The Hired Husband

by Judith Stacy

  At last, Mitch put down his pencil and sat back in his chair. His initial impression had been correct. The purchase of the factory Rachel had asked him to check on was simply out of the question.

  The business would be a good investment, though. Mitch had visited the site and spoken with Mr. Prescott during the time Stuart Parker had shown him around the city. Rachel’s brother’s interest in the business made sense. A new direction in which to expand the Branford holdings was good.

  But with the family’s current cash situation, there wasn’t enough capital for the purchase and the expenses to follow. Mitch would recommend that they pass on the deal.

  He rose from the desk and straightened his necktie. He’d break the news to Rachel himself. He owed it to her. Besides, he hadn’t seen her all day. He didn’t know what color dress she’d chosen or what color—

  “Damn…” Mitch shook his head. He had to stop thinking about underwear.

  He found her in the sitting room where she spent most of her afternoons. She stood by the window gazing out. And wearing amethyst.

  Light purple beneath? Or dark, to match the dress? Mitch forced down another wave of wanting.

  She turned as he walked into the room and Mitch saw a little frown on her face. He hadn’t noticed it a moment ago, as things that couldn’t be seen occupied all of his thoughts.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, images of undergarments receding to the back of his mind, replaced by the concern that had hummed through him since the first day he entered this house.

  “Nothing, really.” She managed a small smile. “Did you need something?”

  As any proper hostess should, Rachel was always trying to feed him. The problem was, Mitch had more appetite than Rachel or the cook staff were prepared for. He kept from starving by stopping in at a little restaurant he’d found during one of his daily walks, and by fixing himself something to eat late at night after the cooks had all retired to their quarters for the evening.

  “I’m ready to make a recommendation to Stuart Parker about the factory you asked about,” Mitch explained. “The one your brother wanted to buy.”

  Rachel’s face brightened. “Mr. Prescott’s factory? I thought you’d forgotten.”

  “I remember everything,” he said, the image of her in her nightclothes flashing through his mind.

  She didn’t seem to notice.

  “Are we going to buy it?” she asked.

  “No,” Mitch said.

  “No…?”

  Rachel gazed up at him with the hope that surely she’d heard wrong. Mitch’s stomach knotted with regret, as if he’d failed her somehow.

  “It’s not feasible right now,” he said.

  “But isn’t there something you can do?” she asked, looking up at him with those big brown eyes of hers. “Sell or restructure something? Jiggle things around, somehow?”

  Mitch considered going over the details of the purchase another time. He hadn’t realized it meant so much to Rachel. Yet he knew his decision wouldn’t change.

  “I’ve already looked at it from every angle,” he told her. “It’s not a smart move right now. I won’t put your family in that situation.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Oh…”

  “Maybe at a later date,” Mitch offered, overwhelmed with the need to say something positive. “In a year or so when things are running more smoothly.”

  “A year…” Rachel’s gaze dropped to her hands and she sighed heavily.

  Mitch moved to her side. It took all his strength not to slip his arm around her shoulder and draw her against his chest. She was upset and he had to make things better.

  “I’ll take another look at it,” he told her. “I’ll go over everything again and see what I can do.”

  She looked up at him. “But you really don’t think you can make it work, do you.”

  “No.” It was the hardest word he’d ever spoken.

  “Well, then I guess that’s that.” Rachel sighed again and drew herself up, then offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry to make such a fuss. I know you’re doing your best.”

  “Is there some reason your brother wanted the factory that I’m not aware of?” Mitch asked.

  Rachel shook her head quickly and stepped away from him. “I don’t mean to take it out on you. I’m sorry. I’m disappointed about something else, that’s all.”

  Now what was wrong? Mitch had never felt so helpless in his life.

  She gave him another half smile, as if she read his expression.

  “It’s nothing,” Rachel insisted. She nodded toward the writing desk. “Claudia just sent me a note. We’d planned a shopping trip this afternoon to pick out table linens and other things I need for the luncheon. Now she can’t go.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “You want to go shopping?”

  Damn right he wanted go to. He couldn’t recommend buying her the factory she wanted, couldn’t make her father well, or bring back her mother or locate her older brother, or get Noah another arm.

  But he could see that she got her shopping trip.

  “Sure,” Mitch declared. “You can show me what you want for the luncheon, table linens or forks or whatever.”

  She laughed gently. “Do you know anything about picking out linens?”

  “I’ve always wanted to learn.”

  Rachel eyed him for a moment, as if making up her mind, then said, “Well, if you’re sure…”

  “Let’s go.” He nodded toward the door.

  “I have to get dressed first.”

  “Get dressed? You look fine.”

  “I’ll be just a few minutes.”

  Rachel hurried past him and Mitch turned, following her out of the room. He spotted Noah in the doorway and stopped.

  Mitch didn’t know how long he’d stood there or how much he’d overheard. The boy didn’t say anything, but after a moment, he walked away.

  Mitch didn’t give it another thought as he headed for the study to get his jacket. Because for the first time in his life, he was going shopping with a lady.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Which do you like the best?” Rachel asked.

