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She had no doubt scared the wits out of him
screaming like she was being attacked.

"Er, are you alright?" she asked now. The
last thing she needed today was to kill the butler.

"Yes, madam. Quite well," he said immediately
though to Mariah's eyes he still looked rather grey.

The sudden sound of running feet had them
both turning toward the source and Mariah's stomach dropped to her
shoes when Mr. Haverton skidded to a halt in front of them.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"Happened?" she asked, furrowing her
brow.

"Yes" he bit out impatiently, "I heard a
woman's scream. Yours presumably? And then a man's."

"Yes, that was me. And Mr. Fernshaw as it
happens. We gave each other quite a fright, I'm afraid."

"Fernshaw?" Mr. Haverton gaped and then, if
she was not very much mistaken, his lips quirked in an almost
smile. "Why, Fernshaw, I do not think I've ever heard to you speak
above a whisper."

"I've never had a need to, sir. Until now,"
answered the butler dryly.

Mariah felt her face flame again.

"Was there something you wanted Mr.
Fernshaw?" she asked, ignoring Mr. Haverton. "Only I really should
be going now."

"Yes, there was." It was Mr. Haverton who
answered, not the butler. "I had sent Fernshaw to relay a message
for you to meet me in my study. If I had known you were going to
squawk at him loud enough to wake the dead, I should never have set
the unfortunate soul the task."

Mariah had never wanted to slap somebody so
much in her life, not even Lillianne.

Choosing to take the moral high ground, she
ignored his snide little comment.

"Was there something you wanted, sir?" she
asked, all stiff politeness.

As though he could read her mind, Mr Haverton
grinned, a genuine full blown smile and the result was
staggering.

Mariah's pulse quickened and her heart
leapt.

When Mr. Haverton smiled, he went from
broodingly handsome to incredibly beautiful. There really was no
other word for it.

Mariah would never have described a man as
beautiful before but that was what he was. Beautiful and powerful,
exuding an aura of authority that she found extremely
attractive.

She felt, quite honestly, a little dazed.

"I wonder if I might have a word," he said
now.

Mariah said nothing.

"If that is not too inconvenient?"

Again, nothing. She could not speak.

"Miss Bolton?"

Speak, Mariah
she chastised
herself.

"Yes." She finally remembered to breathe. "A
word. Fine. Yes. Fine."

Stop speaking, Mariah
she chastised
again and abruptly closed her mouth.

He was looking at her as though she belonged
in Bedlam. He wasn't far wrong.

"Shall we?" he said finally, gesturing
towards his study.

Without another word she stalked past him,
nose in the air.

She may be acting like a complete dolt around
him but she would not let him see the affect he had on her.

Once they reached the study, Mariah stood
wringing her hands while Mr. Haverton circled his desk and sat
behind it.

"Please, sit," he said formally.

Mariah preferred to stand but she did not
want to seem peevish.

"Can I offer you some refreshment?" he asked
politely.

"No, thank you, sir. I really must be heading
back home soon." Mariah said glancing nervously about her. Being in
close proximity to him was playing havoc with her poor nerves.

The study was dim and gloomy and not at all
pleasant, she decided. Though the heavy oak furniture and burgundy
colours were usual for a gentleman's room, there was an air of
gloom about the place. She didn't like it at all.

"You do not approve of the décor?" Haverton
asked and Mariah realised with a start that he'd been watching
her.

"I do not approve or disapprove, sir," she
lied.

"Come Miss Bolton, you can be honest. I will
not take offence. After all, the design is not mine."

"Well, in that case, it's really ugly," she
blurted out.

To her surprise, he threw back his head and
laughed aloud. To her further surprise, she suddenly had an
uncontrollable urge to scramble over the desk and kiss him right on
the column of throat that was exposed from his laughing.

What a wanton she was! If her mama ever
learned of her secret thoughts, Mariah would never recover.

"I agree," he said now, the remnants of his
laugh still on his face.

He looked a lot younger when he laughed. More
carefree.

Mariah smiled tentatively back.

"Miss Bolton, I called you in here to discuss
a matter of great importance," he said now all seriousness.

A lifetime of not living up to her mother's
expectations immediately put Mariah on edge.

"What did I do?" she asked.

"What?"

"What did I do?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"Because in the general way of things, when
people want to talk to me about something of great importance it's
either a minor ailment that they think will kill them. Or it's my
mother. Whom I frequently think will kill me."

Haverton stared at her once again before
shaking his head and chuckling softly.

"Miss Bolton, I can safely say that you are
unlike anyone I have ever met in my life."

Mariah wasn't sure if that was a good thing
or not so she did not comment.

"You did not 'do' anything," he continued.
"At least not to my knowledge. Unless of course you count almost
killing the butler."

"I did no—"

"The reason," he went on, holding up a
silencing hand, "I asked you in was to explain my earlier
behaviour."

Mariah blinked in surprise and waited. This
should be interesting.

Mr. Haverton gazed at her for a moment before
standing and running a hand through his hair.

"Miss Bolton, as you know I did not expect –
rather, I had not thought that the person recommended to me would
be a woman."

"Yes, I gathered," she said dryly because she
really never had been able to stay quiet in such situations.

"Yes, well, I realise that my behaviour
was—"

"Rude?"

"Odd."

"Ah."

"Are you going to keep interrupting?"

"No, of course not."

"Very well. I am sure I seemed a little,
well—"

"Brutish? Bad tempered? Arrogant?" she
supplied.

"Alright, forget it."

"No, no. I'm sorry. I shan't interrupt
again."

He eyed her suspiciously for a minute before
huffing out a sigh and coming to lean against the desk in front of
her.

"Miss Bolton, I am sincerely sorry for my,
what was it? Brutish and bad-tempered behaviour."

