Delilah didn’t even pause in her work.
“Miss Stowbridge is not here as a servant,” Nathan said, directing a look at Lucy which momentarily stilled her tongue and caused thought to desert her. “She was engaged to nurse my uncle. She stayed to help until the household has recovered from the shock of his death. She thought it inappropriate to have dinner with us, but I have insisted she join us in the drawing room later.”
Delilah didn’t know where to look. He hadn’t said a word about that. She would have refused if he had. Did he really mean it, or was he just giving Lucy the set-down of her life?
Serena’s jaw dropped nearly as low as Lucy’s. “Would you see if the next course is ready?” she asked Delilah, desperate to get her out of the room. “And tell Lester we need more wine.”
As reluctant as Delilah was to leave Nathan’s admiring gaze, she was relieved to be out of the range of Lucy’s tongue. No matter how badly Lucy behaved, she was still a guest and Delilah a servant. That put them on different planes. Nothing either one of them did could change that.
“What’d he say when he saw you?” Mrs. Stebbens asked the minute she returned to the kitchen.
“He said I wasn’t a servant and I was to join the guests in the drawing room after dinner.”
“I told you so.” Mrs. Stebbens did a little quickstep to show her delight.
“But I can’t.”
“Not unless you have a hankering to be dead before tomorrow morning,” said Lester, coming in with the dirty wine glasses. “Mrs. Noyes would murder you for sure.”
“You’re not going to turn down his invitation?” Mrs. Stebbens asked, incredulous.
“I can’t serve dinner one minute and then sit down to talk with the guests the next,” Delilah explained, “any more than you could go sit next to Mrs. Noyes after you finish up the washing.”
“Well of course I wouldn’t, but when I was your age I’d have set next to the devil himself to get close to a man like Nathan Trent.”
“I’ve been telling Lucius he has nothing to worry about,” Mrs. Porter was saying to Nathan. She had buttonholed him the minute they’d entered the drawing room. “Anyone who owns such a house as this has to be anxious the General Session doesn’t pass any laws making it more difficult to collect our money”
“Are they considering such laws?” Nathan asked, his eyes on the door.
“Why surely Lucius told you that dreadful Captain Shays has been trying to get Governor Bowdoin and the General Session to issue paper money and let the insurgents use it to pay their debts.”
“Why would that be such a problem?” Nathan asked. He didn’t care about paper money or Mrs. Porter’s opinions on the situation. He wanted to know what was keeping Delilah. Ever since she had appeared at dinner, looking like a young woman being introduced to society at a London ball, he had been waiting for the chance to be near her, to talk to her for a few minutes.
He didn’t know why he had invited her to join them. It went against every precept he had been taught. He could tell from Serena’s face it was equally shocking on this side of the Atlantic, but he didn’t regret having done it. He would do it again. He had to talk to her. Since he couldn’t trust himself alone with her, this was his only chance and he didn’t want to miss it.
“… British merchants will accept only gold for their debts. What good is paper when …”
He had been fighting a losing battle with himself for several days. He had known it from the first, but he’d thought he could control himself.
“… ordered too much. With the West Indies markets closed to us, they can’t pay their own debts unless …”
But after spending whole days forcing himself to concentrate on business, he no sooner fell asleep than Delilah occupied his mind to the exclusion of all else. He used to have nightmares about being reduced to eating rats to stay alive. Not anymore. He dreamed of losing Delilah.
Absurd. How could he lose her when she didn’t even like him?
“… to shoot if they don’t disperse. Governor Bowdoin has declared their actions to be treason. He’s ordered …”
Nathan stood up when Serena entered the drawing room. “I’ll make sure I remember that” he said. “Excuse me. I have to speak to my aunt.”
“Did you see her?” he asked Serena the moment he reached her side. “Is she coming?”
