Forbidden in February (4 page)

When she reached the entryway, she stopped to take in the scene before her. From what she’d learned, Mr. Walters had been with the Miltons since Robert was a small boy, and as she watched him, it was clear just how happy he was to see Robert again. She’d always respected the older man and hadn’t seen anything that would suggest he was a bad judge of character. Surely he wouldn’t hold such fondness for the man if Robert were a bounder who routinely propositioned the women in his mother’s employment.

When she moved into the foyer, Robert’s gaze moved from Mr. Walters and landed on her. Determined not to let him know just how much his presence unsettled her, she didn’t falter and continued until she’d joined the two men. Ever the dutiful butler, Mr. Walters accepted Robert’s coat, hat, and gloves and melted away, leaving them alone. Isabel resisted the urge to call him back.

“Mr. Milton,” she said by way of greeting, grateful that she’d kept enough of her wits about her not to call him by his Christian name. She’d heard so many stories about this man from his mother and from Mrs. Harris that she found it almost impossible to think of him any other way.

“Miss Durham.”

She waited a moment, hoping he would break the tense silence that seemed to hang heavy in the air, but the damned man appeared to enjoy her discomfort. She kept her hands clenched tightly before her as she swallowed her annoyance.

“Everything in the library is as you left it. You did say that you wanted to continue sorting through your mother’s papers today?”

He didn’t bother to hide his amusement as he replied with a single nod.

She kept from gritting her teeth, instead pasting a false smile on her face as she continued. “I shall leave you to continue, then. If you need to speak to me, just ring for the maid and she’ll come find me. The house is, of course, at your disposal. But perhaps…” She hesitated, unsure whether it would be unseemly to speak the request that was on her mind. “Walters was very happy to see you today.”

The corners of Robert’s mouth turned up, and she could see from the warmth that entered his eyes that he returned the butler’s affection. “Yes. It’s been far too long since I visited.”

“I believe that Cook wanted the opportunity to see you as well.” She underplayed the truth, of course. She wasn’t about to reveal that Mrs. Harris had been upset to learn she’d missed him the day before. She’d been at the house since Robert was a baby, longer than Mr. Walters. “She wanted to prepare a feast for your return, but I didn’t know if you’d be staying here now or returning to the Beckworth town house. I managed to restrain her, and she agreed to provide a light luncheon if you so desire. I don’t know how long you are planning to stay…” She stopped abruptly when she realized she was on the verge of babbling. It was a bad habit of hers to try to fill the silence whenever she was uncomfortable, and the man before her definitely had that power.

“I’ll go down and see her now despite the fact I’m sure she’ll scold me for being away so long,” he said with a small wince. “Of course, she wouldn’t be the first woman to do so.”

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks at the reminder of their conversation the day before.

“She made a batch of biscuits for you this morning. I fear she believes you are still six years of age.”

He laughed, the sound surprising her with its warm affection. “No, she just knows I can never resist her sweets. It’s a miracle I wasn’t much larger when I still lived here.”

Almost of their own volition, her eyes dropped to examine his midsection, which was, of course, perfectly flat. She wondered if that part of him would feel as hard as his chest had, and the heat in her cheeks intensified. Appalled, she brought her gaze back to his face. The easy camaraderie of the moment before was gone, but she couldn’t decipher what he was thinking. Was he remembering propositioning her the day before? Or were such occurrences so commonplace that she simply blended in with all the other women he approached?

Thoroughly discomposed, she gave a small curtsy by way of taking her leave and turned to head upstairs to her bedroom. Drat the man for making her uneasy again, even though he hadn’t done anything on purpose. It seemed his mere presence was enough to unsettle her.

She felt his gaze on her back the entire way until she reached the second floor landing and turned a corner.

He’d no sooner stepped into the kitchen than he was engulfed in a pair of arms and held against Mrs. Harris’s rather ample bosom. He returned the hug, not realizing until that moment just how much he’d missed her. Missed all of them, really. Walters’ greeting had been restrained—the man certainly hadn’t attempted to hug him—but he could tell the older man was as glad to see him as Robert was to be there. He’d stayed away far too long, but it had been the only way to keep his mother from making increasingly uncomfortable demands that he attempt to reconcile with his father.

When Mrs. Harris released him to step back and wipe a tear from her eyes, it was almost worse than being verbally rebuked.

“I’d hoped to see you long before today,” she said.

Her words were nothing more than he’d expected, but her expression softened when he replied. “It’s good to see you, as well.”

With a soft sigh, she moved to the counter where she uncovered a plate to unearth an alarming variety of biscuits. “I might have gotten carried away, but now that you’re here you may as well take a few.” Her eyes went to the clock situated on the sideboard. It was still late morning. “I don’t suppose you’d want luncheon as well right now?”

He took two biscuits from the plate and shook his head. “I think these will do for now. I’m not a growing lad anymore. If I let you have your way, I’d find myself needing to purchase a new, much larger wardrobe soon.”

She laughed, the sound reminding him of his youth and all the times he’d stolen away to the kitchen to steal a biscuit or two. Mrs. Harris had known, of course, but she’d never said anything to him about it. “I’ve never seen anyone eat as well as you and never gain a pound. I’d swear you had the devil in you if I didn’t know you so well.”

“I need to sort through Mother’s paperwork today, so I fear I’ll be buried in the office for quite some time. Perhaps you could have a tray sent up in a couple of hours?”

With a tsking sound, Mrs. Harris took the two biscuits from his hand and dropped them onto a napkin. She added two more from the plate before wrapping the small bundle and handing it back to him.

