by Lisa Plumley
She had sidetracked him long enough for Lucinda and the baby to disappear safely from sight in the upstairs window, but Rosamond’s strategy had nearly backfired. By the time Miles had stroked her cheek and gazed into her eyes and drawn ever so nearer to kissing her, Rosamond had forgotten her initial intentions completely. Instead, she’d found herself growing immensely curious about Miles. And his mouth. And his kiss.
Because she truly hadn’t ever been kissed before.
That was one thing the despicable Mr. Bouchard hadn’t troubled himself with. He had never touched her gently, never kissed her, never said anything kind. Later, when Elijah Dancy had come into the picture…well, that had been more of a business dealing than anything else, courtesy of a vengeful Genevieve Bouchard. There had been all the other “girls” present, too—the ladies who were now her friends and mutual society members. So Rosamond had been saved Elijah’s lustful intentions. Certainly, Rosamond had been unique, since she was the unlucky one who’d been all but sold into marriage to Dancy. But aside from that…
No. She wouldn’t think about any of that now, Rosamond told herself as she forced her gaze onto Miles’s overlong hair and jovial gait. She’d think about Miles, and her deal with him, and the opportunity she now had to delay fulfilling that deal.
After all, he needed her help with those chores. He’d said so. If doing that prevented Rosamond from taking her first brave leap into the scary, panic-inducing world outside, so be it.
At least she’d successfully deterred Miles from asking about Lucinda and the baby. She’d dallied with him long enough for Lucinda and that precious child to disappear from sight.
Now if Rosamond could simply steer Miles to another area of the house, far away from Lucinda’s room, she’d be home free.
“There hasn’t been a handyman here for some time,” Rosamond said by way of accomplishing exactly that. “I’m fairly certain I noticed a broken riser on the stairs this morning. Maybe you should start by repairing that before you tend to the window.”
“I’ll do both.”
But the window might be upstairs, with Lucinda. “But the riser is more urgent.” If she had to, she’d kick it into smithereens herself. “Someone might trip and fall.”
“Someone might need fresh air.”
“Safe stair-climbing is more important.”
“I have time to do both.” Miles paused. He tossed Rosamond an over-the-shoulder wink. “Especially with your capable help.”
“I don’t know, Miles.” Absently, Rosamond nodded to her friends in the household as she passed by them in Miles’s wake. Everyone was busy with their individual tasks and mutual society business. “I’m inexperienced. I might not be as helpful as you think. Let’s go tend to the stairs, then fix the window.”
At that, Miles stopped, almost causing her to collide with his big, powerful backside. Rosamond had to put out her hands to keep herself from bumping into him. She only succeeded in treating herself to an up-close-and-personal tour of Miles’s back muscles. He felt notably sturdy and surprisingly warm.
She whipped away her hands, her face heating.
He turned. His expression said he knew darn well the effect he might have on a woman who was encountering all that manliness for herself. His eyebrow rose. He waited for her to breathe.
She did. With effort. But she felt powerfully intrigued, all the same. If a man like Miles used his strength for good…
“If I didn’t know better,” Miles mused aloud in a shrewd tone, “I’d think you were trying to deliberately steer me away from upstairs.” He crossed his arms, examining her. “Are you trying to deliberately steer me away from upstairs?”
“Only as much as you’re trying to avoid working.”
He grinned. “Touché, Mrs. Dancy. You’re a clever one.”
She didn’t want to be. She wanted to let down her guard completely. But she couldn’t do that—not with Lucinda and the baby at home. Instead, purposely, Rosamond pretended to be impatient. “You’re clever enough to recognize that. Does that mean you’re finally ready to work on fixing that stair riser?”
His smile told her the only thing he wanted to work on was an introductory kissing lesson. With her. Right there in the small space between the household’s pantry and the hallway.
Sensibly sensing that she wasn’t ready, Miles gave in. “The tools I’ve been using are over here, in the back stairwell.”
Resolutely, he marched to retrieve them. Left behind momentarily, Rosamond danced a victory jig. She liked it when she persevered with Miles. It made her feel secure with him.
