Her Beguiling Butler

by Cerise DeLand

  “Do they appear to be friends of Lady Ranford?” Finnley pressed the maid.

  “They look like they may be, yes.”

  “And you didn’t let them in?” He frowned at Preston.

  She shook her head.

  “I will go,” Finnley pulled his hand from Alicia’s. He should be grateful to the two people downstairs that they’d come at an opportune time. He strode away, turning to face Alicia before he left. “Is there anything else you need, my lady?”

  She glared at him from across the room, her large purple eyes fixed with intent on his. “You know what I need, Finnley. Can you bring me that?”

  With the door ajar and Preston not two feet from him, Finnley had to mask Alicia’s intent. He set his jaw. “I will see what I can do, Madam.”

  “Wonderful.”

  He closed the door and avoided the maid’s curious stance.

  Whatever Preston thought their mistress asked of him, he would not elaborate. Let her think whatever she will. It will be the worst, in any event. That is her nature.

  He took the stairs at a trot, Preston on his heels. He cared not. Let her stalk him. He had other worries. His skin was flushed, his heart pitter-pattering. What in blazes was wrong with him?

  He pulled open the front door.

  “Good afternoon.” A handsome blond man and identical blonde woman stood before him. The gentleman was the speaker and he removed his hat and gestured to his companion. “We have come unannounced. I am Mr. Macomb and this is my sister, Miss Louise Macomb.”

  At the very least, Finnley had to let the man and lady inside. It was too blasted cold to permit them to linger on the doorstep. He stood aside and invited them in.

  Lady Louise lifted the veil of her hat and began to pull off her gloves as she looked around. “You are Alicia’s new butler, I suppose.”

  “I am, my lady. Finnley’s the name.”

  Grimes appeared behind Finnley to assist with their wraps.

  “We’re here to call upon Lady Ranford, of course,” the man put forward.

  “We understand she’s been to her cousin’s for dinner the past few weeks and then over to visit her aunt.” Lady Louise continued her assessment of the foyer and him, in particular. “We thought we’d help her break her mourning more rapidly. Do tell her we call, Finnley.”

  He collected their coats, hats, and handed them over to Grimes. Leading them toward the parlor, he invited them to sit. He knew Alicia’s penchant to receive anyone who called upon her. She had told him the day he interviewed with her that she wished to be at home to anyone who called. “Mourning was so lonely. And now that I emerge, I wish to receive all who call. Turn no one away, Finnley. No one.”

  He had heeded her instruction, allowing her solicitor in to see her two days ago and her aunt yesterday. Now here stood this pair. Well, so be it. He’d announce them.

  He saw them seated, then did what he could to prepare them for Alicia’s dismissal. “I wish to inform you both that while Lady Ranford is at home, she may decide not to see you today.”

  “Oh, why ever not?” Lady Louise stared up at him with insult in her tone.

  “She is recently indisposed.”

  “Alicia?” the gentleman scoffed. “Impossible. She is always hail and hearty.”

  Not today, she’s not. “Permit me to be excused and I will tell her of your arrival.”

  “Cheeky bugger,” Finnley heard Macomb say as he left the drawing room.

  Upstairs at her door, Finnley rapped lightly. If she’d fallen asleep, then he’d send these two away.

  “Come in.”

  He dared not go closer than the threshold. Alicia looked so artlessly languid. “My lady, you have callers. Mr. Macomb and Miss Louise Macomb.”

  “Harold and Louise?” Alicia clasped her hands together. A smile wreathed her face as she flung back the covers. “Splendid.”

  And then she froze, a cry of pain on her lips, her nightgown sliding well above her flawless, elegant thighs all the way to—

  He ran to her. “Don’t move. You’re hurt. Can’t you see?”

  By this time, he had his arms around her back and he lifted her in his embrace. Her unbound breasts pressed to his chest. Her arms dragged him close. He hauled her backward to the pillows. “Darling, don’t.”

  He settled her down against the fluffy mounds. Her eyes were clenched shut and a tear dripped from the corner of her eye.

