When a Lord Needs a Lady

by Jane Goodger

  “I think I should like a home on the ocean,” she said. “I never get bored looking out. It changes every day.”

  “I have a home by the Black Sea,” he said, then grimaced. “I mean to say, Lord Avonleigh has a home. I have a room. A small one.”

  She looked up and gave him a curious little smile. “It is difficult not to think of these places as ours, even though we are simply employees, is it not?”

  He’d actually never given it a single thought. Chase was such a part of his life, he’d never wondered, not once, whether or not he liked not belonging anywhere, not owning a bit of land. Most people in England did not own land, of course. But did they want to?

  “Do the Wrights have a home on the ocean?” he asked, choosing not to answer her question.

  “Yes and no. They own a lovely cottage on Long Island, but you can’t see the ocean from the house. You have to walk along a sandy path in the woods to get to the water. I think I’d prefer to see the ocean from my window. The Wrights rented a house in Newport last summer, right on the Atlantic. It was lovely.”

  “And did you like Newport?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t care for it, to be honest. And neither did Miss Wright. It’s very stifling there. Very proper. And Miss Wright isn’t entirely proper. I much prefer Brighton.” She turned and motioned down the beach, which was filled with people—some wealthy, but most not.

  “Miss Wright isn’t proper?”

  She bit her lip. “Oh, she’s very proper. That’s not what I meant. It’s just that there are so many rules to follow in Newport and New York, and she doesn’t like to follow the rules. But she does follow them in the end.” She let out a short breath. “Poor girl.”

  “Poor,” Graham said. “From what I’ve heard, that adjective does not fit Miss Wright. And the fact that she is here hunting for a title tells me more about her than I need to know.”

  She turned fully to him, bemused by his passionate speech. “How presumptuous you are. Especially for a man whose own employer is hunting for an heiress. Rather hypocritical, if you ask me.”

  “Many members of the aristocracy cannot stomach the idea of marrying American heiresses, but they have no alternative.”

  She lifted one eyebrow. “They could work for a living,” she said pointedly. “You do.”

  Graham felt frustrated and more than a bit angry—with himself and with her. He’d been looking forward to seeing Katy all day, and now that he was with her, they were simply arguing. It was not what he’d imagined. “It would take fifteen men fifty jobs to make the kind of money that is needed to sustain some of these estates.”

  She dipped her head, her brow furrowed. “It’s as bad as all that?”

  “Actually worse,” he said, his voice softening. “And the aristocracy is not blameless. They squandered money and opportunity. There is a sense of entitlement for many. It can be maddening at times. The fact remains that these estates, including Lord Avonleigh’s, are vital to the well-being of hundreds of families—families who are suffering for the aristocracy’s mistakes. To be fair, no one accurately predicted the agricultural depression we are having. No one knew the price of wheat and tin and copper would fall so drastically.”

  Her intelligent eyes moved over his face, and finally she smiled. “It’s good to know and understand two sides of the coin, isn’t it now?”

  “It is. And now that we’ve attempted to solve the world’s problems, I would like to celebrate with an ice cream.”

  She grinned, her eyes sparkling, and he swore his heart stopped for just a moment. “I adore ice cream,” she said, and clapped her hands together. He offered her his arm, and the two walked along the beach toward the pier where the ice cream was sold.

  “How long are you in Brighton?” she asked, her hand firm and warm in the crook of his arm. He felt unaccountably happy, to be strolling along with a pretty girl on his arm. It was such an ordinary thing to do, and yet it was the first time in his life he’d done so without the ceremony and watchful eye of a mama or stern chaperone. The band was playing “The Flying Trapeze,” and he whistled along with the tune, gaining another smile from Katy.

  “Just seven glorious days and three of them have already passed,” he said, stopping his tune only long enough to answer.

  “I don’t know how such a cheerful man can work for such a dour one,” she said. “Even when we were debating the cause of the aristocracy’s problems, I detected a small smile.”