“Are you coming or not?” Miles called, already ahead of her. “For someone who’s so antsy to work, you sure are slow.”
Sobering, Rosamond wheeled around…only to come face-to-face with Miles. He hadn’t gotten very far in his search for tools.
In fact, he’d stayed close enough to watch her dance.
His face said it all. He’d viewed every uninhibited move.
“Evidently,” he remarked, his gaze full of good humor and affection, “you became quite a dancer while we were apart.”
“Yes, I did. I’m happy you think so.” Rosamond gave a cheeky curtsy. “If you want, I’ll give you lessons on that particular dance.” That particularly gawky and jubilantly celebratory dance. “I’ll begin slowly, just the way you like.”
“I would like that.” Miles went on looking at her. His wicked expression made her doubt he was thinking of dance lessons anymore. He looked the way he had when he’d been talking about kissing her. “I’d like that very much. So would you.”
“I’m nothing if not eager to take charge.”
“I’m nothing if not capable of being a good student.”
She had the impression they definitely weren’t talking about dance lessons anymore. “And if I couldn’t teach you?”
Miles didn’t hesitate. “I would wait for you.”
She couldn’t hope for that. Yet, “For how long?”
“For however long it takes.” His answer reminded her of the cocksure reply he’d given on the day he’d arrived—the day she’d questioned him in her parlor. “You’re worth waiting for.”
Rosamond couldn’t help it. She had to know… “Even…now?”
A nod. “Now. Then. Later. Forever. No matter what.”
She was a fool for relying on that.
She was an ever bigger fool for believing it.
All the same… “Then I’m doubly sorry this is necessary,” Rosamond said, catching sight of a movement to the side and just behind Miles. She lifted her arm to give a signal to Dylan—who’d been waiting unnoticed in the hallway—and watched him send Miles, all unaware, go crumpling toward the floor.
“Catch him before he gets hurt,” Rosamond demanded.
Without questioning her, Dylan did as she’d asked.
From the shadows, Lucinda stepped forward with the baby. She’d thrown a small blanket hastily over the child’s head, but Rosamond didn’t need to see the tyke’s face to know the truth.
What she’d just instructed Dylan to do had been necessary. She was only sorry it had come to this. For Miles’s sake.
And maybe, a teensy bit, for her own sake, too.
Chapter Nine
After four more days’ worth of steady part-time work in Rosamond’s household, Miles was no closer to getting the answers he wanted than he had been when he’d first awakened, woozily cradled in Rosamond’s lap on her hallway floor, confused and disoriented and yet oddly comforted to be held by her.
“You’re awake!” Above him, Rosamond’s tearful face had greeted him. She’d stroked his bearded jaw, then given a strangely enlightened sigh. “Thank heavens.”
Groggily, he’d blinked. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. I was helping you get your tools—”
“You were dancing. I remember that much.”
“—after I finished dancing,” Rosamond had hastily amended, “when I heard something thud. It was y
ou!” With her skirts, she’d fanned his face. “You’re lucky you’re not hurt worse.”
“I’m lucky you like me. I’d hate to think what you’d do to someone you weren’t fond of.” Miles had sat up, wincing at a pain in the back of his head. He’d probed it with his fingers. He’d definitely been walloped with something. “Why do I keep winding up insensible in your presence?”
“Isn’t it curious? I certainly can’t explain it.” Rosamond had shrugged. “It’s as if your body just plain gives up whenever I get the upper hand with you in an argument.”
“You’ve never had the upper hand with me in an argument.”
“But I have the upper hand right now. Can’t you see?” She’d given him a consoling pat on the knee, along with a galling tsk-tsk. “You can’t even tell when it’s happening—until you keel over. I’m afraid your head’s going to get all lumpy.”
“Your reasoning is what’s all lumpy.”
A grin. “That is a distraction and a defense, not a worthy argument. You’d better try harder next time, Miles.” She sighed. “You weren’t out for long, just a few seconds, but who knows what might happen? It’s not good for a man to be so contrary.”
