She slanted him a look and extracted her hand from his. “Surely you saw this ribbon and lace yesterday,” she said with a wave of one graceful hand, her fingers trailing lightly over her bodice.
He gazed at the ribbon beneath her breasts, then at the froth of lace he now saw peeking out of the top of her gown. The stuff caressed the swell of her breasts, and he longed to feel the contrast between the smooth, cool fabric against the soft warmth of her skin. He swallowed but couldn’t raise his eyes from her bosom. With each breath she took, the soft mounds swelled slightly, the tiny points of lace briefly making dimples in their lushness.
“Mrs. Mott planned to approach you, Blake,” she said, a touch of remorse in her voice.
He lifted his head in question. “Mrs. Mott?” he repeated dumbly.
Taylor furrowed her brow slightly and worried a fold of her skirt. “Regarding her niece, Sally. The girl wants to act as my lady’s maid while I’m here, and I couldn’t say no. I realize I won’t be here much longer, Blake, but the training could only serve her well.”
Blake shrugged. “I’ll see to her pay,” he said. “Did she style your hair?”
The pink in her cheeks deepened. “Yes,” she said softly. “She’s quite gifted, isn’t she?”
Taylor turned to show him the slender braids coiled at the back of her head. What drew his gaze was the gentle curve of her neck, the wispy hairs that brushed her nape. Her perfect ear beckoned, reminding him of that night outside her chamber when he’d dared to whisper his desires. She hadn’t escaped into her room that night. No. He’d been the one to run away.
“I . . . ,” he began. “Y-yes, the girl’s obviously quite talented.”
Taylor turned her head and beamed that winning smile at him. He was nearly lost.
“Will you take your nooning meal with me?” she asked. “I daresay, I grow tired of eating alone and then retiring to my room.”
She’d had little to occupy herself, then. He mentally kicked himself for his callousness. “I’d enjoy taking my meal with you, Taylor,” he said with a bow. “Choose one of the lovely tables and I’ll join you in a moment.” She regarded him closely and he smiled. “I must tell Mrs. Mott her talented niece will have a position at The Hideaway for the time-being.”
Taylor smiled sweetly and glided over to one of the round tables. Mesmerized by the lure of her swaying bottom, Blake reluctantly forced himself to make his way to the kitchen. As he turned he caught the knowing glances from Annie and Polly. Flushing deeply, he cleared his throat, and stepped quickly to the kitchen door. As he let the door close behind him, the cook raised her brows in surprise.
“Mr. Thompson?” she asked.
“Miss Shelby wishes to have your niece for a lady’s maid, Mrs. Mott,” he said quickly. “She may have the position for as long as needed.”
The cook’s usually dour face lit up with pleasure. “Thank you, Mr. Thompson,” she beamed. “Sally needs the work and she and the miss get along well. Miss Shelby’s a sweet young woman, she is.”
Blake wasn’t surprised by the cook’s words. “She is . . . very kind.”
Mrs. Mott snorted at that. Her eyes narrowed on his face. “How long will the kind, sweet young woman remain at The Hideaway?”
Forever, his mind whispered. “That’s uncertain,” he said.
* * *
Taylor smoothed the table linen as she sat, tamping down her nervousness. To her delight, Blake had noticed the changes she’d made, to the pub and to herself. He still seemed out-of-sorts, however. Surely his work weighed heavily on his mind. What kept him from The Hideaway so often? Was it truly Robert’s case that he didn’t wish to share with her? Or was there something else?
The sound of his footsteps in the corridor had awoken her in the wee hours. Had he paused before her door? She’d thought so, but her mind couldn’t be trusted at that hour. Perhaps it had been a dream. Dreams were all she had for the moment, until she resumed her life in Sussex with her brother.
Blake strode toward her, a look of bewilderment stamped on his face. As she caught his eye, an appealing light came into his eyes. Her heart fluttered and she felt a flush creep up her cheeks. Thankfully, Annie appeared at the table and placed a basket of crusty bread before her.