  “Oh, Finnley,” she whimpered and hid her face in his shirt.

  “I know, I know. Just be still. These two can call again. They will, I know, when you’re better.”

  She nodded wildly, a hand to her quivering mouth. “I should not have moved so quickly. Oh, but I want to see them.”

  “I know you do.” He smoothed her hair, her pale gossamer curls drifting through his fingers.

  “She was my friend. Is my friend. Robert didn’t like her.”

  On the contrary, your husband liked her too much.

  “Don’t worry. I can tell them what happened to you and—“

  “Oh, no. Please don’t. Say I am indisposed of some malady but not that I fell on my own front doorstep. They’ll think me hopeless and I want to appear so in control of my—my life.” Her lips trembling, she clutched him so near that he felt every hill and valley of her luscious body squashed ever so securely to the fires in his chest. “Oh, Finnley. I want to begin to live a normal life again. But here I am—“

  In my arms.

  “In my bed. And wanting—“ She lifted her face to him. Two tears left a trail over both her cherub’s cheeks. Her eyes, so violet, so velvet, they were wet with longing and sorrow. “Finnley,” she whispered with those plush pink lips that deserved adulation.

  He brushed her cheek with the pads of his thumbs. She was too hurt, too lovely, too forlorn to ignore. On his mouth, he felt the warm fan of her breath. If he lowered his face an iota, he could take her lips, press them and treasure them, open them with the insistence of his own lips and taste her, drink her, devour her, claim her…

  No.

  He settled her gently to her pillows.

  She watched him withdraw with sorrow in her gorgeous eyes and upon her downturned mouth. “Don’t go.”

  “I must. I’ll tell them.”

  “To return.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  He shook his head. “Next week.”

  “I won’t be better?”

  “No. You need your rest. You could not don stockings on your injured knees. No garters to stop the blood, either. And your hands, dear lady. I must get compresses for your hands. Rest. Sleep. Think of no one and nothing but restoring your health. I will see to your friends.”

  As he drew away, she caught his hand and held it overlong.

  His entire body went rock hard. He’d weep for want of her if he did not leave now.

  “Finnley, after you’ve dismissed them, return to me to keep me company.” Her softly spoken words were half order, half plea.

  “Preston should do that,” he told her with what little logic his heated brain retained.

  “I don’t want her. I want you.”

  “That would be a scandal,” he offered.

  “I won’t tell if you won’t.” An impish light flashed in her large, limpid eyes.

  He had to smile, just once. But servants would gossip and he would not have her name besmirched. “I cannot do that and you know it.”

  “No?” She gave him the imposing façade of the mistress of the house. “I’ll dismiss you if you don’t.”

  That gutted him. She’d let him go? He ached as strongly as if she’d taken a knife to cut out his heart. He had to stay. Had to remain as close to her as possible. Close but not like this. Of course, like this! Why not like this? She could be yours if… “I shall return then.”

  She grinned and relaxed against the pillows like a nymph reclining on a sylvan throne. “Bring a few stor
ies.”

  She was coy, playful and he loved her resilience. He cocked a brow. “Such as?”

  “Your exploits in war and peace.”

  “Ba! My tales are not for ladies’ ears.”

  “Then speak to me of other ventures, Finnley. All of yours. I want to hear them.”

  “I don’t have many.”

  Sinking further into her downy linens, she lounged like a goddess on her throne and regarded him from under long pale lashes. “I shall make a list of those I know you can tell.”

  How you make my heart ache with your beauty. How other parts of me throb to claim you as your equal. Or how your brother died in my arms. How I am here to ensure that no one hurts you. “Like what?”

  “Return and I shall list them for you.”

  He got to his feet and braced himself for the onslaught. “If I am to tell you true stories, so must you return the favor.”

  “A good bargain.”

  Agreeing with her was the only thing to do. “Do not move.”

  She beamed at him. “Return quickly.”