  “I am not usually so cheerful,” he said ironically. He could hardly remember a time in his life when he felt so content. Not even that depressing thought could stop his smile. “And Lord Avonleigh is not so dour. Not all the time. Especially lately.”

  “Oh? Has he found himself a rich heiress?” she asked, clearly teasing.

  “Something like that, I suppose. He has made no formal offer.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Who? I daresay I’ll know of her.”

  “I believe it is a Miss Von Haupt.”

  Her mouth opened slightly. “Claudia Von Haupt? Oh, that is simply delicious.”

  “Delicious.”

  “You see, Claudia has absolutely no sense of humor. Her smiles are as vacant as her head.” She pressed her fingertips against her lips to stop from laughing, but a few giggles found a way to escape.

  Graham stopped still and let out a laugh, one that sounded not quite so rusty as the previous ones. “What an apt description,” he said, still chuckling.

  “She is beautiful,” Katy allowed. “But isn’t it fitting that a man who never smiles should marry a woman who smiles but doesn’t understand why she’s smiling.” She squeezed his arm, innocently pulling it against the softness of her breast. It was not a calculated move in any way, but his body responded as if it were. Graham swallowed hard and cleared his throat, trying to get his body in line. Perhaps the ice cream would cool his thoughts.

  Katherine waited while he stood in line to get their ice cream. She breathed in the salty air that was tinged with the sweet smell of ice cream, wonderful summer smells. Beneath her feet, little plops of melted ice cream clung to the sand, for it was a warm day. Gray returned, holding two paper cones filled with vanilla ice cream, his knuckles already sticky from the melting confection.

  “I’ve never had a paper cone before,” she said. “We’ve metal ones in America. Or glass.”

  “These are called hokey-pokeys,” he said with a grin. “I do believe ice cream tastes better in paper.”

  Katherine had no real idea how old Gray was, but at that moment he looked like a teenage boy, his cheeks flushed from the wind and sun, his gray eyes sharp and bright beneath his straw boater. He looked freshly shaved, and his clothes, while casual, were impeccably clean and pressed. She imagined a valet would know how to take care of garments and would present a polished look more so than other working men.

  She watched as his eyes dipped to her mouth, and she felt a sudden warmth flood her body. Oh my. Forcing her eyes to the sea, Katherine took a deep breath.

  “You have a bit of ice cream on your nose,” he said, his voice close to her ear. Too close. Was that his warm breath on her face, or was it the sun? She stayed still as he took an index finger and wiped it away. And stopped breathing completely when she felt him leave the errant drop on her bottom lip.

  He stepped back, suddenly, almost violently. “I do apologize,” he said, his voice sounding strained.

  She turned her head to look at him, feeling confused and embarrassingly aroused. She shook her head slightly, to clear her head. But she could still feel where he’d placed that tiny bit of ice cream, and couldn’t help but lick it away. His gaze dipped to her mouth, and his gray eyes darkened. Then, as if to erase what she’d just done, as if they’d kissed, she wiped her hand against her mouth, removing any remnants, trying almost desperately to rid herself of the raw feeling his touch had given her.

  “You should only apologize when you offend,” she said, shocking herself with her boldness. What ha
d come over her? She was not this girl, this girl who wanted a man to touch her again, who wanted him to lean in and kiss her. She immediately took a step back, her brow furrowed. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I did.”

  But he took a step closer, his eyes, if possible, even more intense. “I want to kiss you,” he said fervently.

  “I’ve given you the wrong impression,” Katherine said. She glanced at her hotel, praying Clara was not looking out their window. Or worse, her mother.

  “No, you have not,” he said, laughter in his voice. “Not at all.”

  She started to protest, but he interrupted her.

  “I can honestly say I have never acted so impulsively in my life. Never. It is the sea air. It makes one a bit freer than one would normally be. I know you are a good girl. And I am a good man. But I am standing here, looking at you and wishing I could kiss you even though I know I cannot. And you are standing there wishing I would kiss you. Even though you know if I did, you would likely slap me for it. Is that about right?”

