.
“He used to attend these events with Miss Victoria. But they have broken off.”

Amelia’s breath caught as a stab of hurt nicked her heart and knocked down her confidence
a smidgen. Of course he’d be romantically involved with other women. Women far more
beautiful and refined than she, and likely far better trained in the art of innuendo.
Far more aware of what he wanted. She felt lacking in an entirely different way now.

“This is not me.” This time she said it more for herself, looking at her image in
the mirror that seemed so alien. Maybe in another time, another place, she could have
had this, but now . . .

“Were they engaged?” She pressed her lips together. How could she ask them such a
question?

Both women chuckled, and Jenny shook her head. Amelia understood then what Victoria’s
and Mr. Riley’s relationship had been, and she hated having that knowledge at all.
And though she shouldn’t care, she wondered if Mr. Riley had broken off with Miss
Victoria prior to Amelia’s joining his house. And why should that be relevant? She
swallowed back the disappointment she felt.

She hated the idea of asking another stupid question, so she didn’t ask more on what
the night ahead might bring. Without another worrying thought, she cleared her throat
and announced, “Shall we go downstairs and end the suspense?”

Without waiting for a response, she did just that, pausing at the door when she saw
the cane. Should she bring it? She rotated her foot, feeling the now familiar ache
of her ankle and grabbed the cane on her way out the door.

She might feel silly, hobbling around with a support usually reserved for old crippled
men, but it was better to use the cane than fall on her face and look like a fool
in front of the people dining with Mr. Riley.

Though she made her way to the study fully expecting to wait for Mr. Riley to join
her, he was already sitting behind his desk, head down as he read the newspaper.

Mr. Riley looked up as she approached his desk. His eyes didn’t leave her face as
he stared at her. “You look delicious enough to consume.”

She felt her cheeks burn and had to dip her head to hide the blush that seemed to
have also stolen her voice.

He came around his desk and took one of her gloved hands, raised it to his mouth,
and kissed her knuckles. She dared to look at him then and could see the gray of his
eyes eaten up by the black of his pupils. She swallowed, not sure what she should
say, or how she should react to his forward nature. She slid her hand from his grasp
and tucked it behind her back as she faced him.

“Where will we dine this evening?” she asked.

“South Langtry.”

While Amelia might not be familiar with London, there were some places everyone knew.
“I have heard wonderful things about the establishment.”

“I should hope so. Hart owns it.”

“Oh . . . ” What did she say to that? After responding to invitations and forgotten
correspondence the last few days, she knew that he mingled with the upper echelon
of society. Why shouldn’t one of his business partners be the hotelier who happened
to own the nicest, most luxuriant hotel in all of England?

“Why did you not warn me about tonight?” she asked.

“I didn’t want this to be an ordeal or for you to fret over it. It’s a dinner with
the closest of my friends, and we do this once a month. You’ll have to grow accustomed
to such affairs while working with me.”

“Because you broke off with your mistress?” Amelia slapped her hands over her mouth.
How dare she utter such a thing—and right to her employer’s face.

“My mistress?” Though he said it like a question, she could see in his eyes that he
knew precisely what she was talking about.

Amelia cleared her throat and turned away from him, wanting to escape his company
but unsure how to do just that when she’d only just arrived in his study. “I’m sorry.
I meant nothing by it.”

“Oh, quite the contrary.” Though his tone was even, she couldn’t tell if he was angry
that she’d mentioned it or that she knew he’d had a mistress.

“I should perhaps clear up one misconception,” he said.

She spun around on her good foot so she was facing him again. “And what is that?”

“Victoria is no man’s mistress. And she’d resent anyone for even thinking it.”

Mr. Riley stepped close enough that she could have touched him if she stretched her
hand out just a little. While she was tempted to reach for him, not only to keep her
legs from giving out under her but to merely touch him, she remained motionless. Of
course that didn’t stop him from skimming the back of his hand over her temple as
he pushed an errant curl from her forehead. “So naïve in the art of sex, Miss Grant.
I will educate you yet.”

“I have seen things that might make you take a second look at me,” she said, challenging
him.

Mr. Riley grasped her hand and swung them both about so she was pressed against his
mahogany desk. He leaned suggestively over her. “I am interested to know more about
what you think you know, Miss Grant.”

“Perhaps another time. We do have a dinner party to attend.” She had never dared to
be so outspoken with anyone. What had provoked her now? Oh, she knew what nettled
her; she was looking right at him.

His face was but inches from hers, his eyes glued to her parted lips. “We have time
to explore the finer qualities of your lips.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, not that she was given the opportunity to
say anything. Mr. Riley hitched her up enough that she was perched precariously on
the edge of his desk as he pressed between her legs. She felt a cool draft on her
calves as he exposed her lower legs to the elements of the room so he could better
settle himself in the V of her spread thighs.

His mouth was a scant inch from hers when he spoke in a soft, seductive tone. “Do
you think you can teach me something? I dare you to try.”

She’d stepped into territory she didn’t quite understand. She didn’t know how she
was supposed to respond to him or how she was supposed to act, now that she’d crossed
into unfamiliar ground.

“I can see your thoughts turning over right now,” he said. “Just act, Miss Grant.
I promise you will not regret it.”

How could he know that? Any self-respecting woman would frown on the thoughts she
was having right now. Apparently,
any
self-respecting woman
didn’t extend to her.

“Regret is a peculiar word,” she said. “We are taught to regret—”

Mr. Riley’s lips melded with hers, though “melded” seemed too tame a word. They meshed
and smashed and drew her in. Her resolve to resist this man was torn down a little
every time she was in his company. She wanted him with a fierceness and desire she
couldn’t explain in words. Sex, she understood, but this gut-deep desire that consumed
her so wholly befuddled and confounded her.