  Mitch waited at the foot of the staircase as Rachel descended carrying a hat in each hand. Nearly an hour had passed since she headed up to her room to get ready for their shopping trip. He couldn’t imagine what she’d done in that amount of time. She had on a different dress now, a dark green one, but that was about it. What had taken so long?

  “I can’t decide,” she declared, holding out the two hats. “Which one should I wear?”

  Both were wide brimmed, decorated with flowers.

  “They’re the same,” Mitch said.

  “They’re completely different.” She held out each in turn. “This one has pansies and this one has irises.”

  “Oh.” He studied them again. “They’re both nice.”

  “But they each give a totally different effect. Let me show you.” Rachel turned to the mirror above the chest in the foyer and placed one of the hats on her head. She turned to him. “What do you think?”

  He thought she was beautiful. The hat dipped low over one eye, tilting at a provocative angle.

  “Or, this one.” At the mirror again, Rachel tried on the other hat. She turned back to him. This one sat a little higher on her forehead, displaying her entire face.

  “I like them both,” Mitch said.

  “But which one looks best?”

  He thought for another few seconds. “The first one.”

  Rachel heaved an exasperated sigh and flung her arms out. “Now I have to go change my dress.”

  “Change your—”

  She whipped around and headed up the stairs again.

  “Why are you changing your dress?” Mitch called. “It’s fine.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I’ve already waited an hour,” Mitch called, waving toward the hall clock. “Why are you…?”

  All he could do
was stand there as the last swish of her skirt hem disappeared down the upstairs hallway. Mitch pressed his palm to his forehead. What had just happened?

  From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Noah. The boy uttered a disgusted grunt and walked away.

  “What?” Mitch went after him.

  Noah glanced back only long enough to give him a disapproving head shake.

  “What?” Mitch demanded.

  Noah turned back, suddenly looking wise and confident.

  “You don’t have sisters, do you,” he declared, not asking a question but rather making a statement, as if the answer was a foregone conclusion.

  “No,” Mitch admitted.

  “Wife? Aunt, mother, grandmother?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “They do this all the time,” Noah told him, gesturing toward the upstairs. “Never—and I mean never—tell them you like a particular hat or dress better than another.”

  “But she asked me.”

  “It’s a trap,” Noah told him. “Believe me, whatever you pick, it will be wrong.”

  “What am I supposed to do when she asks me?”

  “Tell her they both are perfect. She looks beautiful in each. Tell her you can’t decide.”

  “But what if I really like one more than the other?”

  “Then you run the risk of having to wait until she changes again.”

  “Like now.”

  “Exactly,” Noah told him. “You may as well find something to do. It will be another hour before she’s ready to go. Oh, and one more thing. No matter what, don’t agree to eat at the Peacock Tea Room today.”

  “Why not?”

  “You don’t want to eat there. Believe me.”

  Mitch nodded. “Right. No Peacock Tea Room. Got it.”

  Noah looked as if he doubted it, and headed on down the hallway.

  Mitch returned to the study and went back to work. An hour later, he and Rachel were finally in the carriage, heading out of the driveway.

  It had been worth the wait. Seated across from her, Mitch’s only thought was how beautiful she looked. She’d changed into yet another green dress that looked to Mitch to be no different from the last. But she was smiling now, arranging her skirt and talking about the trip ahead.

  “Wilshire Boulevard has the best shops. We’ll go there.” Her smile broadened. “Then we’ll have lunch at the Peacock Tea Room. How does that sound?”

  Mitch didn’t hesitate. “Sounds perfect.”

  The smile Rachel received in return made her stomach flutter. The sensation caused her to look away from him, out the window at the neighbors’ houses rolling past.

  It was strange sharing a shopping trip with a man. Rachel couldn’t remember one single time when her father had escorted her mother on such an occasion. When they were all younger, Chelsey, Noah and Rachel had accompanied their mother. Noah finally rebelled, refusing to go. Chelsey preferred to stay home and read, usually, until finally it was simply Rachel and her mother.

  The joy of those treasured memories brought with it the sadness of her mother’s absence. Rachel forced aside the turbulent thought. She sat a little straighter on the leather seat, focusing instead on the day that lay ahead.

  And her shopping companion.

  Though she’d made Mitch’s acquaintance only a short while ago, she knew some very important things about him.

  He was a hard worker. Smart. Decisive. She knew he ate very little, especially for a man his size. She knew he liked his solitude. She knew he boxed.

  Her gaze drifted across the carriage.

  She knew what he looked like in his undershirt.

  His gaze darted to meet hers, as if sensing her study of him. Rachel looked away. After a moment, her eyes found him again.

  His kiss. She knew that about him, too. The taste of his mouth. The feel of his lips. And he gave off an incredible amount of heat. On cold, winter nights how nice it would be to snuggle close, indulge in that warmth.

  Rachel’s thought startled her. Good gracious, what had come over her? Thinking such things. How unladylike. It simply wasn’t done.

