The girl’s brown eyes, as well as her entire face, lit up with dawning realization and only made Yancey feel worse. “Why, Your Grace, you are absolutely right. Just let those old cows—I mean, those women—say something to me now.”
In light of the girl’s enthusiasm, all Yancey could think about was how humiliated Robin would be when the truth came out and she lost her exalted position. Her life among the other maids would forevermore be one of sneering looks and snide remarks. The devil of it was there was nothing Yancey could see that she could do to forestall that future. Except to stay here and become Sam’s wife for real.
Just then, with Yancey in shock from her own conclusion, Robin reached around her to untie the light cape she’d placed over Yancey’s shoulders while dressing her hair. Pulling it off her with a happy flourish, the newly confident lady’s maid brushed away any stray hairs that might have escaped her prior notice and then stepped back, saying, “And there you are, Your Grace. Ready for your evening.”
As she stood up, smoothing her silk gown with Robin’s help, Yancey wished she could agree with her. Suddenly, she felt anything but ready for what was to come. Maybe she should tell Sam that this wasn’t such a good idea, what they had planned for tonight. Then … her woman’s mind treated her to a vision of herself in Sam’s arms, made her taste his kiss, feel the weight of his body atop hers in a big bed, both of them undressed, the night dark and close—
“Shall I wait up for you, Your Grace?”
Her senses humming, her body filled with yearning, Yancey turned to her maid, her decision made. Whether she was right or wrong, only time would tell. She smiled, thinking of Sam and how he’d looked standing there on that hill and struggling to tell her how he felt. “No, Robin,” she said softly, “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
* * *
The meal was almost concluded. Sam couldn’t have been more pleased with it. His cook, a large, sweet-faced woman named Mrs. Sutton, who wielded absolute power in the kitchen, had outdone herself tonight. He had asked her earlier to prepare something special. And she apparently had scoured the larder, the pantries, the icehouse, the countryside, and the lakes to please him. Every manner of fish and fowl and game and green vegetables and sauces and breads and puddings and cakes had been produced and presented with a flourish, each course being accompanied by its own wine.
Adding to the air of pomp and celebration were his impeccably liveried and wonderfully mannered servants. They silently performed their various tasks under the scowling and watchful eye of Scotty, who continued to wear his new hat indoors. No one had the heart or the courage to tell him to take it off.
Seated on Sam’s right, and looking stunning in a mauve gown designed to drive him insane, given its squared neckline and fitted waist, a dress meant to give more than a hint of the woman beneath, Yancey leaned over to whisper to him. “All this food. It’s marvelous. And so wonderfully seasoned. I think your cook may be trying to seduce you, Your Grace.”
Sam leaned in toward her. “And she just might succeed, too.”
“Oh, dear.” Yancey startled Sam by coming abruptly to her feet and placing her napkin beside her plate. No less than three of his liveried men rushed to hold her chair and stand ready to assist her otherwise. But she had eyes only for Sam. “I had no idea you had romantic designs on your cook,” she chirped endearingly, putting a hand to her chest, over her heart, and adopting a maudlin poet’s stance. “Though crushed, I shall step aside and allow true love to—”
“Oh, for the love of—Sit down, goose.” Chuckling at her, Sam clutched her wrist, so poignantly tiny that his fingers more than met and lapped over each other. He couldn’t help but think of the fragile bones of a bird, so easily broken if not held tenderly in one’s hands.
But no sooner had Sam spoken than the three men jumped to help her: one at her elbow, one holding the chair, ready to push it in, and the third already holding her napkin, intending obviously to arrange it on her lap once she was seated. Sam continued to stare in wonder at this display on their part. They’d certainly never been so overly zealous when considering his needs. And here he was the one who paid their wages. Sam was more amused than jealous. Was everyone enamored of the woman? Not that he could fault them their taste. She was delectable.
