Forbidden

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Mariah waited with bated breath for her mother to weigh up her words.

  Finally, Mrs. Bolton sighed and said; "Very well. I do not suppose you can back out now that you've agreed."

  Mariah thanked her profusely and pretended to believe that the decision was based on a magnanimous nature and not a desire to have one up on Mrs. Callahan and the other town gossips.

  With the matter settled, Mariah quickly changed the subject just in case her mother suddenly changed her mind again. But thankfully, there was no reversal of the decision.

  As Mariah readied herself for bed that night, she did not even attempt to still the butterflies of excitement in her stomach.

  For once, she would be doing something exciting and adventurous all by herself. She could not wait.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mariah pulled her woollen cloak more firmly around her shoulders and hunched over against the biting December wind.

  Her father's gig was extremely handy for traversing the often bumpy country roads surrounding their village. But it was no use against the inclement weather of a Lancashire winter.

  Her mother had almost had a fit of the vapours that morning when Mariah announced she would go alone to the Manor.

  Mariah had managed to calm her down with careful explanations that it was only servants at the house at present; they all knew her anyway so her reputation wasn't in any danger and, mostly, by slipping something into her teacup, though Mariah did not confess to this.

  It was nothing dangerous. Just enough to make her happily drowsy until Mariah made her escape.

  As she crested a small hill, Mariah pulled to a halt.

  There it was. Greywood Manor.

  The house was a magnificent structure of stone brought up from London, if the gossips were correct. The baron who had commissioned it wanted it to stand out next to the local yellow brick. And stand out it did.

  It was made of a grey stone but rather than seem dull, it was so large and beautifully situated that the stone could never have looked anything less than beautiful.

  The grounds surrounding the manor house were nowhere near as extensive as those of the estates close by but they were vast and verdant, the evergreens lushly dark against the cool winter sky.

  Even if she hadn't been lucky enough to be working in the library, Mariah would have been ecstatic to be here and made a promise to herself to explore every inch of land when she had a break to do so.

  But right now, time was ticking. She had risen at first light, determined to finish before Mr. Haverton arrived.

  Mariah was difficult to intimidate but Mrs. Yates' description of her mysterious employer left her feeling that she would rather not meet him until she absolutely had to. And certainly not before she had done an excellent job with the library.

  Pulling up to the front of the magnificent house, Mariah looked up and spotted a groom coming towards her.

  She could not see the man's features from this distance, but good heavens, he looked to be a fine specimen of manhood indeed!

  His gait was strong and sure and he was tall, so very tall.

  Mariah wasn't exactly tiny and in actual fact was rather taller than a lot of the men her age in the village. But this giant of a man would surely tower over her.

  And his shoulders! Mariah's mouth dried up as she took in the breadth of his shoulders and her eyes raked greedily over the rest of him.

  His clothing was dark and nondescript, although, she admitted to herself, he wasn't in the usual attire of a groom. In fact, he was ever so well dressed for a groom but he certainly wasn't dressed as a gentleman.

  Curious. Obviously the servants dressed a lot better in the South than they did up here.

  She was not complaining however, not when the clothes gave her a wonderful few of his broad torso, tapering down to a slim waist and legs that looked mouth-wateringly muscular in his tight black breeches.

  She was a veritable hussy! Never had she so scandalously studied a man's form.

  The heat of embarrassment and — admittedly — excitement rose to stain her cheeks.

  He was closer now and stopped still, staring up at her. And now that she could see his face, the air left her body in one, giant whoosh.

  Good God. The man was utterly gorgeous.

  Mariah's breath hitched as she returned the man's curious gaze with a, frankly, lascivious one of her own.

  His hair, which was currently being ruffled by the cold winter wind, a wind that she was now extremely envious of, was dark, almost black, but with touches of chestnut. And his eyes. His eyes were the exact colour of hot, dark chocolate. They made her think of indulgence and luxury and sin so bad that she'd likely give old Mr. Yates an apoplectic fit were she to confess it to him.

  This would not do! This was a distraction she did not need.

  She was here to do a job and it was a mammoth task by any standards. She did not need to be distracted by grooms and thoughts of rolling about in the stables.

  She needed to maintain her distance from the servants so that she could go about her business and get out of here before the master of the house arrived.

  So, shaking her head a little to clear her less than pure thoughts, Mariah summoned her most haughty smile. Being the daughter of a snobbish Bolton did have its uses after all.

  "Ah, good morning," she said, keeping her tone brisk and trying to ignore her insane desire to lick his strong neck. Never before had she wanted to lick another human being. It was most disconcerting. "I am come to work on the library. You may take the horse and gig round to the stables. I shall find my way there when I am finished for the day."

  She stepped down from the gig, grabbing her reticule on the way. Turning, she made sure not to stand close enough to smell him because if he smelled good well, her horse would witness something that no innocent horse should ever see.

  "Here you go," she said jovially, though still a little coolly, there was no need to be rude after all. She thrust the reigns into his hands, making sure not to make contact with his skin.

