Back in the Headlines

by Sharon Kendrick

  He swallowed as he noticed that the buttons of her uniform were gaping slightly to accommodate the luscious swell of her breasts. ‘You’ve … settled in, I hope?’

  ‘Yes.’ Roxy gave a polite little smile. ‘Thank you.’

  With an effort, Titus forced himself to ask the type of questions which any employer would ask of his workers—rather than the ones which were hovering on the edge of his lips. He wanted to ask if she realised that he’d seen her yesterday and she’d been on her knees, scrubbing away at a spot of something on the floor in the long corridor of the south wing. And that the garish pink uniform had been stretched tightly over her bottom and it had been as much as he could do not to go over there and … and …

  ‘And do you like working here?’ he enquired unevenly.

  Roxy tried not to squirm beneath his smouldering gaze, but it was proving pretty tough. When he was looking at her like that, she wanted to put down her specialist dusting cloth and go over and curl her fingers around his neck. She wanted to stand on tiptoe and to kiss him. And she wanted a lot more besides. She wondered what that virile body would feel like if it was pressing against her. How it would feel to have Titus Alexander take her into his arms and shower her with kisses …

  Oh, for heaven’s sake! Get real, Roxy! Furiously, she made the image dissolve. He’s paying you to do a mundane job and you’re here because he feels some lingering sense of responsibility towards you. He hasn’t got a glass slipper hidden in his back pocket, so forget your foolish fantasies. You might want him and he might want you—but having sex with the Duke of Torchester would be the worst thing you could possibly do. So stop flirting.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said, thinking that a touch of indifference might drive him away.

  Titus scowled, because surely that attitude of hers was another indicator of her general unsuitability to be his lover. Even if it wasn’t exactly her dream job—surely she could have been gracious enough to make some comment about the beauty of his ancestral home. Not to shrug her shoulders as if he were forcing her to work in some sort of hovel. A spark of familial pride made him suck in a breath of quiet displeasure. ‘You show remarkably little enthusiasm for one of the finest houses in England,’ he remarked.

  ‘Maybe that’s because I haven’t really seen much of its finery—I’ve been too busy working.’

  ‘Perhaps you might like to go upstairs and polish these glasses in the Grand Saloon?’ he questioned sarcastically.

  She met his eyes. ‘I might.’

  Titus felt his lips quirking into a reluctant smile as she looked at him with that mutinous expression on her face as if she were the Queen of Sheba! Did she have any idea how outrageous her behaviour was? Maybe she thought that her one-time fame entitled her to certain concessions and that a different set of rules would apply to her. Or maybe she still thought of herself as some kind of goddess—even though today her hair was pulled back into a rather unforgiving ponytail and she wore very little make-up. Still, nobody could deny her inherent grace as she lifted her chin in a defiant tilt, which showcased her long neck. And the way she was staring up at him from between her lashes was making her blue eyes look curiously innocent.

  But she wasn’t innocent, he reminded himself grimly. He knew that, even if her sexual history hadn’t been so well documented in the press. She had shown herself capable of using men—stupid men like Martin Murray. Even if she hadn’t actually slept with him, she had still manipulated him to get herself a cheap place to live. And Titus didn’t trust women like that. He didn’t like women like that.

  If only he could get her out of his head! Or work out what it was about her which had so captured his imagination. The thought of her had been plaguing the hell out of him for days now, even though he’d done his best to keep his distance.

  Yet inevitably, he’d seen her around. He had walked past the Statue Gallery the other day when she’d been busy dusting the bust of one of his ancestors—a rather ruthless army general, with a reputation for having been a legendary lover. She’d been oblivious to his presence, and Titus had watched Roxanne run her finger down over the marble cheekbones, to linger at last on the statue’s mouth, tracing the line of the cold lips as if they were made of flesh and blood. And for one highly charged moment he had imagined her touching his lips like that.