“Th-thank you, Annie,” Taylor managed to say, smiling up at the girl.
Annie bit her lip, her eyes alight with laughter. She glanced at Blake as he joined her, then returned her gaze to Taylor’s.
Taylor arched a brow in question but before she could ask what she was about, Annie returned to her other duties in the dining room, leaving Taylor in the same confusion she’d glimpsed on Blake’s face a moment before.
Their luncheon consisted of thinly-sliced cold roast beef and cheese, along with the fine bread. As Taylor ate, she found Blake’s gaze on her, on her hair, her dress. Were the simple changes so dramatic? What a drab picture she must have made before.
“How are you faring, Taylor?” Blake asked.
She raised her head and found interest still evident in his gaze. The question echoed the one posed soon after her arrival at The Hideaway. But her situation had changed since that wretched beginning.
“Mrs. Mott has taken to you and your suggestions,” he added. “And the pub is all the better for the changes you’ve made. Surely you don’t mind my insistence on your curtailing your actions?”
“My actions?” she asked.
“Dining alone,” he explained. “Keeping to your chamber, except for working my ledgers.”
“I’m safe here, Blake,” she said. “I’ve found a few amusements to occupy my time.”
He chuckled, losing that intensity for a moment. “Your purchases of yesterday please you, I take it?”
Taylor slanted him a smile. “I daresay adorning my drab dresses will occupy my short time here.” Blake winced and she covered his hand with hers. “Are you hurt again, Blake?” she asked. “You were out so very late on your case. Are you all right?”
He stared down at her hand on his and Taylor swiftly withdrew it, her cheeks flaming. He smiled that carefree grin she’d fallen in love with years ago, an expression she wished he’d wear more often.
“I’m fine, Taylor,” he said. “My work can be challenging, but I’m quite well.”
Curiosity filled her, fueled by the memory of those halting footsteps outside her chamber door last night. “What do you do precisely, Blake? Robert told me little of it; in fact, he made a point of speaking of it all as a lark when he was at Shelby Manor. Fool that I am, I believed him. I now know there was much more to it than his carefree descriptions of your adventures together.”
That easy grin left his face. “My work doesn’t concern you.”
She pulled back at his terse answer. She’d heard whispers of his challenging work that didn’t concern her, that was certain. When he was away from the public house, the men spoke of him with respect. Even Duggins, that horrid man who’d grabbed her, treated Blake with the regard due a peer of the realm. But she wouldn’t plead for information today. No matter how curious she was.
“As you say,” she said lightly. “I’m solely concerned with my brother, in any event.”
Blake shifted slightly in his chair, his eyes focusing on some spot over her shoulder. “I know you wish to find him, love.”
“Of course!” she said. “It’s all I want. It’s all I need to set things to rights.”
Blake stared at her. “Taylor, I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. It’s just that my work is not something I like to talk about.”
She came to her feet in as calm a manner as she could manage. “I understand completely. Thank you for sharing my meal,” she said coolly.
Turning away from him, she took quick steps toward the staircase. Blake shot to his feet and grabbed her arm as she reached the first step. He pulled her close to him, her body a breath away from his. He stared down at her, his gaze roaming over her face with great intensity. She licked her lips and heard him suck in a breath.
/> “Taylor . . . ,” he murmured.
Taylor glanced about the dining room and saw that no one paid them any attention. But if she did what she longed to, if she pressed herself against him and drew his beautiful mouth to hers . . . then what? Instead, she escaped his gentle bondage and stepped back from him.
“Enjoy your day,” she whispered.
He didn’t follow her up the stairs, to her great relief. She prayed he found Robert soon.
* * *
Blake stared after Taylor as she climbed the stairs. His long days of celibacy seemed to be turning him daft. The girl had asked an innocent question, one he should have been able to answer. But his work was his alone. His father dismissed Blake’s work as frivolous, and four years earlier Blake had thrown himself into it on a lark, a way to forget Pamela and her betrayal. But he soon found it challenging and rewarding, and so much more than a diversion.
