Between them there was a heavy silence. No sound but the hiss of a log crumbling in the fire. Her awareness of him trembled out from her—excitement, anticipation and fear.
“Waistcoat,” he said softly.
She fixed her eyes on the buttons as she worked them. When they were all loosed, he shucked the garment and handed it to her wordlessly. While she hung that, he went to the bed, sitting on the mattress and stretching his long legs out.
She had to kneel to take his boots off. He could see from her wary gaze that she didn’t know what awaited her at the end of this, but he could see too her helpless interest, the way her gaze ate him up, the betraying flush on her cheeks and the glitter in her eyes.
She wanted him, he was sure. It was a powerful thing, to be wanted like that.
“Thank you,” he said when she’d put the boots aside, catching her eye and smiling. For a long moment they stared at one another. That interest stoked his own.
What to do?
He could go to her and kiss her now. He had a fair idea she would let him, particularly after the wine. And he wanted to. God, how he wanted to.
“Good night,” he said instead, shocking himself.
She stood staring at him for a moment and he raised one brow.
“You are dismissed,” he added, to put his meaning beyond doubt.
She startled at that, as though coming out of a daze, her expression shocked. And then she flushed and turned away.
“Oh. I—that is, good night.” She hurried into the dressing room, shutting the door firmly behind her.
He stared at the closed door for a moment before he stripped the rest of his clothes off and went to bed. And then he lay awake for a long time, aching, wondering if he’d taken leave of his senses.
Chapter 18
The next day, Georgy woke up feeling distinctly odd, her head thick and her mouth dry.
It took her a moment to recall that she was in Nathan’s—Harland’s—dressing room at Camberley. She sat up, noticing the chill in the air a moment before she shivered. Pushing the blankets aside, she went to the small window, opening the drapes to find a world gone white. A blanket of snow covered everything: the gravel path, the gardens, and beyond that, the wider grounds and the rolling Derbyshire fells. Snow topped the naked branches of the trees and edged the window sills and door frames. It lay in neat little piles on the upturned breasts of the mermaids that cavorted around the fountain outside the lodge’s entrance.
She heard a distant knock, followed by the sound of the main bedchamber door opening and closing. The muffled scrapes and clatters next door told her that it was a maid popping in to light the fire. Time to be up, then. Padding over to the table, she poured some ice-cold water from the ewer into the basin. In one swift movement, she pulled her nightshirt over her head, shivering in the freezing air, and splashed herself quickly all over before dressing and tidying her hair.
The events of the previous evening came back to her as she got ready—the wine she had so foolishly drunk, the way she had chatted with Harland as though they were friends and then, at the end of the evening…
She groaned, remembering his lazy flirtation and how it had flustered her. And then the way he’d told her about his brother only to switch to being the distant lord and master again. Why? She didn’t know, couldn’t understand the way his devious mind worked. It was all part of some game he was playing with her, she was sure.
When she was ready, she knocked softly at the connecting door.
“Come in.”
Nathan was sitting up in bed, his dark hair dishevelled. She tried to ignore the familiar pull she felt at the sight of him, but it was so much harder now. It was all too easy to remember what it felt like to be pressed up against him, his lips moving against her own, his tongue sliding into her mouth, his hands roving over her.
The familiar pull became an ache at her core, one that dismayed her. Last night he’d known she’d wanted him. He’d probably worked out too that she’d been all but ready to relent had he attempted to kiss her. It had amused him to toy with her, then dismiss her. Humiliation scorched her at the thought.
“Good morning,” he said.
She ignored the salutation. She was not going to allow him to play with her like that again today. He might know she was a woman but there was no reason she couldn’t stick to her servant role.
“Do you want me to arrange for your breakfast to be brought up?” she asked, adopting the impersonal, careful expression of Mr. Fellowes.
“No need,” he replied. “Jenny is already bringing coffee and rolls. I’ve asked her to bring some for you too. Take a seat.”
She bristled with irritation.
“You can’t object, surely?” he said, amusement in his voice. She didn’t answer, merely turned away, picking up the poker and taking her frustration out on the fire with a few vicious thrusts.
When the maid arrived, Georgy went to the door and took the tray from her, ignoring her curious look. She put the tray on a small table in front of the fire and began to unload its contents. The coffee smelt heavenly and the rolls were freshly baked, wrapped in a linen napkin. A tablet of pale butter rested in a porcelain dish.
Nathan approached. He had donned a black brocade dressing gown while her back was turned and now he dropped into an armchair, stretching his long naked legs out in front of him.
“If it makes you feel better, you can pour my coffee for me,” he said mildly. “It’s only fair, I suppose, since I served you dinner last night.”
A quiet reminder that she’d dropped the servant act willingly enough last night.
“Very well.” She poured his coffee and handed it to him. “Shall I butter your roll, my lord?”
He looked amused. “No one’s buttered my bread for me since I was in the nursery, but if it pleases you to do so, then butter away.”