“Of course I didn’t. Naturally she isn’t,” Serena replied. “I don’t doubt you’ve been living in fear she would accept your extremely rash invitation” Serena added, misinterpreting Nathan’s eagerness, “but fortunately she’s not lost to all common sense.”
“What are you talking about?” Nathan demanded.
“I sympathize with you,” Serena said, putting a hand on Nathan’s arm in a way that made him feel like a fly being enticed into a spider’s web. “Lucy Porter needed a good reprimand. The child has always been rude and presumptuous. I won’t invite her here again. Forcing her to spend an evening in Delilah’s company would be a perfect punishment if it were to take place anywhere but in my drawing room.”
“Are you telling me Delilah won’t come because she thinks I issued the invitation only to punish Miss Porter?”
“What other reason could you have had?” demanded his aunt.
“I thought everyone was equal in America.”
Serena snatched her hand from his arm. “Servants are still servants,” she hissed. “I won’t allow that woman in my drawing room.”
“May I remind you that this is my drawing room, Aunt, and I will invite anyone I please.” He turned to leave the room.
Serena ran after him.
“You wouldn’t mortify me by inviting that woman in here.”
“I already have. And I’m going to find out what’s keeping her.”
Chapter Ten
They were standing at the wash tub, Mrs. Stebbens handing Delilah the plates to dry as she rinsed them off, when Nathan entered the kitchen.
“You’re supposed to be in the drawing room” he said.
“I have to help Mrs. Stebbens,” Delilah replied.
“Lester can do it. Here, put that plate down and come with me.”
Delilah knew if she really looked at Nathan she would never have the strength of mind to do what she must. He wore a blue broadcloth coat, a white silk waistcoat worked with royal blue thread, white hose embroidered with blue clocks, black shoes with silver buckles, and breeches of pure white cashmere, soft, clinging, and more provocative than anything she had ever seen.
She kept her eyes on the plate she was drying.
“Thank you for your invitation, but I can’t accept it.”
“Why?”
“It’s not suitable.”
“Why?”
“Surely you know.”
“No. Tell me.”
He’s being obstinate, Delilah thought. A glance at his set chin confirmed her suspicion. Well, he wouldn’t bully her into going into the drawing room and being stared at like a two-headed calf.
“You know you can’t ask servants to sit down with company. It’ll only upset everybody.”
“I thought only the English were committed to preserving the class system.”
“You needn’t be sarcastic” Delilah snapped, no longer looking at the plate but looking him squarely in the face. “It only takes common sense to see that—”
Then why did you wear that dress?”
Delilah hadn’t expected that question. She knew the answer, but she wasn’t ready for Nathan Trent to know it.
“I shouldn’t have. My vanity was stronger than my common sense. I never had anything this pretty, and I wanted to show off, especially for Lucy. She’s never seen me in anything but the brown dresses you hate so much. I know it wasn’t wise of me. Nobody can blame you if it led you to think I meant something more than I did.”
Now Nathan felt guilty. He had practically forced her to take the material and make the dress. If she had done anything inappropriate, she had done it at his bid
ding.
His invitation to join them in the dining room had been prompted by Lucy’s remark. Though made with good intentions, it shouldn’t have been made it at all, but he never could keep his head around Delilah.
Even now, seeing her, being near to her, having her within reach caused him to have difficulty concentrating on his words. He wanted to touch her. He literally ached to let his fingertips brush her lips, to feel the softness of her cheeks, her hair.
More than that, he wanted her to look at him. Really look at him. Every day he talked to people who wouldn’t meet his gaze or who glared at him in anger, suspicion, hate, distrust, or envy. He wanted somebody to look at him with acceptance, and he wanted that person to be Delilah.
The stirring in his groin riveted his attention. In a few seconds his state of mind would be obvious to both women.
It took concentration, some imagining that Priscilla was in his arms rather than Delilah, for his body to subside, but he managed to control it.
“You must not blame yourself for my mistake,” Nathan said. “Neither should you assume my only reason for wanting to enjoy your company was to thwart Miss Porter, though even my aunt was appalled by her behavior.”