  Glancing down she saw that his hands were as large and strong as the rest of him. They did not even look work-worn.

  Hands, she decided, were underrated. More people should take about their beauty.

  He still hadn't spoken, and Mariah wondered, with his devilishly dark looks, if he could understand her.

  If he hailed from some hot, exotic country she'd probably faint on the spot.

  "Run along then," she encouraged and made a walking motion with her gloved hand.

  He frowned at her hands, then at the reigns.

  Hmm. Perhaps he was a little slow on the uptake. Bless him.

  Mariah smiled encouragingly and then, because he seemed so confused, she reached out and patted him on the head. She reached up, rather. His head was quite high up.

  "I'm sure you'll do a wonderful job," she said kindly then turned and marched up the front steps of the house.

  He was terribly handsome, but the poor man obviously struggled with basic understanding. Well, she could never take advantage of such a vulnerable person.

  As she strode to the imposing oak door, she tried not to think of what a pity that was.

  Mariah knocked and tapped her foot impatiently waiting for someone to answer the door.

  A quick glance around showed that the groom had jumped up on the gig and driven it around the back of the house.

  So he had understood her instructions, thank goodness. She didn't fancy having to search out the horse when she was ready to leave.

  The door opened and a ramrod straight man with snow white hair stood in the opening, along with the footman who had opened it.

  A full staff then. Unusual, since the family weren't here but again, Mariah didn't know how they did things in London.

  "Good morning," she said a little nervously. The white-haired man was very imposing. "I am Mariah Bolton. Mrs. Yates sent me about the library?" she phrased it like a question, suddenly feeling as though she were standing in
front of a stern tutor and she'd gotten her sums wrong.

  "But you're a woman."

  The answer wasn't what Mariah had been expecting and she felt a ridiculous urge to apologise for the fact.

  "Er—"she replied because really, what was one to say to that?

  "You were not supposed to be a woman," the man stated, his voice incredulous.

  Mariah frowned.

  "Well, I'm terribly sorry," she said mischievously, "But I've been a woman for years now. I don't think there's much I can do to change the fact."

  Her response seemed to snap the butler out of his probably uncharacteristic confusion and he immediately bowed and stepped back.

  "I apologise, madam. Please do come in."

  Mariah stepped through into the grand entrance hall and tried not to let her jaw drop.

  The house definitely had an air of neglect about it, but it was still incredibly beautiful.

  The paper-hangings were a dull gold and the marble floor beneath her feet shone a gleaming white. It had obviously been cleaned recently.

  The staircase that dominated the hallway and split into the balcony above her, was a dark walnut and that too gleamed with recent attention.

  Mariah tried not to look as though she were a fish out of water in such luxurious surrounding.

  "Once again, I must offer my apologies madam," the butler was saying. "We had been led to believe that a young man would be arriving to look after the library."

  "Will it be a problem?" Mariah asked in confusion and felt a moment's trepidation at the butler's flash of uncertainty before he smiled politely.

  "No indeed madam. My name is Fernshaw. I am the butler of the house. I shall take you directly to the library and have refreshments brought. Should you require anything, simply ring and I shall attend you myself."

  Mariah was relieved at the sudden turnaround in the man's behaviour. He seemed polite and efficient now that he'd recovered from her being a female.

  "Thank you, Fernshaw. I must admit I look forward to getting started. Books are a great passion of mine."

  She followed Fernshaw down the large hallway, with doors closed on either side until finally they reached the last door on the left.

  "Here we are, madam."

  The butler opened the door and Mariah stepped through.

  Her eyes widened and she could not help the gasp that slipped through her lips.

  "Oh, my goodness," she whispered in awe.

  The room was, without doubt, the most beautiful place she had ever been.

  It was huge for starters, the vaulted ceilings so high up she could barely see the roof. And the books! There was shelf upon shelf of glorious books. And more yet in piles on the tables scattered round the room.

  At the far wall there was a large oak desk and two accompanying stuffed chairs, and Mariah noted to some satisfaction, there were plenty of sofas dotted round the room for leisurely reading.

  She thought she had died and gone to heaven.

  A niggling voice in the back of her head tried to make her feel anxious about the volume of work involved in such a task but she ruthlessly pushed it away.

  Yes, it was a lot of work but Mariah felt excited at the treasures she was sure to uncover here.

  "Will you require any assistance, madam?" the butler asked now, sounding a little doubtful about Mariah's ability to complete the task.

  She didn't blame him. But she would not show fear.

  "Some paper and ink, if you please, so that I may keep records of what I find. And those refreshments you mentioned," she added with a smile.

  Fernshaw bowed and exited with the assurance that he would send a maid immediately with what she required, taking her discarded cloak, bonnet, and gloves with him.

  Mariah stood for a moment, not quite sure where to begin. The room was rather cool, but the huge fireplace at the other end of the desk held an impressive blaze and she was sure that she would warm up soon.

