Blake blinked down at her. “No, damn it. She knows nothing of Robert.” He took a breath and glanced into the basket she held. “Why are you out shopping?”
“I needed a few things.” She shrugged. “And I’m glad I came upon you. Mrs. Mott told me you have accounts at several of these shops, and I wondered if we might—”
“Accounts?” he cut in, puzzled. “Yes, I trade with the shopkeepers.”
“Good. I thought to buy some linens and other things to dress The Hideaway,” she said. She cocked her head to one side and her lovely dimple came into view. That charming smile again, brighter than the sun beating down on his jacketed shoulders. He mentally shook off its effect.
“Surely you aren’t averse to making the place more attractive?” she asked.
Blake shrugged. “I hadn’t given it much thought.”
He glanced toward the basket holding lace and fripperies and couldn’t resist arching a brow in question.
Taylor blushed prettily. “I admit that these items aren’t for the pub,” she said, “but for myself.”
Blake ran his gaze slowly over her figure, attractive despite the obvious lack of adornments, and marveled at that. She needed little in his opinion. He brought his eyes back to her face. “What do you believe The Hideaway lacks?”
She laughed, a sweet sound he hadn’t heard her make in years. His chest expanded and he smiled in response.
“I daresay we can find something in Homerton to add to the pub’s appeal,” she offered.
Though he didn’t care about the appearance of the public house, he escorted her to the few shops lining the narrow street. He tried to convince himself that he was merely being a gentleman, offering her his arm and protection. After all, Taylor was a beautiful and unmarried young woman who might attract the wrong kind of attention. At least, that was what he kept telling himself as he gazed at her while she chatted animatedly about her ideas for the inn.
When they returned to the public house for the nooning meal, Blake tried to ignore the pleasure he’d enjoyed in her company. Bidding Taylor a terse farewell, he left her to her own devices and hid himself in his office. He wasn’t pleased to find a note set on the smooth surface. The respectable London address scrolled on the back told him it was from his brother, Jason. Unease flickered through him as he broke the seal.
His brother began the note with his usual light banter. Thankfully he hadn’t yet secured a position for Taylor, though Jason’s teasing words indicated that he believed he knew the exact place for her.
“I’m sure you do brother,” Blake muttered.
Marriage, no doubt. Marriage to him? Not bloody likely. But at least she’d stay at The Hideaway for a while longer. His brother went on to say he’d remain in Town for more than a fortnight. Blake would keep that bit of information from Taylor. He’d told her about the mysterious note left in his pocket. But he would keep the contents of Jason’s note to himself.
* * *
The morning’s ease was nowhere to be found as Taylor readied The Hideaway for the coming evening. She’d seen to dressing the tables with the linens delivered after lunch along with the pretty new lamps she’d bought at one of the shops. She arranged flower-filled vases around the dining room with the help of Polly and Annie, who wore doubtful expressions the entire time. Taylor placed her hands on her hips and regarded the room from her vantage point near the kitchen.
“Well, it’s not quite there yet,” she mused aloud. “But it looks much cheerier than this morning, I daresay.”
Polly stopped beside her, her dark head tilted to one side. “Looks nice,” she said simply.
Taylor stared after her as she went to ready the dishes and silverware. Taylor shook her head and entered the kitchen to find a girl standing with Mrs. Mott. They had their heads together, then turned quickly toward Taylor.
“Miss Shelby,” Mrs. Mott said.
“Yes, Mrs. Mott?” Taylor asked.
The cook waved her hand at her companion, a plain, pale-haired girl with a shy smile. “This be my niece, Sally,” Mrs. Mott said with a nod. “She’s seekin’ a position.”
Taylor furrowed her brow. “Shouldn’t you discuss this with Mr. Thompson?” she asked. “I daresay we could use another pair of feminine hands at The Hideaway, but it’s not my place to make that decision.”
“No, Miss,” Sally said softly. “I seek a position as your lady’s maid.”
Taylor blinked. “I have no need—” She thought once more about Trevor’s dismissing her maid among several other servants. “Well, I suppose I could use assistance with my hair and dress. But I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here.”