“I suppose it’s excellent for a woman to be contrary?”
“Why, that’s just a lady’s birthright, isn’t it?”
Upon offering up that absurd theory, Rosamond had widened her initial grin to a beatific smile. Miles had harrumphed, knowing full well that she was keeping something crucial from him. Something about the baby he’d seen with Mrs. Larkin. Then Miles had gotten to his feet. He’d looked around fuzzily, expecting to see one of her security men lurking nearby.
Neither Judah nor Seth nor Dylan had been in sight.
“I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of someone,” he’d managed, squinting as he pointed, “right there. With a baby.”
Rosamond’s forced laugh had told him all he needed to know. She was definitely hiding that baby from him. But why?
“If there were a baby in this house,” she’d hedged, “don’t you think it would have taught itself to walk by now, just so it could toddle after you like all the rest of the children do?”
“Hmm. I just can’t argue with that logic.”
“See?” After graciously accepting his chivalrous hand up from the floor, Rosamond had helped brush off his clothes. She’d studied him through concerned eyes, appearing genuinely worried about his welfare. “Once again you’ve found yourself outmatched. Now you know better than to argue with me, don’t you?”
“Now I know better than to turn my back on you, you mean.”
He didn’t like thinking that Rosamond was desperate enough to have her security man clobber him. Miles guessed he hadn’t made as much progress with Rosamond as he’d hoped. Either that or Rosamond was truly determined not to have that baby found.
All the same, that’s exactly what Miles meant to do—and quickly, too. He hadn’t said so. Not then. Not now, four days and innumerable chores later, either. Instead, Miles had only carried on with his work, mending doorknobs and fixing hinges and scaring away bats from the attic, doing all the assorted odd jobs that Rosamond and Miss Yates dreamed up for him.
But he would learn whose baby that was, Miles swore to himself. He would find out why Rosamond had hidden the child, too. Although he thought he knew that already. Then he would…
Well, he didn’t know what he’d do. Not yet.
“Now, a mallet.” Keeping his gaze fixed on the broken ladderback chair he’d been repairing, Miles held out his hand.
His assistant was decidedly tardy in assisting him.
Holding the chair steady, Miles shifted his attention to Rosamond. She sat on the floor beside him, dreamily looking at his hands. She held the mallet he’d entrusted her with at a cockeyed angle, leaving it sticking out from beneath her face while she rested her chin in her hands and watched him work.
She didn’t look like a woman who’d coldcock a man just to hide a secret baby from him. She looked sweet and innocent.
“Woolgathering again, Mrs. Dancy? Much more of this, and I’ll start thinking you aren’t really interested in helping me.”
Rosamond snapped to alertness. Her gaze swiveled to his face, then held. Her cheeks colored pink. “Can I help it if your work pace is so slow I feel like napping in between jobs?”
“Very funny.” He waggled his fingers. “Mallet, please?”
She handed it over—not the least bit docilely, either.
Perversely, Miles was pleased he couldn’t intimidate her. He was pleased that Rosamond felt in such high spirits, too. Not that he wanted to bully her or ever would—just that he knew another man might. He wanted Rosamond to be ready for anything.
He gave the chair a few whacks, placing its loose leg more firmly in position. Then he turned to Rosamond again.
“You’ve had your way long enough. It’s my turn.”
“Your turn?” She blinked. “Your turn for what?”
“I want to go riding with Mrs. Murphy’s bicycling club.”
Rosamond blanched. “Bicycling? You can’t be—”
“Serious? I’m not.” Miles grinned at her. “It was worth it to see the excitement and disbelief fight for supremacy in your face, though. You could sell tickets to that show.”
“As someone once said to me…very funny.” Playfully, Rosamond shook her head. “What do you really want to do?”
“Free you.” Miles set aside his mallet, put the newly stable chair upright again, then stood. He held out his hand to Rosamond. “Come on. You’ve delayed me long enough with these chores. It’s time for us to take that sojourn outdoors.”