She flushed at that but seized a roll and split it, buttering it thickly before handing it to him. He took it from her, taking his time and letting his fingertips brush hers. “Sit down,” he said. “Have some coffee.”
She poured herself a cup and perched on the edge of a chair, silent.
“We’ll have a proper breakfast before we head off,” Nathan said after a while. “First footprints. Remember? I thought we’d walk up to St. Martin’s rest. It’s a couple of miles and uphill all the way. And there are two or three inches of snow lying this morning. Are you up to it?”
“I should unpack, my lord,” she said. “There will be clothes that need pressing.”
She felt his eyes on her but refused to look his way.
“I told you that I don’t think of you as a servant now, Georgy. I don’t want you doing that.”
“The clothes need to be put away. What will the rest of the servants think if I go off on some jaunt when there’s work to be done?”
He laughed. “I don’t really care what they think.”
His dark eyes were warm and amused and they roamed over her in a familiar way. She wished he wouldn’t do that. She was coming to enjoy basking in his gaze far too much. She looked away.
“If I have to order you to come with me, I will,” he said lightly. “Is that going to be necessary?”
She shrugged. “You are the master,” she said.
“That I am.”
That he was, God damn him.
Georgy didn’t have a greatcoat.
“I’ll be all right if you give me a scarf,” she said.
Nathan looked her up and down. Beneath her brown tail coat she only had a waistcoat and shirt. Three thin, inadequate layers between her and the elements. A warm scarf was not going to make up for the deficit.
“Wait here, there’s a good chap.” He disappeared into the cloakroom. There were all sorts of things in there—boots, hats, gloves, myriad hunting and fishing equipment. Nathan rummaged around for a few minutes and finally unearthed a cloak of heavy brown wool.
He emerged from the cloakroom, brushing the cloak down. “Here we ar
e,” he said. “This was mine when I was a boy. It should fit.”
Georgy eyed the garment warily. He settled it round her rigid shoulders and secured the clasp at her throat.
He opened the front door and they went out into a day that was magnificent. The sky above was a clear bright blue. Clouds of white emerged from their mouths when their warm breath met the icy air.
Georgy trudged through the snow at his side, looking around their surroundings with guarded interest.
“This way,” he said when they reached the bottom of the drive, heading for a stile on the right hand side of the path. He stood back to let her go first, and after a moment’s hesitation, she climbed over.
This path took them to the river. The narrow riverbank trail did not permit them to walk along side by side, so he let Georgy take the lead, watching her reactions to her surroundings. She was tactile with the world around her. She’d removed her gloves as soon as they were over the stile and now she walked along, brushing the cold powdery snow off a low branch with her palm, testing the bite of a holly leaf with finger and thumb. It seemed as though she understood the world through her fingertips.
They came to the widest part of the river with its little strip of pebbly shore.
“I used to swim here when I was a boy,” he offered. “My father taught me. He was an excellent swimmer.”
She glanced at him, and he saw a flicker of interest in those clear eyes of hers before they shuttered again. It seemed she was determined about her campaign of non co-operation.
This was a slow-moving part of the river and the almost still water called out to the boy in him. He scanned the pebbles beneath his feet till he found a good flat one and wedged it into the crook of his forefinger, holding it in place with his thumb. Then he pulled his hand back and let it fly across the surface of the water. It skipped four, five, six, seven times.
Georgy gave him a sideways glance.
He grinned at her. “You’re impressed, aren’t you? Feign to deny it.”
“Impressed?” Without answering her own question, she bent down and picked up a pebble of her own, sending it skimming across the water an instant later. They both watched it fly and jump.
“Nine,” she declared with satisfaction and sent him a challenging look.
He got up to nine too, eventually, but by then Georgy was throwing tens, even one eleven. He watched her, frowning with concentration.
“What are you doing?”
“Just flicking my wrist a bit,” she said without taking her eyes off of the water. “I give it an extra little flick at the same time as I push the pebble off my finger.”
She did it again and this time he saw it. The little innovation looked easy. But when he tried it, he couldn’t get the knack. He cursed as his skips dropped to five, then three.
It was so typical of her to take a perfectly ordinary thing like skimming stones and make it into her own deft little trick.
“Come on,” he said, tetchy now. “Enough of this. Let’s walk up the hill.”
He saw her suppress a smile and decided it was worth being trumped at skimming stones to disrupt that impassive-valet look she’d been wearing all morning.
They climbed the hill side by side, Georgy negotiating the tumbles of rocks and scree without seeming difficulty or getting out of breath.
Once he offered her his hand at a particularly steep slope but she didn’t even seem to notice, reaching instead for a handhold and hauling herself up with sure-footed grace.
“You’re strong, for a woman,” he observed.
“For a woman?” She looked coolly amused. “If you want to see a strong woman you need go no further than your own kitchen. Mrs. Sims has arms like hams. I’d wager she could go a few rounds with Gentleman Jackson.” She smiled in a condescending way. “Of course, you’re thinking of women of your own class, but normal women are quite different, I assure you.”