“Not enough to want me in the drawing room,” Delilah said before she could stop herself.
“No, but then my aunt and I disagree on many things.”
Delilah glanced at his face. There was no mocking smile in his eyes, no scornful twist to his lips. He seemed to mean every word.
But could she afford to let herself believe that? It was all right to think he enjoyed looking at her. She was pretty enough to interest any man. But if he became interested in her, if he really sought her company, then that … that scared Delilah.
It also threatened her way of relating to Nathan, to Reuben’s debt, to Serena, to Lucius Clarke, to everything. It would force her to ask questions she was not only unable to answer but didn’t want to pose.
Delilah looked up at Nathan. “Please don’t insist I go. My presence would make your guests uncomfortable, and I would be miserable.”
How could he force her to do anything she didn’t want to do, especially when she looked at him as though he held her fate in the palm of his hand? If only she could understand that everything he had done, including letting her come to work at Maple Hill, had been for her. But, considering the power she had over him now, maybe it was better she didn’t know.
“I let my anger cause me to act impulsively. I never meant to distress you.”
“I know” Delilah said, blushing furiously as she realized Mrs. Stebbens was a rapt auditor to every word he spoke. “Now you’d better hurry back before your guests think you prefer the servants’ company to theirs.”
“I do,” Nathan said. Then he turned on his heel and left.
Mrs. Stebbens let out her pent-up breath in a noisy whoosh. “Well, I never! He practically begged for your company, then begged your forgiveness for wanting it. The man must be besotted.”
“It’s nothing of the kind,” Delilah said, hoping to convince herself more than Mrs. Stebbens. “He’s just kind. I’ll bet he’s glad to be out of it.”
“He looked downright miserable to me.”
“You’d be miserable, too, if you had Priscilla and Lucy gushing over you. It’s enough to turn a man off marriage.”
“I can’t say what he might be thinking,” Mrs. Stebbens said, looking vastly pleased with herself. “But if it’s marriage he’s considering, it’s not Lucy or Priscilla he’s got in mind.”
Delilah was descending the stairs when she heard the horse gallop up. No one raced a horse over a country lane unless an urgent situation demanded haste. It was too dangerous.
Delilah didn’t move to answer the loud, insistent knocking. That was Lester’s job, and he wouldn’t thank her for overstepping herself. Then she remembered Serena had sent him on an errand. She hurried to open the door, only to find Tom Oliver, a young and fairly attractive man, in the clutch of great excitement.
“Where’s Nathan?” Oliver demanded brushing roughly against her as he strode into the hall. “I’ve got to talk to him at once.”
“He went out early this morning.”
“Where’d he go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you?”
“It’s not Mr. Trent’s habit to inform the servants of his whereabouts,” Delilah said. She probably shouldn’t speak to a guest that way, but Tom Oliver shouldn’t have brushed by her as if she weren’t there.
As Tom’s gaze traveled over Delilah, the irritation in his eyes changed. He had looked at her lustfully many a time during the last three years, and he found that her attractiveness had not diminished.
“Why don’t you be a good girl and show me to the library?” he said.
From his expression, Delilah suspected that talking to Nathan was no longer uppermost in his mind. She was tempted to tell him to come back later. She didn’t like him and never had.
“I’ll tell Mrs. Noyes you’re here.”
“I don’t want to see that bitch” Oliver said sharply.
“You keep a decent tongue in your head, Tom Oliver, or you’ll go right back out the door.”
“You going to chuck me out?” he asked, an insolent smile showing a mouth full of straight, strong teeth.
“There are half a dozen men within the sound of my voice.”
“Just take me to the library,” Oliver growled.
“Follow me,” Delilah said, feeling rather pleased with the way she’d handled him.
She opened the library door, walked inside, then stepped aside to allow Tom to enter.
