Once More, My Darling Rogue

by Lorraine Heath

  He then nudged what appeared to be a box toward her. But when she untied the string and folded back the paper, she discovered The Book of Household Management. If the uniform hadn’t succeeded in reminding her of his expectations, the book did, glaringly so.

  “The housekeeper of the woman who raised me assures me that Mrs. Beeton, the author, is the authority when it comes to proper management of a household,” he said.

  “I see.”

  “It also includes recipes so you’ll have more success at preparing my dinners.”

  Flipping through the pages, she couldn’t imagine anything that would be less joyous to read. After setting it aside, she reached for one of the two remaining packages.

  “No, this one first.”

  Inside were four more books, but these … Reverently, she trailed her fingers over two leather-bound works by Austen and two by Dickens.

  “Thought I might as well give you something to dust on the shelves,” he said.

  She peered up at him. “So these are yours, not mine.”

  He shrugged. “You’re welcome to read them while you’re here.”

  “You say that as though you don’t expect me to be here for long.”

  “No, it’s just that—”

  “I can’t blame you. I’m not what you thought when you hired me.”

  “Your position is secure,” he said impatiently, shoving the last package into her hands.

  Discarding the string and paper, she revealed a sturdy leather box. Setting it on the table, she lifted the hinged lid. Inside, nestled in velvet, were a silver hairbrush, comb, and hand mirror. Flowers were intricately carved into the back of the brush and mirror. “They’re beautiful.” And costly, a little voice in the back of her mind whispered. She didn’t know how she knew but she knew. “I hardly know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing to say. I noticed you used mine and that won’t do.”

  Of course it wouldn’t do. She was his servant. She should have used her fingers or simply let the tangles have their way. “You can take these out of my salary if you like.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. They’re a gift.”

  “I can’t accept it.”

  “You most certainly can.”

  “When you take no delight in giving it? When you’re being so curmudgeonly?”

  He sighed heavily. “I want you to have it. It will please me immensely if you take it, and keeping your employer pleased is what you should want above all else.”

  To what extent did he expect her to keep him pleased? He hadn’t made any unwanted overtures, certainly didn’t appear to be interested in anything other than her cleaning skills. But would accepting such a lavish gift make her beholden to him? If she discovered it did, she could always give it back. Besides, she wanted the silver set. It made her feel elegant, above her station.

  “Thank you,” she said simply.

  “You’re most welcome. Now it is time for me to retire. You remember when to wake me?”

  “Yes, at five for your bath.”

  He tapped Mrs. Beeton’s book. “Spend the afternoon relearning how to care effectively for my residence.”

  “You said the housekeeper of the woman who raised you recommended it.”

  “Yes. She’s an exceptional housekeeper, been with the family for years.”

  “So you were with your family this morning.”

  He seemed to hesitate, to weigh his words. Nodded. “We have breakfast together once a week.”

  “Have I a family?”

  She didn’t know it was possible for a person to go so completely still. Not a blink. Not a breath taken. She wondered if his heart continued to beat. He slowly shook his head. “No, you’re an orphan.”

  She marveled at the relief she felt, curious as to what prompted it.

  “They’ve been gone a long while I believe,” he said somberly.

  She smiled at him. “You needn’t worry that I’m going to go into uncontrollable sobbing. They could have all died horribly two days ago, and it wouldn’t matter. I don’t remember them. I suppose I should mourn the not remembering. It seems people in our lives should always be remembered.”

  “I’m certain they cared deeply for you.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she scrutinized him. “I didn’t think you knew anything about my past.”

  “I don’t, but I can’t imagine you not being loved by someone.”

  “High praise indeed. Yet you are so often put out with me.”

  He sighed heavily once more. “A servant should not argue or point out when her employer is not acting himself.” He again tapped the book. “Hopefully within these pages you will find a list of rules for proper housekeeper comportment. I’ll see you at five.”

  Drake marched into his bedchamber, slammed the door, and paced. He’d told her the truth: she was an orphan. Her mother had died ten years earlier, her father two. She did have a family, her brother, but he hadn’t wanted her to seek out her family, not that she would have known where to begin, but she might have asked him again for her employment papers. It was simply easier to omit that little detail. It didn’t sit well with him, but then this whole affair was beginning to gnaw at his conscience.

  He shouldn’t have purchased her the blasted silver grooming set, spent a small fortune on it when she would be leaving in the morning. But the long blond strands of her hair mixed in with his darker ones had been unnerving, as though they belonged interwoven into his brush like that. He couldn’t have her using his things. He wished she hadn’t looked so damned grateful for everything in the packages. Well, except for the book on housekeeping. She’d obviously not been delighted with the reminder of her place in his life.

  Grinning, he sat in the chair and tugged off his boots. He should deliberately step in horse manure and trample it through the house, make her clean his boots. That would lessen her gratitude.

  He didn’t know why he was so out of sorts. It was the manner in which she’d flung open the door and greeted him as though she were truly happy to see him. Her broad smile, the sparkle in her eyes had hit him like a solid blow to the chest and nearly had him staggering back. He’d wanted her, with a fierce longing that had nearly unmanned him. He’d wanted to take her in his arms and carry her up the stairs to his bed. He’d wanted to explore a body that he had bared only two nights ago but to which he’d given little attention. He’d wanted to settle into her velvety heat and watch the warmth in her eyes smolder with passion.