  Another time, he had watched her walking from her cottage over to the great house from the high vantage point of his horse’s saddle. He had seen the way that the winter wind had whipped through her ponytail, so that it had streamed behind her like a pale, silken banner. She had moved with a natural grace—all the more remarkable because, once again, she had been completely unaware that he’d been watching her. For one heady and insane moment, he had imagined galloping towards her and hauling her up onto the saddle and then taking her away for an afternoon of pure bliss. But he hadn’t slept with a servant since he’d been a teenager and he had vowed never to repeat it after the ensuing uproar. The serving classes were too emotional, he had decided. They mistook lust for love. Or, rather, they used the word love to justify their lust. Titus felt his lips harden into a mirthless smile. Why couldn’t they just be honest and admit there was no such thing?

  He noticed that she had now rather self-consciously resumed her glass polishing, even though the stiff set of her shoulders indicated that she was still sensitive to his presence. Would it hurt to be alone with her for a while? he wondered. To give into a desire which it seemed almost criminal to deny? Especially as she was no blushing innocent. Why, she was probably as sexually experienced as he was!

  ‘Would you like me to show you the house?’ he questioned carelessly. ‘I mean, properly.’

  Roxy looked up from her polishing and raised her eyebrows. ‘As opposed to improperly?’

  ‘That could also be arranged,’ he drawled.

  Roxy quickly put the glass down. ‘You mean like an official guided tour?’

  ‘If you like.’ His mouth hardened as he caught the glint of sensuality in her smile. ‘The only thing is that I’m afraid I don’t have a uniform.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’ She looked at him, knowing that this was highly unprofessional behaviour on both their parts and yet somehow unable to stop herself. Because she was fast discovering that flirting was a bit like riding a bicycle and that you never forgot how to do it, no matter how long it had been. ‘I like a man in uniform.’

  Her voice dipped suggestively and he very nearly caught her to him then. Only the thought that someone might come in stopped him and he cursed the sudden jerk of an erection. ‘On second thoughts, the uniform might have to wait,’ he said unevenly, wondering whether the hardening at his groin in the unforgiving jodhpurs was as noticeable to her as it was to him. He pointed to her polishing cloth. ‘Leave that and come with me.’

  ‘Vanessa told me to finish it.’

  ‘I’ll deal with Vanessa. You can finish it later. Don’t you know that the Duke’s desires outweigh all other considerations, Roxanne?’

  He said it as if he were joking, but Roxy didn’t think he was joking. Suddenly, there was a very different tension about him and the glint in his eyes hinted at the very real possibility of pleasure. Roxy wondered if she was getting out of her depth and how he’d react if she told him that she answered to the housekeeper and not to him. But she said no such thing. She just put her cloth down and began to follow him from the room, her heart thumping like crazy.

  ‘First,’ he said as they walked through to an enormous room which led off the great hall, ‘we have what is known as the Grand Saloon.’

  Roxy followed him into the massive space which was decorated in dark crimson and gilded with gold-leaf. ‘Well, nobody could accuse it of not living up to its name,’ she said. Lightly, she touched the arm of a chair covered in rich, embossed velvet, her fingertips sinking into the soft pile. ‘This is beautiful velvet.’

  ‘It comes from Genoa,’ he said.

  ‘Where else?’ she murmured as she wandered around the room,
wondering how long it had taken to build a place like this or to furnish it so beautifully.

  ‘Come and see the Drawing Room now. You’ll find that’s a much more accessible size.’

  ‘I think we might have differing ideas on accessibility, Titus.’

  As they moved from the Saloon Titus cursed himself for using such a provocative word. One which was making him think of the body beneath the garish pink overall she was wearing. Even the bizarre realisation that she shouldn’t really be using his Christian name during working hours was driven clean from his mind by the hot clamour of sexual urgency. ‘You might be right,’ he said thickly.