  Katherine nearly denied what he was saying, but instead let out a laugh so full of joy, passersby stopped to stare. She lifted her ice cream in a mock toast. “To the sea air,” she said. He bowed slightly and lifted his own, and they finished their treat grinning at each other like a couple of fools.

  When the ice cream was gone, Gray handed her a clean handkerchief so she could wipe her face and hands. She tried to give it back, but he shook his head. “You can return it laundered, tomorrow.” Another meeting set.

  Tucking the cloth into her sleeve, Katherine nodded, trying desperately to retain some sort of dignity when all she truly wanted to do was smile. “I really must be going,” she said, again glancing at the hotel.

  He nodded, terribly formal. “I was wondering,” he said. “Have you ever taken a stroll at midnight along the beach? It’s quite different when no one’s about. I often do, you know.”

  It was as if a great bellows sucked the air from her lungs. “Do you.”

  They stood there, two grins slowly growing on their faces, and Katherine knew that nothing, barring a death or disaster, would keep her from the beach that night.

  Chapter 3

  As it turned out, despite her mother’s claims of imminent death, no one died and the night was clear. Her mother said she was too ill to even eat in their little dining room, leaving Katherine—once again—to her own devices. If she didn’t know better—and she did—Katherine would have thought that her mother knew about Gray and was actually sanctioning this wildly inappropriate meeting. All evening, she’d been debating with herself, and her practical, intelligent side seemed to win every argument.

  He wanted to see her in the dead of night. At a time when no respectable woman would dare to venture out alone. Never, ever would she even consider such an adventure if she were in the States. What was it about Brighton that was causing her to act so impetuously?

  She could not go. Could. Not.

  He’d said aloud that he wanted to kiss her. Oh goodness, she thought, her insides melting like ice cream in the Brighton sun, he wants to kiss me. The most handsome man she’d ever met in her life wanted to kiss her. It didn’t matter that he was a valet and she was pretending to be a maid. It didn’t matter that in just three days she would leave for a house party and never see him again. Why didn’t it matter?

  Katherine folded her hands together as if she were praying, although holy and chaste thoughts were the furthest things from her thoughts at the moment. Instead, her mind conjured the feel of his index finger upon her bottom lip, the look in his beautiful eyes when he’d told her he wanted to kiss her. The sound of his laughter, the tune that he’d whistled.

  No, the sensible, intelligent girl who argued so fervently for her to remain in her rooms was losing this argument. She could hardly hear that girl over the beating of her heart.

  “I’ll be turning in now,” Clara said, eying her suspiciously.

  Ever since she’d returned from her walk, Clara had been shooting her disapproving looks. But she didn’t care, didn’t care, didn’t care.

  Katherine casually looked at a wall clock. It was nearly eleven. Her stomach gave a wonderful little leap. “All right, Clara. Good night.”

  Clara took a step, then hesitated. “Good night, then.”

  She smiled at her maid. “Good night. See you in the morning.” And then she sat and picked up a book as if she intended to read for a time. The door between their rooms snicked closed, and Katherine let out a sigh of relief. She’d wait forty-five minutes and then get dressed. And then . . .

  No. She couldn’t. She could not meet a virtual stranger at midnight knowing full well he would kiss her.

  “Yes. I can,” she whispered, and felt a thrill go through her.

  “Sir?”

  “I’m going for a walk, Chase.”

  His valet snapped his watch, a gift from Graham’s father, open and made a great show of looking at the time. “It’s nearly midnight.”

  “I’m aware of the time.”

  Mr. Chase remained silent for a few, blessedly long seconds. “You’ll ruin her.”

  “One cannot fully ruin a maid, can one?”

  Mr. Chase’s face tightened, and he compressed his lips so tightly, the area around them turned white.

  “Good God, Chase, do you forget who I am? Would I ever compromise a girl, no matter her station?”

