by Judith Stacy
And he knew exactly where to start.
Chapter Nine
The door chimes broke Mitch’s concentration as he sat behind the desk in the study. He glanced at the mantel clock across the room. After five. Too late for visitors. Too late for the postman.
Madeline’s letter? Mitch hurried to the door and gazed down the hallway to the foyer. Rachel had told him that the young girl wrote to Noah twice a week. Mitch didn’t know which days, but he wanted to be ready, just in case.
As he watched, Hayden crept from the vestibule with a large box wrapped in brown paper tucked under his arm. Among the butler’s many duties, he delivered all letters and packages that arrived at the Branford house. He’d overseen the placement of the many crates of family records that littered the study.
Hayden nodded respectfully to Mitch as he passed, and disappeared into the sitting room. A few second later, he returned and went about his business elsewhere in the house.
Had Madeline sent Noah a package? Was the boy waiting in the sitting room?
Mitch went to the doorway and was relieved to see Rachel inside, alone. She stood with her back to him at the little writing desk, the box lying open, a froth of white tissue paper around her.
The early evening shadows cast her in pale light. Somehow, she seemed to shine. Mitch’s heart tumbled. Such a beautiful woman.
He glanced back down the hallway, knowing what he should do, what he ought to do, what was best for him. But he just couldn’t seem to bring himself to do it.
“Something for the luncheon?” he asked, walking in.
Rachel whirled around, her eyes wide as saucers. She spread her arms to block his view of the box.
Mitch had thought that something she’d bought for the luncheon had arrived. But the blush on her cheeks told him nothing of the sort was in the box.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing!” Rachel spun around and batted at the tissue paper.
Mitch eased up behind her and tried to look over her shoulder. She glanced up at him, dodged right, then left, desperate, it seemed, to block his view. Now he had to know what was in the box.
“Did you buy a dress?” he asked, seeing the light blue fabric through the thin paper.
Rachel grabbed the lid and smashed it onto the box. She turned to face him. “It’s—it’s nothing.”
Was she worried he’d be upset that she’d spent money? He wondered.
“What is it?” he asked again.
The pink on her cheeks deepened. “It’s something…personal.”
“Since when is a new dress ‘personal’?” Mitch asked. “Is it for you to wear at the luncheon? Let me see.”
She drew herself up and spread her arms wide. “I told you, it’s personal.”
“How personal can a dress—”
Mitch froze as he realized that the items in the box were Rachel’s undergarments. Then his heart slammed against his chest and heat soared through his veins.
They were undergarments and they were colored.
Mitch’s desire for her flamed. Colored underwear. Miss What-Will-People-Say, Miss That-Simply-Isn’t-Done wore colored undergarments. She probably had them specially made in secret, shipped to the house in a plain wrapper so no one would know. Surely she had a conservative ivory flounce sewn on the edges of her petticoats so no one would suspect.
Mitch gulped. He wanted her. Right here, right now. He wanted to lay her back on that box of blue underwear and—
“If you’ll excuse me?” Rachel snatched up the box and hurried from the room.
Mitch watched her go, watched the sway of her hips, the swing of her skirts as she disappeared out of the door. He clenched his fists. It took all the willpower he could muster to keep from going after her. He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted Rachel.
When he’d first met her, his heart had ached for her. His body wanted hers from the start.
If his head ever agreed with the rest of him, God knows what he might do.
The house in the dead of night caused no trepidation for Rachel. Darkness, shadows, silence were as welcome to her as daytime’s bright sunlight and the voices of her family, the servants and visitors. This place was her home and she was always comfortable there.
Except for tonight.
Rachel’s bare feet skipped up the staircase, tracing a well-practiced route that avoided the occasional creaking riser. Noise was her enemy tonight. She wanted no one to realize her intentions at this late hour.
At the top of the staircase, she turned right, her nightgown and robe flying behind her as she hurried down the hall. She pushed her long hair over her shoulder and stopped in front of Mitch’s door.