  He raced downstairs, his desire for her thick in his veins. What was he? A fumbling lad of twelve?

  He skidded to a halt before he rounded the threshold of the drawing room. Good thing too.

  The siblings talked. And not simply between them…but to Grimes. In long low tones.

  Why?

  “So you like the man, do you?” Mr. Macomb asked.

  “I do.”

  “Why so?” the lady drew him out.

  “He’s fair.”

  Finnley nodded.

  “He’s funny.”

  Really? Thought that drained out of me on the plains of Waterloo.

  “Anything else?” That was the man once more.

  “He’s taught me much.”

  Wonderful!

  “And how does Lady Ranford get on with him?”

  “Well. I suppose.” Grimes didn’t sound happy.

  I’m not either.

  “She’s suffered terribly,” the woman said.

  Has she? Why? She did not care for her husband in any wifely way.

  “With her husband’s passing, I do mean,” said Miss Macomb.

  “I suppose so.” Grimes hemmed and hawed a bit. “She’s worn her black and now her grays and violets. Like a proper lady.”

  “So I have heard,” said Macomb. “You do look well, Grimes.”

  “It’s nice ‘ere, it is,” the footman told them.

  How would Macomb be so familiar as to ask after Grimes’ health?

  “Good table downstairs, is it?” the lady asked.

  “Yes, miss. Better than the country.“

  “How good for you,” the lady seemed to purr like an old cat.

  Finnley smelled a rat. He picked up his feet to imitate steps and came round the corner.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  The two visitors had the polish not to blink at his appearance so soon after their grilling of Grimes. The gentleman stood by the mantel, fingering the gold clock.

  “That is perfectly fine, Mr. Findley,” said the woman who feigned a smile from her chair.

  ”That’s Finnley, ma’am.” He told her with a strained smile and a wish to hustle her to the door.

  She offered him a disdaining glance, as if to say she could care less.

  That makes two of us. Except for your uncanny interest in our footman, you would have been shown toward the street a lot sooner.

  “I have news from her ladyship. I’m afraid she is indisposed today. She does wish to see you and is grateful for your concern. She will invite you to call upon her when she is much better.”

  “I say,” said Mr. Macomb, facing Finnley fully now, “what ails Lady Ranford?”

  Had Grimes told them she’d fallen?

  “She does not wish to be so indelicate as to say. I’m certain you understand,” Finnley told them with finality and inclined his head toward the hall. “Shall we?”

  As soon as he shut the front door upon them, he turned for the servants’ stairs to go down and find Grimes. He wanted answers and he’d get them. This business with the death of Lord Ranford, the departure of his valet, and the death of the previous butler was too coincidental. On top of that was the second of Alicia’s recent accidents and that frightened him. He flared his nostrils. He did not like to be frightened. It brought out the beast in him.

  He found the footman seated in the servants’ hall eating an apple by the fire.

  “I say, Grimes. Having a rest?”

  “Yes, sir. My shoes give me blisters.”

  “You should have new ones made.”

  “I will, sir. When I’ve got more money saved up.”

  “Do we not pay you enough?”

  “I get by.” The footman rolled a shoulder. “Not so much to buy two pair of shoes a year.”

  “I see.” Finnley sat down in another of the fireside chairs and reached for an apple from the bowl. He considered the flames for a few minutes. “Those two callers were friendly, weren’t they?”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man glanced away.

  “I had the impression that you knew them.”

  “Knew them?” He chewed on his apple.

  “Do you?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “How’s that?” Finnley picked up an apple from the bowl on the table and took a bite from the fruit. With a nonchalance he did not feel, he crossed one leg over the other and brushed his trouser legs with one smooth move. “How do you know them?”

  “My father was in service to their brother. I visited with my da. But I was in service to a wool merchant, as I told you. That, my father said, or I had to go in to service for the Macombs. But I left Maidstone for London, I did.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Sir?” The boy was stalling.

  “How long ago did you leave to come to London?”

  “Oh, August it was.”