The room was completely paneled in honey-colored pine adorned with fluted pilasters and rosetted capitals. Eight bookcases were set into the wall and fronted with glass. A Chippendale slant-front desk and corner chair sat between the fireplace and the two windows which looked out over the garden and down to the river. Two tall-backed Windsor chairs were set against the far wall with a butterfly drop-leaf table between them, and a high-backed settle stood against the near wall. Between the two windows was a tilt-top table.
Before Delilah could guess Oliver’s intentions, he pulled the door out of her hands and kicked it shut. Then he trapped her in the corner, his large physique between her and the rest of the room.
“Now, my pretty, scream all you want and see who’ll hear you.”
Delilah wasn’t afraid of him, but she didn’t like the situation.
“Don’t be foolish,” she said, hoping her face revealed none of the apprehension in her heart. “If you’re trying to show me you’re bigger than I am, you’ve made your point.”
“You always were a haughty female,” Oliver retorted, remembering past rebuffs. “Always thinking you were too good for most people.”
“Not too good. Just not interested.”
“Not interested?” Tom asked. His eyes gleamed lecherously. “I bet you’d change your mind for the right person.”
“Not interested, period,” Delilah insisted.
“I find that hard to believe. A good-looking gal like you ought to be wanting a man.”
“A man, perhaps. It’s overgrown boys I have no time for.”
“I’m a man now.” Oliver pushed his body up against Delilah until she could feel the swelling at his groin.
“If you were a man, you wouldn’t think of attempting to trap me in a corner and steal a kiss,” Delilah said contemptuously. “Now get out of my way. I’ve got work to do.” She tried to get past him on one side and then the other, but he blocked her.
“Always trying to run away.”
“That’s been part of your trouble from the beginning,” Delilah said, placing her hands on her hips and facing him squarely. “You never could tell the difference between a girl who was running away and one who was turning her back on you.”
Oliver turned dark red with anger. “You won’t turn your back on me this time.”
He spun her around to face him
as she tried to move past, grabbing her shoulders and burying his fingers in the soft muscle between Delilah’s neck and shoulder. The pain was intense.
She raised her arms to push him aside. At the same time she shrugged her shoulders, breaking his hold.
“I’ll always turn my back on the likes of you.”
Tom grabbed her arms and pulled her up against him. “Not until I find out whether you’re worth half what you think you are.”
Delilah’s head spun. Surely he couldn’t have meant what that sounded like. No man would think of forcing himself on her in another man’s house.
“I’ve been wondering if it’s you filling out that dress or cotton wadding.”
The worst of her fears receded. Anger took their place. There’s nothing false about me, Tom Oliver.”
Delilah feinted to her right. When his grip held, she kicked him in the shins as hard as she could. He yelled in pain and lost his grip, but he was able to block the door.
“You’ll pay for that, you little bitch,” he growled. He dashed toward the Windsor chair she was hiding behind and sent it spinning across the floor out of his way. When Delilah hid behind a second chair, Oliver threw it aside as well.
“I’ll kick you again if you touch the,” she said between pants.
“Bitch,” Oliver roared. He came after her again. This time he overturned the table between them. “When I get my hands on you I’ll—
"You won’t do anything because you’re not man enough.”
That was too much for Oliver, and he came at Delilah over the upended table. She screamed and dived behind the desk. As she scrambled out the other side, the door burst open and Serena Noyes’s horrified gaze took in the upheaval.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.
“That bitch threw herself at the” Oliver said before Delilah could get to her feet. “When I told her I’d have none of her, she kicked the. She upset the room to keep the from getting my hands on her.”
Delilah brushed the dust off her dress and straightened her clothing.
“I did nothing of the kind” she said with a calm dignity Serena couldn’t help but respect. “I wouldn’t have anything to do with Tom Oliver before he married. I certainly wouldn’t tempt him to be indiscreet when he’s about to become a father.”
Rebel Enchantress Page 13