No, his father knew nothing of his work. And Taylor wouldn’t either, due to his frustration over Robert’s damned disappearance.
The public house and Taylor both showed the effects of her efforts. He could almost believe she was making a place for herself here at The Hideaway. And in his life.
He couldn’t let that happen.
He turned on his heel and returned to his office. Setting the subject of Taylor and her beguiling presence from his mind, he sought to once more lose himself in his work.
He sat behind his desk and glanced through his ledgers. Taylor was gifted with numbers and showed his work and hers to its advantage. He set the ledgers aside and withdrew one of the folders on the desk. The first, a case of stolen merchandise that may or may not belong to the party asking for his help, didn’t draw him. Another, the jealous ravings of an elderly husband, was the last mystery he wanted to solve. He wouldn’t creep around tonight, taking note of every move the gentleman’s poor, lonely wife took. Some matters were better left undiscovered.
Blake set the files aside and opened the locked bottom drawer of his desk. A slim file sat within. One he knew Taylor would have had no access to during her time in the office. He fingered the packet, knowing by heart the information it held. He could only imagine her horror if she glimpsed the contents of it. Robert Shelby, his childhood friend and Taylor’s brother, had disappeared nearly two months ago, presumed dead after someone claimed he fell into the Thames. Despite Blake’s efforts, nothing had been found to lead him to any meaningful conclusion. And, though he hadn’t expected it, the name Martin appeared nowhere within.
If only Robert hadn’t taken that last assignment . . . Posing as an idle aristocrat hadn’t been a stretch. His friend was adept at changing to fit any situation. No doubt that was how he so easily convinced his father and sister that his work held no danger whatsoever. Maybe if he’d confided in his father about the true nature of their work they would have been more prepared when they received Blake’s note. No. Robert would never have intentionally caused worry to his father and sister.
Damn. Thinking about Robert wouldn’t help him tonight, not when he felt so damned guilty over his extreme reaction to the man’s sister. My God, he cared for Taylor. He wanted her safe. He wanted . . . He wanted her.
Since his friend’s disappearance, Blake realized that he didn’t like being alone. Oh, he had his brother. Jason was a fine companion on those nights Blake desired more genteel amusements than Homerton could offer. But Blake missed a stronger connection, and his father wouldn’t be the one to bridge the gap he’d so easily caused.
The earl seemed as content as Blake to maintain their estrangement. Blake could never hope to have what he’d once wanted with Pamela. A loving wife, a family, and a home in Sussex. A wife dependent on him, a duty he knew he could never fulfill. Taylor was the one in his dreams now, not that witch Pamela. But he had to find Robert and see Taylor settled back into Sussex. Where she belonged. Where he didn’t.
With deliberation, he closed the drawer on Robert’s file and locked it away again. He returned to another file on his desk. Though he didn’t like to get involved in family matters, he felt a compulsion to lend assistance in this case. The young woman involved was in a horrible situation she couldn’t escape despite her family’s fervent wishes. She was as alone as if she had no one to call her own. Taylor’s face flashed before him and he gave a shake of his head.
Taylor was without family connections, that was true. But she was safe. The daughter of his solicitor’s brother wasn’t. Blake would have to wait for a response to the missives he’d sent out a few days ago, and then plan his next move to restore the girl to safety.
Something caught his eye, a rumpled note no larger than his fist tucked beneath his desk. Like the note he’d found in his pocket in London, this one struck an odd chord in him. He grabbed it up off the floor and opened it. At the waterfront, it read. What the devil . . . ? There was no question now. The notes were directly related to Robert’s disappearance.
He rose from his chair when a knock sounded at his office door.
“Yes?” he called.
The door opened and Annie entered. She held a note in her hand. “This came for ya’, Thompson,” she said, handing it to him.
Blake took it and broke open the seal. He rapidly scanned the contents of the letter.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered.
He reread the missive and placed it into the pocket of his jacket. Then he held out the paper he’d found on the floor.
“Annie, what of this note?” he asked.
Annie shrugged. “I put that on your desk, Thompson.”