Rosamond balked. “Delayed you?” Her tone was beyond disingenuous. “However in the world would I ever begin to—”
“Nice try, Mrs. Dancy, but you can quit batting your eyelashes at me. I’m already good and hooked on your beauty and charm. That doesn’t mean I don’t intend to get my way.”
Obviously spying the grit in his expression, Rosamond relented. Grudgingly, she accepted his hand. “All right. I’m coming. But don’t go getting up your hopes. When it comes to accomplishing miracles, even you must have your limits.”
“I don’t accept that.” He squeezed her hand, glad she felt safe enough to touch him now—glad they’d recaptured that much of the companionship they’d once shared. “Neither do you.”
“Pshaw. How do you know that?”
“I know because you’re still holding my hand. Let’s go.”
*
Rosamond wanted to make a point about how much she did not need Miles by her side. She wanted to take away her hand from his, deliberately, and prove that she wasn’t relying on him. Especially after spending only days in his company. But the moment she spotted her yard fence’s wide-open gate, looming ahead of her, with Judah at the latch, Rosamond found herself clenching Miles’s hand hard enough to crush it in her fingers.
Manfully, he didn’t give more than a muffled “oof!” as her grip tightened. He only smiled encouragingly at her.
“No worries,” Miles promised. “It’s only a little shopping. It’s only a few of your neighbors. You can do this. If you feel faint or sweaty or at all strange, I’ll be here for you.”
Rosamond wondered if he’d be there if she swooned. That was her most worrying fear. That and the distinct possibility that her peculiar malady might be lethal. It certainly felt debilitating enough to kill a person. It felt scary and unstoppable. But since she didn’t want to admit as much…
“Sweaty?” Rosamond scoffed. “Ladies glow, Mr. Callaway. I’ll thank you to employ the proper terminology with me.”
“I’ll thank you to quit stalling,” Miles returned.
“I’ll thank you to quit goading me.”
“I’ll thank you to keep your feet moving.” Deliberately, Miles moved his hand to the small of her back. Gently, he steered her down the front walk toward that dreaded gate.
He seemed heartened, though, as they went,
that her vivacity hadn’t deserted her completely—that she was still capable of joshing with him. Rosamond was, too. She needed all the verve she could get just then. She’d spent the past several days trying to drum up courage for this excursion.
She still wasn’t ready.
On the plus side, though, she doubted she ever would be ready. So there was no reason to delay any longer, was there?
Besides, if she postponed this excursion anymore, Miles would know the true depth of her fear. She couldn’t allow that.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Dancy.” Judah offered up a nod, then tugged his hat brim. If he was surprised to see her leaving the household, her security man didn’t let on. “Just let me get Seth to watch this front gate, and I’ll be with you lickety-split.”
“Thank you, Judah, but that won’t be necessary.” Rosamond raised her chin, trying to ignore her increasing heartbeat. “Mr. Callaway will be accompanying me. I won’t be gone long.”
Judah’s gaze narrowed. He shifted his attention to Miles.
“I’ll take good care of her,” Miles promised. His hand still lingered reassuringly at her back. “Don’t you worry.”
“I do worry.” Judah gave Miles a menacing look. “I worry quite a lot, in fact. If anything happens to Mrs. Dancy—”
“It won’t.”
Judah did not seem mollified. He softened his expression, then leaned conspiratorially toward Rosamond. “If he’s taking you by force, ma’am, you just give me our secret signal.”
He waited, doubtless expecting Rosamond to do so.
She’d prearranged several such signals with her staff. If worse came to worst, they would need every advantage. It was because of such signals that she’d been able to drug Miles with laudanum-laced tea and question him. It was because of a similar signal that she’d been able to instruct Dylan to lay out Miles long enough for Lucinda and the baby to sneak off undetected. Even now they were hiding, secreted away at the Lorndorff Hotel.
Hmm. Put bluntly, it occurred to Rosamond, her actions didn’t seem terribly kind. But they had been justified.
She’d have to make up things to Miles later. Somehow.
“Ma’am?” Judah’s gaze probed hers. “I’m here to protect you always. So if there’s any little thing I can do for you—”