  Raking his hands through his hair, he stood and stormed to the window. Desiring her was the last thing he’d ever do. He couldn’t be fooled by her innocence. The woman in his kitchen was not Lady Ophelia, but that she-devil was lurking just below the surface, and at any moment she was going to burst forth with her memories intact and her icy façade that could burn him if he attempted to get close.

  He needed to remember that. But gazing out on the street, he seemed capable of only remembering her smile that warmed, her tart voice and words that amused more than irritated, her clinging to him as she fought the demons of a nightmare.

  “You haven’t much in the way of cleaning equipment, have you?” Marla asked.

  Phee felt rather embarrassed by the pronouncement. She’d been thumbing through Mrs. Beeton’s book, striving to grasp more coherently what her responsibilities entailed, when Marla knocked on the door, ready to keep her promise from the day before to help her remember her chores.

  “I must have just used up everything,” Phee said.

  Marla smiled brightly. “It’s a good thing I brought what we’ll be needin’ then. What all have you seen to today?”

  “I washed the dishes after breakfast.”

  “That’s good. What else?”

  Phee thought about it. Surely she’d done something. Marla widened her eyes as though she thought that would assist Phee with finding the answer. “I opened packages.”

  Marla laughed lightly. “Did you now?”

  “Drake brought me some things�
�books and clothes and a hairbrush.” She couldn’t stop her smile at the last.

  “Drake?” Marla asked.

  “Yes. Drake Darling. He lives here. I told you that yesterday.”

  “You should refer to him as Mr. Darling.”

  But he didn’t seem like a Mr. Darling to her. Drake or Darling seemed to fit better. Perhaps because she’d awoken in his bed. “All right, then, yes, Mr. Darling.”

  “Why would he be bringing you a hairbrush?”

  “Because I haven’t one.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I seem to be without a good many things. I think perhaps I was going somewhere when I fell into the river.”

  “You fell into the river?”

  “Yes, I told you that.”

  “Nah, you said you hit your head.”

  “Well, I fell into the river and now I can’t remember anything. Although I sense I’m being rude. Would you care for some tea?”

  “We haven’t time for tea. Mrs. Pratt only gave me an hour to help you this morning, so we’d best get on with it. Have you swept the front walk?”

  “No, why would I?”

  “Because leaves and dirt and such are on it. You can’t expect Mr. Darling to walk through the muck.”

  “It seems a waste of time. The wind will only blow the leaves and dirt and such back onto the path.”

  Marla shrugged. “Which is why we do it every day.” Without asking, she opened the pantry door, peered inside, and removed a broom. Then picked up her bucket that was filled with rags, bottles, and tins. “Come on. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  “I think I can manage sweeping.”

  While Phee proved her skills in that regard, Marla went back into the residence and returned moments later with a bucket of water. Phee supposed she should have been a bit more cautious about Marla going into the residence but it wasn’t as though Darling possessed anything of value to be taken. Besides, Marla was a housekeeper and domestics were trusted. She had no reason to pilfer. She had a salary.

  With her hands on her hips, Marla walked along the pathway from the door to the gate like someone inspecting troops. How did Phee know that? Had she seen troops being inspected?

  “You did a fair job,” Marla said.

  “Fair? I did an excellent job.”

  “You missed a few bits here and there.”

  “I didn’t miss them; the wind blew them back, just as I predicted it would.”

  Marla glanced around, up and down the street where people were going about their day. “I don’t feel any wind.”

  “Well, it’s not blowing now, but it was a moment ago.”

  Marla’s smile, with her crooked teeth, made her look so young, too young to be doing all this. “You don’t like being told things, but if I don’t tell you how will you remember?”

  “I said the same thing to Drake—” Marla’s eyes bugged out, which Phee took to be a reprimand. She supposed there were worse punishments. “—Mr. Darling, that he needed to tell me things but he said I needed to figure it out.”

  Marla shrugged her shoulders. “He has his way, I have mine. I’ll scrub down the front step there while you polish the door. I’ve got what we need in my bucket.”

  Looking at the dusty door, Phee could only think of one thing to say. “I’m not a very good housekeeper, am I?”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. There’s only you taking care of things.” She handed Phee a cloth, then opened a tin. “We can only do so much in a day. Here now, use the wax to polish the door.”

  Marla went down to her knees, took what looked like a brick from her bucket, and began scraping the front step.

  “You can just tell me what to do,” Phee told her. “You don’t have to actually do it.”

  “I’m not a fancy lady to stand around doin’ nothing all day. Besides, friends help each other, don’t they?”

  “I haven’t known you long enough to be your friend.”

  Squinting up at her, Marla grinned her crooked toothed grin. “Friendship isn’t measured by time. It can happen in the blink of an eye when you meet someone you like.”

  Phee felt an uncomfortable and unfamiliar tightening in the center of her chest. “You like me?”