She needed him. Now.
Rachel raised her fist to knock but stopped herself. She glanced up and down the hallway. Someone might hear the noise. Her father was incapacitated and Chelsey’s room lay a good distance away, but the servants seemed to hear, see and know everything that went on. And the very last thing Rachel intended to do was attract attention.
She turned the doorknob, slipped inside Mitch’s bedchamber and closed the door behind her. Darkness enfolded her as she clung to the knob, not daring to turn around.
She was in a man’s bedchamber. Mitch’s room. Her heart beat a little faster at the realization. Moments ago, downstairs, all she could think of was to get to him. But now that she was here…
Rachel drew in a fortifying breath, turned and surveyed the room. Her gaze landed on the bed.
Empty.
Empty? She ventured closer, seeing in the dim light that the coverlet hadn’t been disturbed. The adjoining bathroom was dark and empty, too. Where had Mitch gone?
Rachel pressed her lips together. She hadn’t seen him downstairs just now. Had he left the house? Hurrying to the window, Rachel gazed outside onto the rear lawn. No unusual shadows moved about the grounds.
Disheartened, she left the room, considering what to do next. Who could she turn to now?
A faint light caught her attention from the end of the hallway along with an odd thumping sound. Rachel followed it to the attic entrance and went up the stairs.
Mitch. Her breath caught at the sight of him.
Across the cluttered attic he pounded his bare fists into a big, heavy bag suspended from the rafters. Boxing. It was all the rage, with participants attaining a sort of celebrity status. Rachel knew of the sport, though she didn’t understand the allure of men beating each other bloody.
Seeing Mitch brought her a sudden appreciation for the effort and froze her on the top step.
Wide, square shoulders. Huge arms, bulging with every punch and jab. Damp hair hanging over his sweating forehead.
The business suits he always wore kept secret the strength of his body. Now, the sleeveless white undershirt, damp with sweat, stuck to his chest and rippled belly. His soft, worn denim trousers clung to places a lady should never look.
Rachel looked. Warmth spread through her, somehow locking her in place, binding her to the sight of Mitch.
He stopped suddenly and his gaze fell on her. An unexpected heat covered her cheeks and she nearly ran back down the steps. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave.
“What—what are you doing?” Mitch asked, breathing heavily, his hands at his sides.
A moment ago he’d looked nearly spent from pounding the bag. Now he seemed spun up, ready to pounce—on something. But he wasn’t angry. Rachel wasn’t sure what it was.
“I saw the light on,” she said, gesturing vaguely down the stairs. “I was in your bedchamber and I—”
“You were in my room?” he asked, his eyes dipping to take in the length of her.
“Yes, I needed you—”
“Oh, Christ…” Mitch grabbed a towel from atop an old dresser and plopped down onto a tiny three-legged stool. He plastered the towel over his face.
Rachel hurried to him. “I need you.”
He dragged the towel down and gazed up at her, his breathing quic
k and heavy. A few more seconds passed without him speaking until Rachel supposed he wasn’t going to.
“It’s Noah,” she said. “Downstairs. I couldn’t wake him. I don’t want the servants to find him. I think maybe he’s…”
Mitch nodded. He dragged the towel over his face and around his neck, then tossed it aside and rose to his feet.
Rachel fell back a little at his strength and great height rising in front of her. Heat rolled off him. A masculine scent engulfed her. It seemed to call to her, somehow. Urge her to do something very unladylike.
Mitch stared down at her, a hunger in his gaze that had nothing to do with proper decorum. Rachel felt her cheeks flush again.
Was he going to kiss her? The thought skittered through her mind. Did she want him to?
Before she could decide on an answer, Mitch turned sharply and left the attic. Rachel followed, the cooler air of the second-floor hallway a welcome relief.