“No matter, Miss,” the cook said. “Sally can style hair and arrange clothing and see to your needs right proper. And the work would be good practice for her.”
Taylor thought for a moment. Her hair was too thick and wavy for her to manage even the simplest of styles herself. “But the pay, Mrs. Mott,” she said. “Surely you know I can’t pay Sally.”
A twinkle came into the cook’s eyes. “I’ll speak to Thompson,” she said. “He won’t deny ya’ anything, I’d wager.”
Taylor nearly snorted at that. He seemed to deny her at every turn!
“I thank you, Mrs. Mott.” She took Sally’s hand firmly. “I do hope you’ll remain at The Hideaway, Sally. I’d enjoy having a lady’s maid for my short time here. Come to my room in the morning.”
The girl beamed a bright smile, and curtseyed. Taylor nodded and left to take her early dinner and retire to her room. She stood before the small wardrobe and regarded her simple gowns. Her gaze fell on the ribbons and laces on the bedstand. Mentally she adorned the dresses with the trimmings. At least she could pass the time without running mad. Would Blake never find her brother? Lord, she felt as though she were biding her time waiting for . . . what? She couldn’t imagine.
Yet another lonely evening yawned before her. Blake really didn’t need her to tally his accounts. The ledgers were neat and straight. The time in his office did give her the opportunity to glance into his case files. She’d searched for something—anything about Robert. But the files told her nothing of import she could decipher. A list of dates and times, in the three weeks leading up to his disappearance. A few names that she didn’t recognize. Why would she? Robert made a point of never talking about his work when he was home. Maybe Blake would return soon from whatever drew him away from Homerton tonight, the case involving that woman outside the butcher’s shop. She knew without question he wouldn’t discuss his work with her either, but being near him wasn’t without its other benefits.
Taylor removed her dress and placed it in the small wardrobe. She shimmied out of her petticoat and padded over to the washstand, pulling the ribbon from her tangled waves. She winced as she worked her fingers through the tangles and gazed into the mirror. Her hair was in dire need of dressing. She lifted the mass and twisted it atop her head, turning a bit to check the effect. Maybe hiring Sally would be a good idea. The lure of some pampering was too strong to deny, and at least the girl would do Taylor’s hair tomorrow. She wouldn’t deny the pleasure of that possibility. Not to herself.
She brushed her hair free of its tangles and finished her preparations for bed. Her head resting on the pillow, she closed her eyes and imagined Blake’s reaction to her altered appearance. She snorted again. Aside from their pleasant morning, she hadn’t drawn his notice in days. No hot glances, nor titillating touches. Had she imagined their embrace in the corridor? Had she dreamed he’d said he wanted her?
She set Blake from her mind once more, and sought slumber.
* * *
“I ain’t goin’ back!” Timmy Grassam whined from beneath the table.
Blake bit back a curse. The patrons of the waterfront pub paid little attention to the drama unfolding in one dim corner of the place. The stench of low water and the din of the patrons chatter heightened Blake’s disgust with the rotter. He was tired and ill-tempered and of little mind to
coddle the young man.
“You miserable little . . .” he growled. “Come out from under there, you coward.”
The table shook with Timmy’s denial. Blake fisted his hands at his sides and looked around. A few patrons stared blankly before lowering their gazes. There was nothing else for it. Blake tossed the table aside and grabbed the man by his scrawny neck.
“You’re coming back to Homerton, you rotter,” he said, his face very close to Timmy’s.
“Aw, come on, Thompson,” he pouted. “She don’t need me there. She’s got her father.”
Blake smiled. “Yes, her father.” He nodded. “He has quite a few sharp knives, I wager.”
Timmy gulped, his eyes wide. Blake watched as the man’s small mind worked around that thinly-veiled threat.
“Okay, okay,” Timmy grumbled. “S’pose I should be there for the babe.”
“Quite,” Blake offered dryly.
He set the man on shaky legs and brushed off his hands. A serving maid stopped at his elbow, smiling an invitation.
“Ya’ be a big, strong gent,” she grinned. “Will ya’ be in Town for the evenin’?”