Nathan eyed her strong slim legs and imagined her wrapping them round his hips as he drove into her. What would she be like in bed? He turned slightly to disguise his swelling manhood from her.
“True,” he said, “but you are definitely more athletic and dextrous than the average woman. Just look at the way you’ve climbed up here.”
“Nine-tenths of that is down to my garb. I would not be finding this so easy in long skirts, I assure you.”
They continued right up to the massive boulders that formed the chairlike structure known as St Martin’s Rest. Nathan brushed a pile of snow away and they sat down on the chilly, damp rock, gazing out across the Derbyshire fells of Nathan’s boyhood.
Nathan pointed down at the winding river they’d walked beside. “My father taught me to fish there. He loved fishing—all sports really. He knew every inch of this estate.”
“It must be wonderful to belong somewhere like this,” she said.
Even in profile he could see the yearning look in her expression, and wondered at it.
“Yes,” he said. “It is. I am very privileged.” He paused. “What about you? Did you always live in town?”
“Always.” After a pause, she added, “London is—not like this.”
“No. London is exciting, of course. But this is forever.”
She turned her head toward him, her expression surprised and serious. He sensed that she knew exactly what he meant.
“When I’m gone,” he went on, holding her gaze, “this will all still be here. I don’t know why precisely, but that’s very comforting.”
For a long moment she stared back at him, and then she jerked her head away.
“When will we be going back to London?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“The sooner you get back to town,” she said, “the sooner you can get on with finding a new valet.”
He kept his expression carefully blank.
“Indeed.”
“How long will the journey take?”
He suppressed his annoyance at her eagerness to be away. “It’s two days’ journey. Maybe three in this weather.”
She nodded, and they lapsed into silence again, Georgy staring out distractedly over the fells while he watched her secretly from beneath his lashes. After a moment she reached absently into her pocket and withdrew something. A coin. Her hand fell into that twirling motion again, flipping the coin under and over her fingers in a clever rolling movement.
“You were doing that in the carriage yesterday,” he said.
She looked up, blank for a moment before her gaze fell to her hand. “Oh, this. It’s a habit of mine. This is my lucky coin.”
“It’s rather the worse for wear,” he pointed out.
She shrugged. “A carriage rolled over it.”
“Ah. Hence the luckiness?”
“It survived.” She stuffed the coin back into her pocket. “Shall we go down?”
Before he could answer, she stood and became absorbed in shaking snow from the back of the cloak. He watched her for a long moment before he rose too.
“Yes,” he said. “Let’s go back. I’m near froze to the bone.”
They walked down more slowly. The snow made the rocky slopes treacherous and Georgy’s boots were not so well made as his own. She slipped twice on the way down. The first time she fell and wouldn’t take the hand he offered to assist her up again. The second time, his arm shot out in time to save her going down. She clung for a moment then shook him off, striding off a moment later.
“What’s wrong with you?” he called after her.
“Nothing.” She was going far too fast and he hurried after her, sliding on an icy patch himself and almost going down.
“You’ve been like this all morning. Because I won’t let you iron my shirts? Anyone would think you’d be thanking me!”
They were at the bottom of the hill now, walking past the pebbly part of the river bed where they’d skimmed stones earlier. She stopped and turned to face him.
“You know what you’ve been doing,” she accused, her eyes gl
ittering with anger. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This. You stopped me going back to London—brought me here on the pretext of needing a valet—but now you’re not letting me be a valet. Instead you bring me here!” She gestured at the river. “Skimming stones? And those faux sentiments at the top of the hill about how attached you are to this place? Why?”
“There were no faux sentiments,” he bit out, annoyed. He’d thought they’d shared an instant of real understanding on the top of the hill.
“Please don’t make me laugh,” she retorted. “You haven’t got a genuine bone in your body. Everything you do, you do for a reason. It’s all thought out beforehand. I’ve never met a less spontaneous person in all my life.”
She spun on her heel and strode off in the direction of the trees. Spurred by anger, he followed right after her, and quickly caught up, grabbing her wrist in an iron grip and spinning her round to face him.
“I’m not genuine?” he sneered. “Well, what does that make you? You’re a liar and a thief—or a would-be thief, at least. You entered my house on false pretences and used your position to infiltrate my friend’s house. You tried to steal from him.”
“You don’t know me!” she cried, her colour up and her eyes glittering with temper. “You don’t know anything about who I am or why I did those things!”
“So tell me! I’m all ears! You can’t stand there and berate me for not understanding you when you’ve told me nothing.”
“Why should I?”
“Quite right—why should you? You used your charms to extract a promise from me not to hand you over, which I was too much the fool to break. You must have been laughing up your sleeve—”
And then they both heard it: a crashing noise in the undergrowth nearby, as though someone had fallen over. Nathan broke off and let go of Georgy. They both turned towards the noise.
“Who’s there?” Nathan called out, his voice very loud in the still of this winter’s day, his gaze raking around. There was an instant of calm and then another crashing sound, this time plainly of someone running away.
The Lady’s Secret Page 17