“He’s in the library,” Rachel explained, hurrying alongside Mitch. “I couldn’t sleep so I went to find a book. I found him on the floor.”
In the library near the rear of the house, a solitary lamp burned on the desk. Noah lay facedown on the floor near the leather sofa.
Rachel knelt near her brother’s head. “I couldn’t rouse him. Is he all right?”
Mitch dropped to one knee and turned Noah over. An empty liquor bottle rolled from beneath him.
“He’ll be fine,” Mitch said. He grabbed the boy’s arm and hoisted him over his shoulder.
Rachel led the way upstairs to Noah’s room. Mitch dropped him on the bed and waited while she pulled the quilt over him. They went into the hallway and closed the door.
“He drank too much, didn’t he?” Rachel asked. Mitch nodded and she said, “I don’t know what to do about him.”
“Nothing you can do tonight,” Mitch pointed out.
They walked down the hallway and stopped at the door to Rachel’s bedchamber.
“I didn’t know you boxed,” she said. “You seem very good at it.”
He stood in front of her. “I’m good at a lot of things.”
That strange heat seemed to emanate from him once more. It overtook Rachel, urged her closer to him. She held back.
“Thank you for your help,” she said. “I know you didn’t expect this sort of thing when you agreed to work here.”
Mitch angled his body closer and braced one arm on the wall behind her head. His closeness, his strength robbed Rachel of words. She thought of only one thing to say.
“I missed you while you were gone,” she whispered.
Mitch eased back a little and Rachel thought he’d turn and leave. Instead, he bent down and kissed her.
He slid his lips over hers, sending a quiver through her. One of his arms curled around her. He splayed his palm across her cheek. A warmth bound them together.
He deepened their kiss, slipping his tongue inside. Rachel gasped, then sighed at the wonder, the delight of it. He blended their mouths together for a long, exquisite moment.
Mitch lifted his head, but held her in his embrace. Rachel made no effort to pull away. She remained in his arms, gazing up at him. They stayed that way for a long time, just the two of them, bound together by unseen forces.
After another moment, Mitch backed away. Rachel’s heart lurched. She didn’t want him to leave. She craved his nearness, his heat, his scent.
He seemed to know that, somehow. Mitch hesitated for a few seconds, then turned and headed down the hallway. Rachel ducked into her room and fell back against the door.
Good gracious, what was happening to her?
Chapter Ten
The journal entries blurred before Mitch’s eyes and turned into colors. Yellow? Pink?
Or the pale blue he’d seen yesterday?
He snapped the ledger closed and shifted in his chair. All he’d been able to think of this morning was Rachel’s underwear, and those thoughts kept his desire for her humming until he could hardly sit still.
Did she wear the colored undergarments everyday? He suspected so. Did she pick a color at random or perhaps something that matched her dress?
What was she wearing today? The pale blue set he’d seen her open in the sitting room?
He pressed his lips together, imagining—not for the first time—what Rachel might look like in the blue undergarments. Stretched out on the bed, her long, lovely legs peeking from the folds of silky blue, an identically colored chemise hanging off one shoulder.
Mitch shook his head, clearing his mind. It was just these thoughts that had driven him to the attic last night to work out his frustration on the punching bag.
The attic. Mitch moaned. In the attic last night, Rachel, quite obviously, had on no underwear at all. It was as if Mitch’s overwhelming desire for her had somehow summoned her. She’d simply appeared at the top of the stairs, her hair falling around her shoulders, her swells and curves outlined by her loose-fitting nightclothes. It was almost more than Mitch could bear.
Yet he’d better learn to bear it.
Mitch picked up the ledger and forced his mind back onto the columns of figures. He was here to do a job and thoughts of Rachel and her underwear would only distract him, prolong his work, and thus his misery.
Determinedly, he pulled a tablet from the desk drawer and turned to a fresh page. He had to finish his analysis and come to a decision. He still had a number of things—
They matched.