“When?”
“A couple of hours ago, I guess. Some boy brought it by.”
Blake tamped down his excitement. “Who?”
“I never seen him before.”
“He wasn’t from the village, then?” he asked. “Are you sure?”
Annie tilted her head to one side. “Homerton ain’t so big, now is it?”
Blake nodded absently as the maid left his office. He read the three words once more and placed it in the drawer with the other note.
He’d have to work on this case, damn it. Robert’s case would have to wait, but not for long. He’d find the poor battered young woman. He recalled that bruise Taylor still denied was from Trevor Shelby’s hands. Well, he would take great satisfaction in seeing that bastard Beaks got everything he was due, if not through legal means then by the application of his two fists.
Chapter 11
Three days later Blake returned to The Hideaway, long after the patrons had gone and the servants were asleep. After seeing Clara Beaks safely to Yorkshire, he was ready to return to easier tasks. Clara, while not as petite as Taylor, was woefully thin. Skittish as a new colt, her face and body bore the mistreatment by her louse of a husband. Blake could only get her to listen to him once he produced the letter from her father. Their flight to Yorkshire had been blessedly uneventful, and the relatives his solicitor had contacted earlier welcomed the girl with open arms.
The case served as a harsh reminder that more dangers awaited Taylor than mistreatment at The Hideaway. Aside from the governess position Jason thought to find her, the perils of London also lay in wait. He knew gentlemen who kept houses in Town and in the country, often kept mistresses as well. And a gentleman’s coarser appetites were easily inflamed by the temporary absence of mistress and lady wife. What better inducement than a comely governess when she resided conveniently under his privileged roof?
Bloody Jason and his bloody chivalry! The noble viscount now felt it his duty to see to Taylor’s welfare? That was Blake’s responsibility. He’d keep her safe, from harm in Homerton and from the lechers in London. But how would he accomplish that without committing himself to a more permanent situation? And how would they reconcile with the fact that her brother was still missing, still very likely in danger?
He stripped out of his travel-creased clothes and set them aside for Billy. So easily he fell into the habits of a titled gentleman. The handsome chamber, the fine clo
thes, the valet. Well, he was a wealthy man despite his refusal of any Thompson riches. His cases paid well, as did the public house. He could well afford . . . My God! Had his weary brain actually given thought to the notion of taking a wife? He was surely daft. Muttering a curse, he fell upon his fine bed and set the matter from his mind.
* * *
Taylor awoke from her dream-filled sleep, most befuddled. Something had caused her to awaken, though she heard nothing but quiet now. Even the street below her window bore no passing carriage or drunken reveler. Perhaps the intensity of her dream had shaken her from slumber. Lord, her body still tingled from it. She’d once more been in Blake’s arms, in the corridor outside her room. Oh, the marvelous things he’d done to her with those big, strong hands of his. In her dream he’d touched her through far less than her muslin gown. Her nipples tightened even now to think of his artful fingers upon her flesh. She sighed into the darkness. “Oh, my.”
She ran a hand over her heated brow and closed her eyes once more. Perhaps her dream would pick up where it left off? Though she didn’t know where she was bound in that passionate embrace, she knew in her heart Blake would assure her safety and satisfaction. She sighed once more, a smile curving her lips.
“Where is she, you son-of-a-bitch?” someone bellowed from downstairs.
Taylor sat up, the linens clutched to her bosom. The man sounded angry. Had Trevor found her? That fear flew in the wake of reasoned thought. Afraid to move a muscle, she strained to hear more. A shuffling sound met her ears, coming from farther down the hallway. Blake’s muttered curses were heard as he neared her door.
“Go home, you rotter,” Blake said.
“Thompson, you bastard,” the man answered, his voice closer this time. “You’ll give her back to me!”
“I won’t.” Blake’s voice was cool, comman-ding.
A scuffle ensued, with the sound of large bodies repeatedly banging against the thin walls. Taylor let out a scream before clamping a hand over her mouth. Silence fell in the corridor and she could only hear her blood pounding in her ears.
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