  Mr. Chase took an angry step forward. “But that is precisely what you are doing.”

  “No,” Gray said with force. And he was honest enough to realize that he was saying it forcefully as much for the valet’s benefit as his own. He did not want to compromise this girl. He rather liked her. He . . . well, hell, he didn’t want anything to hurt her. Not even him.

  “Chase, I cannot explain it . . .”

  “Oh, good God.”

  “Don’t ‘good God’ me.”

  “You’re falling in love with her,” Mr. Chase said, his voice tinged with something that sounded suspiciously like an accusation.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve only known her for two days.”

  Mr. Chase sat down, deep in thought. “Sir, may I speak . . .”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “I’ve known you since you were a boy. You are the most level-headed young man I’ve ever known. You never act impulsively. Ever. Even on your birthday when you were a boy, you would calmly wait for your presents. You never disobeyed your father. You rarely argued, and when you did, you were almost always on the right side of it.” He spoke to himself, as if he were trying to work out a great puzzle. “Let’s see how this plays out, shall we?”

  For some unaccountable reason, Graham actually felt moved. “I wasn’t seeking permission,” he said softly.

  “Weren’t you, sir?”

  He probably had been. Damn it. “I won’t hurt her.”

  “At the moment, sir, she’s not really my concern.”

  Graham told himself over and over that she would not be there, standing by the jetty when he arrived. But she was, an oversized jacket over her brown dress. She appeared completely nondescript, until she turned and saw him and smiled.

  “Good evening, miss. Care for a stroll?”

  “I shouldn’t be here,” she blurted, clutching her arms about her.

  She’s nervous, he realized, with a twinge of guilt. No doubt she’d get sacked if the wealthy Miss Wright discovered her maid had sneaked out to rendezvous with a man. What kind of cad was he to put her in such a position?

  “No. You shouldn’t. More importantly, I should not have asked it of you.”

  She let out a laugh. “More important is why I am here.”

  “Why are you?”

  She shook her head, charmingly bewildered. “I suppose,” she said, weighing her words carefully, “it’s because you asked.”

  “Because I asked. If I asked you to go to Scotland with me, would you?”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” she said, smiling. “It’s Bright
on. It’s magical.” She turned and looked at the sea, shining in the moonlight.

  “And here I thought it was my charming self.”

  She tilted her head, studying him. “You are charming. Or perhaps it’s simply your accent. We Americans think your accents are so appealing. You make everything sound special.”

  “Please allow me to escort you back to the Grand, Miss Katy. And please accept my apologies for asking you here in the first place.”

  “Only if you promise not to think too badly of me for accepting. I nearly turned around and then thought of you here, waiting, heartbroken. And so I came.”

  He held up his arm for her to take. “I’m so obviously smitten, am I?”

  “Oh yes,” she said. “I pictured you returning to Lord Avonleigh’s suite in tears. Perhaps drowning your sorrows with his fine brandy and then getting fired on the spot. How could I live with myself if that were to happen?”

  “With great difficulty.”

  Katy laughed, so glad he was such a gentleman. She’d been completely truthful. She had actually turned around to go back to her room, then forced herself to come, imagining him waiting there in vain.

  The street that bordered the beach was busy with traffic, but the beach itself was nearly deserted. Music filtered to them, ebbing and waning as the pub doors opened and closed. A cool breeze buffeted the pair as they made their way slowly to the hotel, brightly lit and welcoming. As they walked, she told him about her summers at a place called Stony Creek in New York. Her summers with her grandparents sounded decidedly middle class, and Graham felt a twinge of guilt. He could hardly regale her with tales of his own childhood, with its lessons, private schools, and long, wonderful days wandering about Avonleigh. He walked beside her, mostly silent, delighting in her stories even though he remained quiet. This was so foreign to him, simply walking beside a pretty girl and listening to her chatter.

  “Do you have any stories to share? I fear I’m dominating our conversation. Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “A sister,” he said, without embellishing.