The notion flew into Mitch’s mind with an intensity that drove him from the chair.
They matched. Rachel’s undergarments matched her dresses. Surely her desire for perfection extended to her own wardrobe. That could only mean that the color of whatever dress she wore was complemented by undergarments of the same hue. With a green gown, she wore green underwear. Blue with blue. Purple with purple. Black with—
The mental image of Rachel in black undergarments sent Mitch bolting for the door.
She’d seen him so many times now, how could her heart still lurch at the sight of him?
Rachel moved closer to the sitting-room window as she watched Mitch striding across the rear lawn. He usually took a walk in the middle of the day, a stroll through the neighborhood to clear his mind, she guessed. No one could remain cooped up in an office behind a desk all day.
But right now he appeared in a terrible hurry, though she couldn’t imagine why. And he seemed hot, too. The day was overcast and cool, but he’d pulled down his necktie and popped open his collar.
A little shiver passed over her at the memory of last night. Mitch in his undershirt. She’d never seen a man dressed that way before. She couldn’t imagine any man—not even Claudia’s precious Graham Bixby—looking so fine.
Along with memories of Mitch’s broad shoulders came another thought about last night. Rachel had had no man to rely on in a long time, and Mitch filled that hole in the family so easily, so effortlessly. They all ran to him with problems. And he seemed to have the answers.
Last night when she’d stumbled upon Noah on the library floor, she’d been afraid he’d hurt himself. Without another thought, she’d run to find Mitch.
He was so strong, so capable she knew he could get Noah upstairs and into his room. She knew, too, that he’d keep the incident to himself. She certainly didn’t want the servants to learn of it. Goodness knows, they talked among themselves and to the servants of the neighboring households.
What would people think?
A plume of heat swelled in Rachel. What would people think, indeed, if they’d seen the two of them kissing outside her bedchamber? He’d taken her breath away. Made her forget, just for a few moments, all her troubles.
Could Mitch make her feel that way all the time?
The door chimes once again interrupted Mitch’s concentration. He’d trained himself to listen for them, these past few days.
He shoved out of his chair, grabbed the letter opener from his desk and left the study. If this was another delivery of co
lored underwear, he didn’t know what he’d do.
That concern proved groundless when he saw Noah coming down the staircase and Hayden crossing the foyer, a single letter lying atop the small tray he carried. It was from Madeline, surely. Noah must have been watching from the upstairs window and seen the family servant deliver it.
“Just a minute,” Mitch called. “Let me see the letter.”
The butler paused. His troubled gaze darted to Noah, who’d stopped on the bottom step. Mitch walked past the boy, glimpsed the anger in his expression and his want to race ahead and claim his treasured letter.
But Noah didn’t move. Mitch knew he wouldn’t. Mitch was bigger and stronger. And he had two arms.
“I’m making a change,” Mitch said, stopping in front of Hayden. “From now on when you bring me the mail I want you to open it for me.”
The butler just looked at him.
“Like this.” Mitch picked up the letter from the tray and saw that it was, indeed, addressed to Noah. He sliced through the envelope with the letter opener. “I want you to do that for everyone in the family. Understand?”
A knowing smile quivered on the butler’s lips. “Yes, Mr. Kincade. I understand completely.”
Mitch presented Hayden with the letter opener, then turned to Noah and held out the envelope.
The boy didn’t rush forward and grab it, but Mitch knew he wouldn’t. A myriad of emotions played across his young face: fear, suspicion and finally, begrudged gratitude. He swiped the envelope from Mitch’s hand and darted up the staircase.
Mitch watched him disappear down the hallway, then turned to Hayden. “Thank you,” he said.
“No, thank you, sir.” The butler nodded and left.
Mitch returned to the study and the analysis he’d spent the last hour working on. He knew what his recommendation would be. It wasn’t even a close call. But Rachel had asked about it specifically, so he’d put in the extra effort, double-checked figures and thought it through again.