  Shifting on the seat, Rachel smoothed down her skirt, directing her thoughts elsewhere. It came to her then that, aside from these few facts, she knew very little about Mitch. His background was a mystery to her while he knew everything there was to know about the Branfords. Their finances, their troubles, their living arrangements. Everything.

  Rachel decided it was high time the scales were evened, and with some clever questioning, she could accomplish that.

  “Do you like Los Angeles?” she asked, keeping her voice light, conversational.

  Mitch nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a nice place.”

  “It’s different from San Francisco, though, isn’t it?” she asked. “That’s your home? San Francisco?”

  “Both cities are prosperous. Lots of commerce. Not as much rain here, though.”

  Great. She’d maneuvered him into talking about the weather.

  “What about your family?” she asked, trying for something more direct. “Do they miss you while you’re gone?”

  He uttered a half laugh. “Families. There’s always something to be dealt with. You know that.”

  How easily he’d avoided answering even one of her questions. He’d deflected them all, given her no real information. And with practiced ease, too. As if he’d confronted these very questions many times before and successfully sidestepped them all.

  Why?

  A stunning thought made Rachel’s breath catch.

  “Are you married?” she asked. It came out as an accusation, rather than a question.

  That got his attention.

  Yet he didn’t blurt out an answer. A frown creased his forehead and his eyes narrowed.

  “No one ever asked me that before,” he said.

  “I think I have a right to know,” she told him.

  “Because I kissed you?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Would you have let me kiss you if I were married?” he proposed.

  “Of course not,” Rachel told him, then was annoyed with herself for responding. “You still haven’t given me an answer.”

  “I have a very low opinion of married men who cheat on their wives,” Mitch told her. He glanced out the window for a moment, then back at her. “No, I’m not married. Not engaged. Not courting anyone.”

  She felt relieved, for a reason she didn’t want to think about.

  “Marriage isn’t part of your plan?” Rachel asked, remembering the night they walked through the garden together when he’d told her of his desire to attain wealth and power. “You think it would be difficult to follow your plan with a wife and children in tow?”

  “Don’t you?” he countered.

  “I think that would depend on the wife.”

  Mitch seemed to consider this for a moment, then asked, “What about you? I’ve seen no suitors coming or going since I’ve been at your house.”

  Benjamin Blair roared into Rachel’s mind, the man who’d called on her regularly only a few months ago. She pushed the bitter recollection aside, as she’d done so often before.

  Now, since her mother’s death, it wasn’t proper to receive a gentleman caller and that suited Rachel fine. She seldom met a man she found interesting. A man she wanted to learn more about.

  Or one she wanted to see without his shirt on.

  Rachel waved away Mitch’s comment, hoping also to banish the image from her mind.

  “I am far too consumed with family matters at present,” she told him.

  Mitch hadn’t really expected a different answer from her. Even if accepting a gentleman caller were socially acceptable at this point, he doubted Rachel would have done so. Her family commanded her attention, their reputation and well-being uppermost in her mind.

  “Here we are,” Rachel said as the carriage rolled to a stop. Mitch climbed out first and assisted her to the sidew
alk.

  Pedestrians bustled along the walkways, men in suits and women wearing the latest fashion, bunched together with folks of the working class. Horse-drawn carriages and delivery wagons crowded the street, vying with the trolleys for the limited space. Utility lines crisscrossed overhead. All manner of businesses were housed in tall buildings—banks, shops, restaurants, hotels.

  Mitch took it all in with a slow, even sweep. He loved the city. The people, the sights, the sounds. The opportunities. The chance to be as big as the city itself.

  Then Rachel’s hand closed around his elbow, shrinking the world and closing out the sound.

  “Let’s start here.” She pointed to a nearby store.

  The smile on her face touched him. Today the potential of the City of Los Angeles could wait. Today he was shopping for table linens.

  They went from store to store all along the street. The clerks knew Rachel by name. They brought out their best wares. Mitch stood at her side as she considered the items, listening, learning.

  “In the linen, silver and crystal of the supper table one reads the story of the hostess’s personality,” Rachel explained.

  “The story of the hostess’s personality?” Mitch repeated.

  “Certainly. Her taste is reflected in the correctness, or the incorrectness, of the table arrangement,” she explained. “One must be careful not to overburden the table, of course, as it’s easy to do.”

  Mitch nodded, taking it in. When she asked for his opinion, he remembered Noah’s advice and remarked that he liked them all. That seemed to please Rachel just as well; he was sure she already knew what she wanted, anyway.

  Other times he followed along behind her through the store aisles because he had no idea where she was going or what might strike her fancy and cause her to stop suddenly. Besides, the view was nice from the rear.

  He carried packages. He went where she wanted to go. He listened. He leaned down when she wanted to whisper in his ear about someone she spotted in the crowd. He smelled her hair and watched her bustle bob up and down. He held her arm when they crossed the street and hurried her along when she was too busy looking in a shop window to watch traffic.

  Stores had begun to close when they reached their carriage with the final armload of purchases. The driver took them from Mitch while Rachel contemplated the display in a nearby window that she’d considered earlier in the day.