He shook his head and motioned for Timmy to right the overturned table. The weasel did so and Blake grabbed the back of his jacket and urged him out into the chilly night air. Lord, he was weary. And the ride back to Homerton with the reluctant husband wouldn’t be a pleasure.
He studied the scowling Timmy lounging on the seat across from him. How could a man be so callous? Why, if he were so fortunate to have a woman care for him, carry his child . . . The image of a pregnant Taylor appeared before his weary eyes, her stomach gently rounded, her face wreathed with a beautiful smile. Her hand caressed her belly, caressed his cheek. He gave a violent shake of his head. What the devil ailed him? He had no right to think of Taylor like that, though his lustful thoughts regarding his lovely charge would certainly lead to such a condition were he to see them through.
The past week of ignoring her lure, of keeping from her company, had been a trial on his sanity. How could one girl—one lovely, stubborn, spirited girl—cause him such distress? His brother’s note served to both irritate and relieve his troubled mind. No position awaited Taylor in London right now. He’d have her delightful, excruciating presence at The Hideaway for some time, anyway. Until he found her brother. Blake rubbed his hand over his face and let out a breath.
“What ails ya’, Thompson?” Timmy asked in a surly tone.
“What?”
Timmy snorted. “You ain’t goin’ back to Hell.”
Blake laughed without humor. Not Hell, precisely. But a location uncomfortably close to it. He dismissed Timmy from his mind and closed his eyes.
* * *
Taylor sat in the little chair in her chamber, a nervous but gifted Sally standing behind her. Taylor had a bath that morning, taking the time to work the lather from a bar of scented soap through her long locks. The towels provided by the public house, surprisingly thick, left her hair barely damp. A few of Sally’s skilled passes with the brush in the sunlight streaming through the tiny window dried her hair. The girl hummed as she skillfully plaited several braids in Taylor’s hair. Taylor folded her hands in her lap and sat patiently, pleased to imagine she still lived her old life at Shelby Manor. That nothing had changed.
“Did you know my brother Mr. Robert Shelby, Sally?” Taylor asked.
“Oh no, Miss,” Sally answered softly. “My father . . . That is, I’m not permitted to have much contact with men outside my station.”
Taylor thought about that. Surely Robert took his pleasure with seasoned serving maids as Blake did. But she couldn’t imagine he was a despoiler of every young girl in Homerton. Again the woman outside the butcher shop came to her mind. Something about her . . . Her midsection! The woman was expecting a child! But Blake assured Taylor that Robert wasn’t involved in that woman’s problems. Surely Blake wasn’t . . . No. Again she knew in her heart that he wasn’t one to take advantage, despite their passion in the corridor. And that was hardly him taking advantage of her, was it? She’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. “Wanton,” she murmured.
“Pardon me, Miss?” Sally asked.
“Hmm? Oh nothing, Sally,” Taylor said.
All too soon in Taylor’s opinion, the girl declared she was finished.
“There, Miss,” Sally said, excitement and pride in her tone. “Pray, look in the mirror.”
Taylor stood and crossed to the washstand. The image in the small mirror atop clearly showed Sally’s talent. The girl had caught up the braids in a simple daytime style, pinning them at Taylor’s crown. Several tendrils sneaked out of the braids to brush her cheeks.
“Oh, Sally!” Taylor exclaimed. “You’ve done a fine job.”
“Thank you, Miss,” Sally blushed. “I’ll see to your dresses while ya’ go about your duties this day.”
Taylor clicked her tongue. “I daresay I have very few duties outside of Mr. Thompson’s office. But I think I’ll try my hand at decorating one of my dresses.”
“Oh, the dove gray one, Miss,” Sally smiled. “The color’s most like yer eyes. Some blue ribbon on the bodice perhaps, or some of that lace to trim the sleeves . . .”
“Sally,” Taylor said. “Have you sewn before?”
“Just trimmin’s, Miss. If ya’ tell me what ya’ like, I’d enjoy helping ya’.”