Yancey sat down with a dramatic silken plop. Her gown’s skirt billowed around her like a cloud before finally settling gracefully over her lap. Sam was reminded of a swan coming to rest on a lake. But far from swanlike at this point, Yancey’s wide green eyes, high color, and slightly tipsy air amused Sam and warmed his blood. Her expression was the wide-eyed one usually found painted on a doll’s face. She appeared shocked that she’d landed so hard. Instantly the servants went to work, performing their tasks and then fading back into the woodwork until they were needed again.
Sam gave them no more notice as he found himself absolutely enchanted with his American duchess. He leaned over toward her and, pretending to wipe at his mouth, hid behind his linen napkin and whispered, “Far from my cook trying to seduce me, my sweet, I fear more that this extravagance of food is a ploy on Mrs. Sutton’s part. I am rapidly coming to believe that she and the rest of them here have joined forces and intend to stuff me so full that I shall be rendered incapable of seducing you.”
Yancey sat back abruptly. “The hell you say, sir.”
She cut her gaze around the room, sighting suspiciously on the variously stationed men who stood stiffly about, much like sentinels. Then she leaned in toward Sam. Her nose very nearly touched his. “You won’t allow that to happen, will you, Your Grace?”
“I assure you I’d sack the lot of them first,” Sam growled, lightly hitting his fist on the tabletop for emphasis.
Then seized by a sudden impulse to be alone with her and away from these smothering individuals, Sam again took hold of her wrist and scooted his chair back. Before he could even stand up straight, again the servants snapped to and assisted, all quite needlessly to Sam’s mind.
“Come with me,” he implored Yancey. “I think we need to take the air.”
She came to her feet, ceding her chair and her napkin to the hovering men. “Take it where, Your Grace?”
“Why, outside, of course.” Sam was now dragging her the length of the impressively long table and toward the room’s closed doors. Two other men opened these and bowed as they approached. At his side, Yancey hurried along, her gown rustling appealingly as she did so. “Don’t we always keep the air outside, Your Grace?”
“Not all of it, my dear,” Sam said amiably over his shoulder. “We keep some inside, or we wouldn’t be capable of having this conversation.”
“True. Then it’s absolutely ingenious of you.”
“Thank you.” He stalked through the doorway and took them down the long hallway, aiming for the drawing room and, more specifically, the wide terrace that graced the grounds outside it. “I thought of it all by myself, you know.”
“I’m not the least bit surprised, Your Grace. You’re the smartest man I’ve ever known. Imagine, keeping air inside.”
Quite inane, their conversation, and exactly as Sam intended. The truth was he suffered from no small amount of nervousness and unease, which grew out of his intentions toward this woman before the night was up. He could stand it no more. It had seemed there at the end of the meal that his employees had been multiplying like rabbits. Where earlier there had been only one, in the next moment there were three—and they were all over her. Dammit, he wanted the woman to himself and his hands the only ones touching her.
“Slow down, Sam. Where are you taking me?”
The sound of Yancey’s voice surprised him into doing just that. He pulled her to his side and put an arm around her bare shoulders. Her closeness, and the warm, sweet feminine scent of her, sent Sam’s blood rushing southward. This wouldn’t do … not in the drawing room.
He tried to dissuade his willful body by teasing lightly with her. “I do apologize. I’d quite forgotten you were
here.”
She stopped cold, forcing Sam to do the same. They stood just outside the drawing room doors. Such an enticing vision of bright colors she was, Sam noted. Much like a hummingbird, it suddenly struck him, with her green eyes and deeply red hair, like emeralds and rubies. Perhaps she didn’t need jewels. She’d put them to shame, no doubt. Still there was one particular piece he thought she should have.
“You’re doing it again.” The sound of her voice brought Sam around. He blinked, saw that Yancey had lowered her eyebrows in a clear sign of vexation. “That forgettable, am I, Sam? Even while you had a grip on my wrist? And now while you’re standing here in front of me and staring?”