When she hesitated before speaking, he braced himself for the condolences he knew were coming and the wave of guilt that would follow. “I’m so sorry things ended the way they did. You deserved better, but so did your mother.”

Damn. He knew Mrs. Harris understood why he’d had to leave, and he knew she’d never truly think ill of him, but her words definitely hit their mark.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry as well.”

He didn’t miss the tears that sprang to her eyes, and he felt himself in danger of following suit. His throat clogged and he couldn’t speak again, but he didn’t have to. Mrs. Harris lifted a corner of her apron to wipe at her eyes before patting him on the arm.

“Off with you, now. We both have work to do.”

Thankful for the respite, he dropped a kiss on her cheek before turning and making his way upstairs. He’d almost forgotten how easy it was being home. Since becoming the Duke of Beckworth’s valet, he’d grown used to the more frantic pace of life belowstairs. His duties had eased with the duke’s passing to the point that he constantly sought out tasks to fill his day, but the estate was very large and required a small army for its upkeep. The London town house, while much smaller, was just as busy, especially now that the duchess was in Town.

When he reached the second floor landing, he paused for a moment, wondering where Isabel had gone. Would it be too much to hope she was waiting for him in the library?

He hadn’t really expected to find her there, yet he was disappointed to find the room empty. Determined to push thoughts of the all-too-distracting Miss Durham from his mind, he went to the desk and sat. He cleared off a section of the desk for the small bundle of biscuits Mrs. Harris had given him and started chewing on one as he tried to organize his thoughts.

If he wanted to get through all this paperwork today, he’d need to organize them into piles first. He’d handed Walters the paperwork his mother’s solicitor had given him, and he studiously ignored the corner of the desk where the butler had placed them. With any luck, most of the papers would be receipts for bills his mother had already paid. He’d be able to drop all those back into one drawer, perhaps two, depending on how many she’d kept. Somewhere in the mix, he hoped to find the reason behind why the staff were still at the house even though, if his mother’s solicitor was to be believed, they hadn’t been receiving a salary.

Two hours later, he’d long since dispatched all the biscuits and was fighting off a headache. But at least he’d made much headway. His mother had held on to every bill and receipt she’d received over the past several years, and separating them out had turned the alarming piles into a few more manageable ones. But he still hadn’t seen anything that at first glance would explain the current household situation.

He’d just come to the conclusion that he would have to seek out Miss Durham and ask her directly when he heard a soft knock at the open door. Thankful for the interruption, he looked up from what appeared to be a list of items his mother had wished to purchase to redecorate her bedchamber—a task he suspected she hadn’t completed—to find Isabel standing in the doorway with a tray in her arms.

He rose and watched her with more than passing interest as she moved into the room to set the tray down on the table before the settee. He was disappointed to see that she carried a tea tray, but his spirits rose when Walters entered moments later carrying a second tray piled high with sandwiches and yet more biscuits. He was also pleased to see that the tea tray held two cups.

“You have answered my prayers,” he said.

“Mrs. Harris insisted on all the biscuits. She said you would need them to keep up your strength. She thought you were looking a little thin.”

He laughed, picturing the earnest manner in which Mrs. Harris usually made such pronouncements. Miss Durham tried to hide her own amusement, but he caught the slight twitching of her lips and was charmed.

Well, charmed more than he already was by her. He waited for her to sit on one end of the settee before settling on the other end. Given what had taken place the last time they’d been in this room together, he figured he was forgiven for his misunderstanding if she was willing to join him now. She hadn’t even asked Walters to stay, which he’d half expected her to do.

As she poured out the tea, asking him how he liked his and fixing it for him before doing the same for herself, he examined her. He hated that her hair was up, every strand bound tightly, and that she carried herself rigidly. She’d greeted him in the same manner, but he’d hoped she would be more at ease with him. Surely she couldn’t be worried that he would proposition her again?

Of course she was worried, he thought, looking away from her. If he were being completely honest with himself, the slightest indication from her that she would welcome his advances would have him repeating his proposal in earnest. Thoughts of what might have been if she’d accepted his proposition had plagued him the night before while he’d tried to sleep. It had been some time since he’d been so tempted by a woman, and it wasn’t for lack of opportunity. There had been more than one maid over the past few years of his employment who’d made it clear they would welcome his advances. But Beckworth had been a demanding taskmaster, and Robert hadn’t wanted to jeopardize his position. That didn’t explain why things hadn’t changed after Beckworth’s death eight months before, though.

He tried not to think about it but knew that the real reason behind his restraint lay with his own upbringing. Being raised the illegitimate son of a wealthy man—one who had no difficulty casting his mother aside and moving on to another, younger mistress—had left him more than a little uncomfortable with the idea of using women as playthings. That didn’t mean he was a monk. He’d certainly had his share of liaisons over the years, but they were normally brief in duration since he didn’t want to find himself facing the same situation with himself cast as the careless villain who had caused a woman to fall in love with him before throwing her aside. For that reason, he’d seldom slept with a woman more than once, and when he did he was careful that there would be no chance of a child coming from their coupling.

But damn, he wanted the woman sitting beside him who was attempting to hide her discomfort as she selected an assortment of sandwiches for him. Watching the tense set of her shoulders, he found he missed the brief glimpse of the woman he’d seen the day before. The one who was soft and slightly rumpled after her nap, her unbound hair hanging down to the middle of her back. The way she’d scraped her into a tight chignon, all those lighter ends had been tucked away.