Taylor accepted the girl’s offer and the morning passed in a pleasing manner. Blake wasn’t around when Taylor had taken her breakfast; surely his work still drew him from the public house. And though it had been days since she and Blake shared a meal, she felt his absence sharply. She could almost imagine living out the rest of her days in solitude, and the prospect terrified her.
As she plied her needle, stitching the blue satin ribbon to the bodice of her gown, she contemplated her next course of action. She couldn’t sit idle, not for long. Her father had often teased her about her energy, her fervor when she got an idea in her head. Well, she’d prettied up The Hideaway. She’d straightened Blake’s already straight ledgers. She’d asked around the village and the pub about her brother. All that was left was to solve the riddle of her missing brother and see him restored to Shelby Manor. And to return to Sussex with her brother.
Would Blake miss her? Would he think of her for a moment once she left his ‘‘protection?’’ No matter. If she never saw that man again, well that was fine with her. Her needle pricked her finger. “Ouch!”
Sally eyed her with worry and Taylor waved away her concern. The tattered yellow curtains on the small window caught her eye. “What say you, Sally, to sprucing up this little room of mine?”
Chapter 10
Blake stepped out of the bath and reached for a towel. He felt like himself again after the long night in London and the satisfaction of delivering Timmy Grassam into the loving embrace of his wife, and the angry vengeance of his father-in-law. He had no illusions that all would be well now that Timmy was where he belonged. Hopefully the worthless sod wouldn’t shirk his duties in the near future. As to the rest of it, it was none of Blake’s concern.
Now clean and properly groomed, he could at last put the squalor of London and the distaste of dealing with Timmy Grassam behind him. The damn case had left him little opportunity to follow the meager lead someone had slipped into his pocket when last he was in Town. He’d have to go back alone, with nothing more than his senses to guide him to his friend. Damn good those senses had done him so far.
He donned the black breeches and fine white shirt his valet-in-training, Billy, had left out for him, then toweled his hair dry. He swiped a sweet roll from the tray Annie delivered sometime earlier, and drained the now-cool tea from its cup. A glance at the clock set on the mantle showed him the morning was nearly gone. No surprise there. He’d slept like the dead when he’d returned near dawn.
He thought of the fatigue that had gripped him last night, fatigue and a thrumming of his nerves as he’d neared Taylor’s door
. He’d thought to check on her as he had a few nights ago, but he knew her door would be locked and he didn’t want to wake her with a knock on her door in the middle of the night. What would she think of his behavior then? Good sense had prevailed and he’d crept quietly to his room.
He buttoned his blue waistcoat and shrugged into a gray jacket. Perhaps one of the matters awaiting his attention on his desk would call to him today. Then he’d have yet another excuse to keep himself far from Homerton and the temptation that plagued him. As he descended the staircase, he saw the temptation had only grown more alluring. He gaped at the vision poised at the other end of the dining room.
Taylor stood near the kitchen, directing the artful setting of the linen-covered tables. The other girls deferred to her, to his surprise. But it was her appearance that struck him dumb. Her hair, that mass of gleaming golden tresses that drew his eye from the first, was upswept in braids and gathered at the back of her head, leaving the graceful bend of her slender neck bare to his gaze. Her dress, he knew it to be one of her plain gray gowns, bore evidence of her handiwork. Blue ribbons now trimmed the bodice, one strand underlining the curve of her breasts, as it wrapped around her. The simple adornment only enhanced her appeal. But as she caught his eye he knew her attractiveness went far beyond a new hairstyle and a dress ribbon.
Her face radiated joy at her transformation of the pub; her eyes were alight with expectation. She’d occupied her hands and her mind for the time-being. Well, he wouldn’t deny her this pleasure. He crossed to her and took her hand, smiling at her.
“The place looks remarkable, Taylor,” he said.
The light in her blue-gray eyes warmed him, her shy smile attesting to her pleasure at his words. “Thank you, Blake.”
He drank his fill of her, urging a rise of pink in her smooth cheeks. “You look quite well,” he said. “I take it your trip through the village yielded those pretty ribbons?”
A Hero and A Gentleman Page 9