She was completely insulted. Sam chuckled, trying to ignore how his body, the damned thing, was tightening in response to her nearness. And why wouldn’t it? He’d tantalized himself all afternoon, as he’d worked the estate’s accounts and then bathed and dressed, with carnal images of him and her locked in loving embrace after loving embrace. “Hardly forgettable,” he told her now. “I was merely lost for a moment in thought.”
“Oh, were you? You will only get out of this quagmire you’re rapidly sinking down into, my friend, if you can say those thoughts were of me. Which you can’t because you’ve already said you forgot about me.”
“Well, I can’t possibly prevail, then, can I? However, I can say truthfully that you were included obliquely.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Sam looked down the hallway, back toward the dining room. “Shh. Don’t say anything yet.”
Yancey tensed, straightening her posture. “What is it?”
Sam held a cautioning hand up until he was certain no one had followed them. “I think we’re alone now. Come with me out to the terrace where we can talk.”
Suddenly she was as sober as a judge. “It’s about time. Playing the mindless little coquette was really beginning to wear on me.”
Chapter Eighteen
Sam blinked in surprise, staring down into the piquantly doll-like face that hid a will of steel. “That was an act? All that teasing and flirting? The tipsiness, too?”
She made a tsking sound. “Of course. What did you think—that a bit of wine would put me under the table?”
Feeling the fool, Sam stared at her, wondering if he would ever know the real Yancey Calhoun, the woman beneath the undercover Pinkerton operative that she was. “Why were you pretending?”
She pursed her lips as if exasperated with him. “I wish for our behavior to be reported as loving and flirtatious, just as a newly reunited couple’s would be.”
“Reported by whom and to whom, exactly, Yancey?”
“Well, that’s exactly what we don’t know, isn’t it? And, as we have no answers yet, and so don’t know who might be involved, we must guard our actions and our words when in the same room with anyone else.”
He frowned. “Then, you think my servants—”
“Possibly. How better to keep oneself informed of the goings-on in your household than through your servants? A well-placed bribe goes a long way toward deflecting loyalty, Sam.”
Sam swung his gaze toward the dining room and took a step in that direction. “By Jove, I’ll get to the bottom of this right now—”
“No.” Her hand on his arm stopped his forward progress. “You can not do that, Sam. We cannot afford to say or do anything right now that gives the appearance of our suspecting that anything at all is afoul.”
Disbelief fueled Sam’s anger and sense of betrayal. “Then we’re damned sitting ducks until our villain decides to act? Is that it? We behave as if nothing is the matter?”
“Exactly. We can only remain alert and be patient, Sam.”
“The hell you say.” He tugged against her resisting hold on him.
But she held him tighter, even planting her other hand against his chest. “Listen to me. What exactly do you propose we do, Sam? Who exactly should we confront? You’d get only denials, and you have no proof of anything. All you would end up doing is having to fire your entire staff—all of whom may be innocent—and thereby alerting our villain that he needs to be more circumspect. And that is the last thing we want, Sam. We want him to think we’re unaware, so he’ll be careless and will make a mistake. And not us.”
“Damn your years of experience at this, Yancey. And how dare you make complete sense when I feel like acting the jackass?” He was angry and he meant it. But still, he chuckled at his own expense … right along with her.
“Sorry to ruin your fun,” she quipped, letting go of his sleeve and conscientiously smoothing the fabric.
“No you’re not. And I hate it that you’re right. I much prefer acting to waiting. But there’s no help for it, is there?” He paused a moment, trying to make himself believe it. “Damn.” He exhaled, finally feeling more in control of himself, and smiled down at her. “You’re very good at this, you know. I have tremendous respect for your abilities.”
Though looking suddenly shy, she did grin at him. “Let’s see if I can keep us all alive before we hand out congratulations, shall we?”
“A good plan. I’ll help you.” With that, he stepped around her to open the double doors of the drawing room. “After you, my dear.” She raised her eyebrows, and Sam added, “For the servants. In case they’re listening.”
“And of course, if they are, then they will have heard you say that, too.”