  “And Lady Ranford hired you on here in August, didn’t she?” That is what Grimes had told him when he met him on his first day here as butler to Alicia. He had believed him then.

  “Aye, sir.” Grimes picked a piece of apple from his coat.

  Finnley reverted to the issue of two visitors. “The two Macombs were very familiar with you, Grimes. I will be plain and tell you I did not care for it. They were not proper to ask you such things. If they try again, do tell me. I will go to Lady Ran—“

  Grimes cast him a look of alarm. “Please don’t do that. I mean, sir, I can be good to not talk to them. If they come again. Will they?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I will stay away. Well away.”

  That alone sent chills up Finnley’s spine. “Are they that displeasing to you?”

  “Aye, sir, they are.”

  “Would you care to tell me why?”

  Grimes stared at him. “I don’t care for the lady. She…irritates me.”

  Interesting. The woman makes my skin prick, as well. “Has she done anything that aggravates you?”

  “I don’t like the way she looks at me.”

  “As if—?”

  “She’s going to eat me alive.”

  Well, then, that makes two of us. “Good of you to tell me, Grimes. We shall endeavor to keep them well away from you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The footman got to his feet, and with a feigned smile and brief thanks, he hurried away.

  What was the cause of Miss Macomb‘s attitude toward Grimes? He’d make a point to learn.

  In the meantime, he needed to carry a tray upstairs to Alicia. She was ailing and she needed more biscuits and another pot of hot tea.

  He’d find out more about these two callers and what they were truly about.

  Chapter Four

  “Oh, superb!” Alicia cooed and clasped her hands, then winced at her moves. “You brought more food.”

  He walked straight to her t
his time. He was getting used to being near her. The headiness of her laughter and her joy in life, in food—and yes, in him was exhilarating. He set down the new tray, removed the old and shook out a large serviette for her lap.

  She tipped her head to and fro, happy with his attentions.

  He was happy with her attitude…and the way her breasts bobbed beneath the damned delicious muslin gown.

  Garrrr. He backed away and sat in the large Louis Quatorze chair near her bed.

  “Will you have tea now, dear Finnley?”

  He nodded. Yes, by god, he would. He had much to learn from her. While he hadn’t planned to discover what facts he required for his investigation from her directly, he could now. So he would.

  And guard your sentiments in the process, old man.

  He took the cup and saucer from her, careful not to touch her. No need to feed his temptations.

  “There now.” She settled into her pillows again.

  “I’ve set Preston to the task of bringing up new cold compresses for your knees and hands every hour on the hour.” He sipped his tea. Took a chomp out of a biscuit. Tore his gaze from the beauty of how her nipples peaked dark rose beneath the muslin.

  “Tell me about the Macombs,” she said.

  “They seem truly interested in aiding you in your re-entry to society.”

  “Hmm.” She raised her brows as she nibbled on a biscuit. “I’m certain. Harold—Mr. Macomb, that is—was one of my suitors years ago before Lord Ranford won my hand from my father. He seemed kind and unassuming then. I’d known him for years, of course, because his sister Louise and I were friends.”

  How to learn the intimate facts of her engagement to Ranford was a delicate task, which he did not know how to broach. On a whim, he went in the opposite direction. “Would you have preferred Mr. Macomb to Ranford?”

  She arched a long brow. “I did not wish either man.”

  What good instincts.

  She lifted her china cup to her lips and sipped. “There was another offer. My father never told me from whom. Sometimes, I think my third suitor might have been a better match than either Harold or Robert.”

  I dare say he was. Though he had no idea of that at the time.

  “Why did your father choose Ranford?”

  She inhaled. “The usual reason. He had more title than any of the others who were interested in taking me on. The more immediate reason was that my father wished to be rid of me. After my brother died at Waterloo in June, all the life drained out of my father. He drank more. He drank all day, every day until he could not stand and could not remember conversations at dinner nor much else. He wanted no responsibility for a young woman in her debut year. Too much expense. Too much fuss. And then there was the mourning for Jerome that sapped all life from him.”