  After she had admired the slightly smaller Drawing Room, he took her into the Picture Gallery, where sumptuous paintings hung in rows along the wood-panelled walls. This was one room she hadn’t yet been allowed to work in—she knew that some of the works were priceless and Vanessa had got her on some kind of probationary period to see if she could be trusted. It was as impressive as any government art gallery she’d ever visited and for a moment Roxanne was so overcome by the beauty of the paintings that she said nothing.

  She knew that he was watching her as they walked slowly along the row of pictures and she liked him watching her, even though it was making her breasts tingle with excitement. She stopped in front of a painting of a naked woman who was brushing her hair, and gave a little sigh.

  ‘You like that one?’ he questioned idly.

  ‘It’s my favourite. It’s gorgeous. She looks so fleshy and so real—you almost feel you could reach out and pinch her. Though obviously, I’m not going to do that,’ she added hastily.

  He gave a faint smile. ‘Obviously.’

  They moved along to the next painting but by now Roxy was beginning to feel uncomfortable—as if the silence which was building between them was somehow becoming dangerous. That if she didn’t break it soon, she might blurt out something completely inappropriate—like would he please just kiss her. Maybe she should seek refuge in a bit of small talk. He must be good at that.

  She cleared her throat. ‘So what exactly does a Duke do all day?’

  ‘No ideas?’ he questioned as he watched her peer at a huge canvas of a battle scene.

  ‘Some.’ Roxy straightened up to look at him, thinking that his face was infinitely more pleasurable than looking at a load of men wielding swords. ‘I know you start the day by going out for a ride, because I’ve heard the grooms grumbling that you’re usually up at the crack of dawn.’

  ‘They sometimes grumble to me, as well,’ he conceded.

  ‘And then someone serves you breakfast. I know that because I’ve seen the cook fussing over your poached eggs and saying that “His Grace likes his toast just so”.’

  Her mimicry was so uncannily accurate that Titus had to bite back a reluctant smile, for fear that he might be encouraging some sort of domestic insubordination. ‘And after breakfast?’

  Roxy was momentarily distracted by eyes which were as brooding as a gathering storm and wondered if he had any idea how fast her heart was beating. ‘You disappear into your study for most of the morning.’

  ‘And what do you think I do there?’ he questioned.

  She shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Play Angry Birds on your computer?’

  ‘I’ve never found mindless computer games a particularly good use of my time,’ he responded acidly.

  ‘Maybe you make a few phone calls before lunch?’

  The look he threw her was cool and assessing. ‘So, essentially, what you’re saying is that you think my days are composed of indulgence and eating?’

  Roxy’s skin grew heated—but what woman wouldn’t get all hot and bothered if Titus Alexander was staring at them like that? And maybe he had a point. He didn’t look a bit like a man who spent his life being indulgent—in fact, he looked more like someone who did hard, physical labour from dawn to dusk.

  ‘I guess that was a pretty poor assessment,’ she said slowly.

  ‘I think perhaps it was. Maybe I should enlighten you by telling you how I’ve spent my days recently, Roxanne.’ His gaze was steady but his breathing was not, as he realised exactly what he was about to do. ‘You see, contrary to what the grooms say, I’ve actually been waking later than usual.’

  ‘Oh, dear. Perhaps your alarm clock needs replacing?’

  ‘I don’t usually need an alarm clock. But then I don’t usually spend my nights tossing and turning and being unable to get one thing out of my mind.’

  ‘It’s true what they say,’ she said seriously. ‘That the more you think about not being able to sleep, the more elusive it becomes.’

  ‘I’m not talking about my damned sleep!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Titus—but you most definitely were.’

  Frustrated by the verbal games they seemed to be playing, he reached out and caught hold of her. He pulled her right up against him and gazed down into her widened blue eyes, feeling the hard heat at his groin and the unsteady thunder of his heart. ‘I’m talking about you,’ he grated. ‘Yes, you. Because I can’t seem to get you out of my head, Roxanne—no matter what I do.’