  “Course I do. Wouldn’t be here otherwise. Haven’t you ever met someone and straightaway you knew you’d be friends?”

  Had she? Did she have friends? Before she could answer, Marla carried on. “Then sometimes you meet someone and you immediately think, ‘Cor, blimey! Not if she was the last person on earth.’ And don’t you be worrying. I’m going to tell you plenty of things you can do after I leave.”

  “Thank you, Marla. I truly appreciate your help. You’re very kind.”

  “Doesn’t take any more effort to be kind.”

  But it did. The girl was taking time from her own schedule to assist Phee, someone she hardly knew at all. Would Phee be as generous with her time and knowledge? She liked to think she would, but she didn’t know.

  Marla nodded toward the door. “Start polishing.”

  Turning back to the chore at hand, Phee thought about how surprised and pleased Darling—Mr. Darling—would be the next time he used this door. She did wish that she’d polished it up all nice and glistening for him this morning before he’d returned with the packages. As she ran the cloth repeatedly over the wood, she decided it wasn’t a completely unpleasant task and she liked watching the way her actions transformed the wood from something murky to something clean and pretty. She wished life could be cleaned so easily, but it was far too complicated. Even with no memories, she knew that.

  “I’m assuming your Mr. Darling has a laundress,” Marla said.

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Your hands.” Marla held up her own. “Mine are all rough-looking.”

  They were red, chapped. Phee thought they looked years older than the housemaid’s face. While her own were so white and soft.

  “You might ask him about the laundress,” Marla said. “To get clothes really clean the water’s got to be hot. When I was first being trained for service, they made me stick my hands in near boiling water.”

  Horrified, Phee stopped polishing and simply stared at Marla. Surely she hadn’t heard correctly. She couldn’t think of any response, except “No.”

  Marla nodded. “Yeah. You gotta get used to working with the hot water.”

  “That’s barbaric. How old were you?”

  “Twelve.”

  Phee knew her eyes grew as round as saucers. “But you were a child.”

  Marla shrugged in a way that made it appear she was rolling Phee’s words off her back. “Me mum had eight kids, another coming. I had to start earning my own way. How long have you been in service?”

  Phee could hardly believe that Marla was so accepting of the treatment she’d endured, but obviously she wanted to move the conversation along, so Phee obliged her.

  “I don’t know. Supposedly I’ve been here for a fortnight.” She studied the door. “Do you think I’ve polished this since I set foot in the house?”

  “Doesn’t look like it, does it? Windows need washing, too.”

  Oh God, that was going to be a chore. She’d have to get a ladder. Was she afraid of heights? “Maybe Mr. Darling doesn’t care about the windows and doors.”

  “Of course he does. All the middles care about appearances. It’s why they hire servants.”

  “The middles?”

  Marla laughed. “You have forgotten a lot. You know, those who aren’t poor, but they’re not the upper swells either. Like Mrs. Turner. They hire at least one servant for appearances’ sake, so people know they have some money. Most have two or three domestics, whatever they can afford. We make them feel rich.”

  Was that why Darling had hired her? For appearances? No, he didn’t strike her as giving a fig about what others thought of him. He was quick enough to put her in her place if he didn’t like what she said. “All right then. Windows. What other
chores do I need to see to?”

  “Oil lamps have to be cleaned and prepared every day. Some households have a gent and that’s his sole job. He’s in charge of the oil lamps.”

  “Our furnishings are rather spartan at the moment so that chore shouldn’t take an inordinate amount of time. What else?”

  Phee polished while Marla began listing all the things she needed to tend to. Oddly, she didn’t find it overwhelming. Instead, she thought her chores would make the day go rather quickly, but more she imagined how rewarding it would be when Drake Darling noticed her efforts. The next time a fancy carriage rolled to a stop in front of the residence, the driver and footman would see a gleaming door.

  And just maybe Drake Darling would smile at her, revealing that intriguing little dimple.

  Chapter 12

  He awoke to a light nudge, late afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows, and arresting green eyes. Why couldn’t they be as black and uninteresting as his? Why did they have to reflect expectation? Why did they have to make him wish he could gaze into them for the remainder of his life?

  It would forever haunt him that he saw them this warm and welcoming, knowing that on the morrow they would once again be frigid and hard when meeting his.

  “Your bath is ready,” she said, her voice low and enticing. He could clearly envision it whispering endearments in his ear, urging him onward as he pounded into her while she gripped his buttocks, meeting him thrust for thrust.

  His cock was so damned hard at that moment that he could have driven nails into wood with it, but it was only because he was awakening and it always stood at attention first thing. It had nothing at all to do with the woman in the dark blue dress and ruffled apron leaning over him. She could have been a crone for all it cared. Was a crone beneath the silken skin and the long dark lashes that didn’t match her hair and inviting red lips that were slightly parted.

  “Then leave so I can make my way there.” He hated the irascibility in his voice, the slight dimming of delight in her eyes. Which made no sense as he was doing all this—

  He didn’t know why the bloody hell he was doing it. His mind was foggy from sleep, and he couldn’t concentrate with her so near, so unlike the Ophelia he knew.