  With a decisive nod, Mariah rolled up the sleeves of her simple dimity gown and set to work.

  She cleared the contents of the desk — mostly books — so that she would have somewhere to keep her notes. Next she set about searching for any records that the previous owner might have kept about his collection.

  Mariah was soon engrossed in page after page of diaries, household expense records but, as of yet, no book records.

  She heard the door creak open and, without looking up, called out to the maid.

  "Thank you. You can set the tray down on the desk here if you please, and I shall drink whilst working, for there is a lot to be done. Did you remember to bring stationary for my notes?"

  "No, I bloody well did not. Who the hell are you and why do you think you can order me around my own house?"

  Mariah yelped in fright at the sound of a very deep, very male voice bellowing at her from across the room.

  Looking up she was astonished to see the groom from that morning standing glowering at her, his hands fisted on those hips she'd so admired earlier.

  She was about to ring a peal over his head for frightening her when his words sank in.

  Did he just say—?

  "Your house?" she questioned with a dawning realisation of what she'd done this morning.

  "Yes," he said through gritted teeth. He had lovely teeth, she thought, then berated herself. Now was not the time. "My house."

  Mariah thought back to their encounter this morning.

  She'd bossed him around. She'd thrown the reigns at him and demanded that he care for the horse.

  She'd – oh good lord – she'd patted him on the head.

  The heat of mortification stained her cheeks.

  "Your house," she said again. Just so that she could be one hundred percent sure that when she got thrown out on her backside, it would be by Mr. Haverton.

  "Would you like me to write it down?" he asked sarcastically.

  Mariah felt her temper flare. She'd been accidentally rude. He bloody well knew what he was doing.

  "My apologies, sir. I did not realise who you were."

  "Evidently," he snapped. "But I ask again. Who in damnation are you?"

  Well, there was no need for such language, thought Mariah.

  "I am Mariah Bolton," she said crisply. "The lady you employed to take care of the library."

  Not satisfied with that however, she continued.

  "And to be frank, I am not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner."

  She watched with apprehension as anger flared in his eyes and his jaw, his very strong jaw, dropped in shock.

  "But you're a woman," he said now in an accusatory tone.

  It was amazing, thought Mariah. She'd never before had anyone point out her obvious femininity in her life, and here she was having it happen twice in the space of an hour.

  "Guilty as charged" she said sarcastically.

  His eyes narrowed and she swallowed.

  "Why are you a woman?"

  Well how in God's name was she to answer that?

  "I believe you'll have to address that question to our Creator, Mr. Haverton. I had very little to do with it."

  He seemed to realise how ridiculous his question had been and he looked momentarily abashed. Which was very endearing.

  And that was very inconvenient, mid-battle.

  "What I mean is, we had been led to believe that you would be a man."

  "Yes, so I believe. But, well, I'm not."

  "I can bloody well see that," he grumbled, his eyes raking her and making her feel suddenly far too hot.

  "If you do not approve, sir—"

  "Oh, I approve alright," he said hoarsely, killing the words in her throat.

  She had meant to say that if he did not approve of having a woman do the job, she would leave. But he had stopped her in her tracks with that statement, so all that came out was a sort of whimper.

  Clearing her throat, she tried again.

  "I am sure that nobody realised you would have such a problem with
hiring a woman for the task. Mr. Haverton. If you wish, I will leave immediately. But I warn you," she continued, her face heating with her growing ire, "you will not find anyone between this village and the next who knows more about books than I. And you certainly won't find anyone who could take on this task so close to Christmas with as much dedication as I can."

  He glared at her in silence for what seemed like an age before finally huffing out a frustrated breath and snapping, "Very well. You will continue."

  Mariah allowed her indignation to show in the arching of her brows.

  Do not say anything, she warned herself.

  "Please," she said quietly even though she had just warned herself to keep her big mouth shut.

  "Please, what?" he asked frowning.

  "I was just finishing your sentence for you," she said raising her chin a little, "since you seemed to have forgotten the word."

  His jaw dropped once again, and he spluttered and mumbled incoherently for a second or two.

  Finally, without another word, he spun on his heel and marched from the room, slamming the door shut on his way out.

  Well, Mariah thought a little shakily, she would no longer have to worry about impure thoughts around him.

  From now on, the only fantasies she would harbour about Brandon Haverton would involve violence and, most probably, murder.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mariah cautiously stuck her head out of the library door, checking that the coast was clear before she entered the hallway.

  She did not want another run-in with Mr. Sunshine.

  The day had gone very quickly and she'd enjoyed every second of it. Seeing him now would only ruin it for her.

  At luncheon, a timid maid had knocked and brought a tray for her and then afterwards she had kept her promise to herself and tramped around the grounds, albeit in the shadow of the trees lest her employer appear.

  Mariah would have preferred to have eaten with the staff in the kitchens than all by herself but she realised that she was in the unusual position of not being quite staff and not being a guest. So she had eaten a solitary meal by the fire, enjoying one of the books she was cataloguing before taking some air outside.