"And arrogant," she whispered softly.

His lips quirked.

"And arrogant. I must say though, that I can
already see how much work you've done in the library and it is very
impressive. You are a diligent librarian."

"Thank you," Mariah said sincerely, trying
not to sound too smug.

And then, because she really did have a
problem, she added, "Surprising for woman, is it?"

"Miss Bolton, I assure you my earlier,
er—"

"Rudeness."

"Yes, thank you" he said through gritted
teeth. "Anyway, as I was saying, my earlier behaviour was in no way
a reflection of my opinion on the capabilities of your sex to do a
job well."

"Ah, I see."

He smiled in relief.

"So it's just me, and not women in general
that you have a problem with?" she asked pleasantly.

His smile faded.

"Bloody hell," he muttered standing up from
the desk and muttering even more oaths, some of them rather
inventive as he stalked toward the side table at the window.

Mariah watched in amazement as he poured
himself a very generous measure of brandy, offering her one by way
of gesturing with the bottle. She shook her head in refusal.
Somehow she did not think that her mother would approve of her
arriving home in her cups.

After throwing back the contents of his
tumbler, Mr. Haverton turned to look at her again. His face was an
emotionless mask but Mariah spotted the pulse in his temple; no
doubt he was working very hard to keep some emotion or other in
check.

"Miss Bolton," he finally said wearily, "I
had hoped that the house would be filled with silent servants and
an unobtrusive, bookish young man. I have neither the time nor the
inclination to host anybody else under my roof. You are neither
male nor unobtrusive."

"No, I am not. Though I feel it is only right
to point out that you sought me out to speak today, sir. Not the
other way around. Furthermore, I was led to believe that you and
your wife would not arrive until Christmas or thereabouts and that
my job was to be finished before then, if at all possible. Tis
hardly my fault if you changed your plans and arrived early."

Well, that had probably done it. No doubt he
would now inform her that her services were no longer required but
really, that may not be a bad thing.

The truth of it was, if she wasn't angry and
or insulted by him, she was panting like a dog at his sheer,
overwhelming attractiveness. Neither state was a good one,
especially in light of the fact that he had a family.

"My wife?" he asked in confusion.

"Well, yes. I mean, I assumed when Mrs. Yates
mentioned your family that—"

"I am not married, Miss Bolton. If I were,
your presence would not be a problem."

Mariah started at his words. What did he mean
by that?

"I don't know—"she began before he held up a
hand stopping her.

"My life is — complicated at the moment, Miss
Bolton. Further complications therefore, are unwelcome. I have no
doubt that you have the skills required to take on this task, but
you are very much a complication."

"But how?" she demanded, jumping from her
seat, incensed. "And why? What have I done except mistake you for a
groom and, well, yes I did almost kill your butler but
he
frightened
me
first."

"You misunderstand," he said softly.
"Although you are one of the strangest females I've ever met,
unusually outspoken and, well,
loud,"
he said with a wince,
which earned him a scowl, "it wouldn't matter if you were quiet as
a church mouse. You are a complication."

"Why?" she asked again, sending him an
exasperated glare.

Mr. Haverton placed his empty glass on the
table, with more force than was necessary in her opinion, and then
turned toward her.

He stared at her and she stared right back.
She would not back down on this. She would not return home and tell
her mama that she'd failed and had displeased the new man in town.
She would likely never hear the end of it.

Finally he sighed and ran a hand once more
through his hair. Mariah's hands fairly itched to follow suit but
she balled them ruthlessly into fists. She would not, could not let
herself feel relief at the fact that he wasn't married as she'd
assumed.

"Because," he said after an age, stalking
toward her.

Mariah's heart began to gallop.

"You are the most distractingly beautiful
woman I've ever seen, and I cannot concentrate on what I need to do
when my efforts are being spent on not ravishing you on the
spot."

Mariah had never in
her life been accused of being speechless, but she could not think
of a single word to say to that.

Her breathing became laborious and a sharp
jolt of desire pierced her with such force that she almost
staggered.

Her mother's words of virtue and propriety
screamed in her head, warning her of rakish, untrustworthy men and
the importance of living a pure, blemish-free existence.

Yet at that moment, she had an almost
physical desire to throw herself into his arms and be entirely
improper.

Not that she knew what that entailed but she
rather guessed that she would enjoy finding out.

But of course, she couldn't do such a thing.
Much as she'd like to.

"Do not look at me like that."

Mr. Haverton's strained voice cut through her
haze of longing.

"Like what?" she whispered, still breathless,
still very much wanting to be the opposite of good.

"Like the idea of being ravished doesn't
horrify you," he said bluntly.

Mariah,
a voice still annoyingly like
her mother's scolded her,
do not open your mouth in that brutal
forthright manner of yours. Do not say what you are
thinking.

"It doesn't," she blurted out.

Her conscience, Mariah thought, did a
horrible job of actually stopping her from doing stupid things.

She watched his eyes widen at her words,
watched their chocolate-brown depths grow darker until they seemed
black as sin.

"You shouldn't say such things," he muttered
hoarsely.

"I know," she whispered.

"You do not even know me," he went on.

"I know," she repeated. Evidently she had
lost the ability to sound like an intelligent human being.

"You would be well served to stay away from
me, Miss Bolton," he said though in opposition to his words, he
stepped closer still.

Never had Mariah appreciated what a difficult
task inhaling and then exhaling was.

"No doubt," she answered now, sounding more
confident than she felt.

She was terrified. Not of him but of the
feelings raging through her as they spoke.

"Yet, here you stand," he finished.

Mariah swallowed, feeling that she was on the
precipice of something much larger than she could really
handle.

This was madness. Sheer, unadulterated
madness. Why, she did not even know the man yet her body clamoured
for him in a way she had read about but never experienced.