“Damn.”
“I couldn’t have said it better, Your Grace.” With that, and a grand sweeping gesture with her full skirt, she preceded him into the elegant, overfurnished drawing room.
As Sam knew it would be, since this was the usual room to which he and his family and guests repaired following the evening’s meal, the drawing room’s sconces were lit and a cozy fire burned in the fireplace. Despite it being the calendar month of May, he’d ordered it knowing the cavernous rooms of the manor turned cool the moment they lost the day’s ration of the sun’s warmth.
He closed the doors behind them and then turned to her. Damned beautiful, she was. His gaze lit on the closed French doors. “Here,” Sam said, unbuttoning and then shrugging out of his coat. “Put this around your shoulders. I want to step out onto the terrace.”
“Your coat. How gallant of you.” She accepted it and laughed with him at how it swallowed her small frame. But as she snuggled down into its depths, she sighed. “Mmm, so warm.” She lifted her eyes to his, her expression sensual, inviting. “And it smells wonderfully of you, Your Grace. I find the mix of your particular scents very appealing.”
Her voice, as much as her words, sent fire exploding through Sam’s body. The things she said to him—but then he sobered. “Is that you talking? Or was that part of your undercover personality?”
She smiled some secretive, enigmatic female smile that made Sam’s knees rubbery. “It was me. Make no mistake, you’re quite a delight for the senses, Your Grace.”
Sam exhaled raggedly. He’d almost had his body talked back into a dormant state, but not anymore. No, now it stood at proud and throbbing attention. “Air,” Sam said, barely able to walk to the French doors and throw them wide. “We need good, cold air. Lots of it. Now.”
Once outside on the terrace, and facing away from her, he planted his hands at his waist and breathed in great drafts of the flower-scented night air. He knew Yancey had followed him when she appeared at his side. Such a tiny presence to exert such a force on him. Backlit by the fire in the fireplace and the lamps behind her, her child-sized hands held his coat in place by its lapels. She said nothing and seemed merely to be enjoying the outdoors as much as he was enjoying her.
His body fairly hummed. Sam couldn’t take his eyes off her profile. Each time he’d looked at her over the course of the past three days, he’d felt as if some huge unseen fist were squeezing his heart, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. He’d never felt like this before, not even with Sarah. Probably especially not with Sarah.
So what was this—this desperate urge to lock
Yancey away in the tower and stand guard himself at the door? From what enemy or monster did he think to protect her? All of them, he supposed. It was most disconcerting, this physical pain that scared him and excited him at the same time. He wanted to possess her one moment and then set her free to thrive the next. He couldn’t put a name for this feeling inside him, but if it was love, then he wanted no part of it. Surely, it would only get worse and then would weaken and kill him.
“Look at that moon. So bright and startling,” she said suddenly, breaking into his thoughts. “As if you could reach out and pluck it from the sky. You can’t see the stars this clearly in Chicago. It’s sad, really. I think they get lost among the buildings there and the noise.”
How wistful she sounded. Sam’s heart ached for her, and he suddenly saw her as a woman with hopes and desires. Hopefully, some of those desires were for him. Smiling at his own play on words, and warming toward her to the point of fearing he was utterly besotted, he fondly noted how the moon shone fully in her face. She was luminous. So beautiful. And he wanted her so badly. Standing there with his feet apart, Sam purposely locked his hands together behind his back to keep from shocking her by grabbing her to him. “It’s the same way in London. The sky, I mean, and it getting lost.”
She nodded. “I recall. I like it here much better. It’s very beautiful.”
“Yes,” he said softly, his yearning gaze still fixed on her face, “I think so, too.” Much more of this, a more objective part of Sam’s mind noted for him, and he would find himself engaging in his favorite fantasy of late. In it, he saw himself scooping her up into his arms and, in a heated rush, carrying her up that wide sweep of stairs that led to his bedroom. Once there, he would—
The Marriage Masquerade Page 27