  His eyes were blazing and Roxy’s mouth dried as she felt the heat of his body next to hers. ‘But I thought I wasn’t your type,’ she objected. ‘And you’re definitely not mine.’

  He gave a hard smile. ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘Liar,’ he said softly, and kissed her.

  It was like putting a match to dry tinder—more instant and predictable than anything she could ever have anticipated. Roxy’s lips opened like a clam as he slid his tongue inside her mouth and snaked his hands possessively around her waist. And suddenly he was kissing her as she’d never been kissed before. Through the powerful burst of pleasure, Roxy felt momentarily dazed. It felt like the lyrics to all those songs Justina had written, the ones Roxy used to sing without really believing. The ones about bells ringing and angels singing and feeling as if you’d just stepped onto a merry-go-round which was going so fast you that wondered if you’d ever get off again. But who would want to get off something which felt as incredible as this? Who wouldn’t want to prolong each precious, glorious second?

  His hands began to skate down over her body. She could feel his fingers splaying hungrily over her breasts. She was conscious of the tight thrust of her nipples as they strained against her pink overall and she moaned against his mouth.

  Titus heard her breathy little gasp and suddenly he forgot where he was or who he was. He forgot his timetable and plans for the day. All he could think about was Roxanne Carmichael and the tantalising prospect of having quick and urgent sex with her. Savagely, he snapped open the poppers of her pink overall, slipping his hand underneath her sweater to feel the puckering nipple beneath her bra. He pictured it in all its cherry-tipped glory and felt her wild shudder in response to the flick of his thumb over the peaking mound.

  ‘Roxanne,’ he shuddered.

  ‘Titus.’ She said his name like a plea, especially as he had just moved his hand down and was sliding it up beneath her uniform. Up her legs, and over her thighs and …

  ‘I want you,’ he ground out as his hand cupped the moist panty-covered core of her femininity. ‘I don’t want to wait a second longer. I already feel like I’ve been waiting an eternity to do this. I want to lay you right down there on that rug and to unzip myself and to—’

  She sensed rather than heard the profanity which was hovering on his lips and which was halted by the distant sound of footsteps clacking their way towards them. For a moment they both froze, before Roxy pushed his hand away from her knickers and shrank away from him in horror.

  ‘It’s Vanessa!’ she hissed, tugging down her sweater and swiftly doing up her overall.

  ‘Stay there,’ he instructed curtly, painfully aware of the erotic scent of her sex which had permeated the air around them. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

  Where else did he think she was going to go? Rush up to greet the hous
ekeeper with her uniform gaping open and her sweater all rucked up, her movements slightly jerky and awkward because she was so aroused? She thought how composed he looked as he ran his fingers through his thick, tawny hair and began to walk towards the entrance to the gallery. She could see the housekeeper approaching, with a rather odd smile pinned to her lips.

  ‘Your Grace,’ she said formally.

  ‘Ah, Vanessa,’ he said imperturbably. ‘I do hope I haven’t interfered with your schedule—but it was Roxanne’s lunch break and I’d promised that I’d show her the paintings.’ He glanced over at the picture of the woman standing in front of the mirror and then slanted Roxy a conspiratorial look, a faint smile curving his lips as he took in her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. ‘She seems to have taken rather a shine to the Rubens.’

  ‘Does she now?’ said Vanessa and Roxy wondered if she was imagining the knowing look on the housekeeper’s face.

  ‘So I think perhaps we might leave her in peace to study it, don’t you?’

  He spoke in the kind of tone which nobody would dare question, least of all his housekeeper, but as he turned to leave he gave Roxy a faintly condescending nod. The type of farewell which a Duke would normally be expected to give to his most junior of servants. And she wondered if her face betrayed the guilt which was churning away inside her. Or the frustration.

  ‘Oh, look,’ he said, to no one in particular, his attention drawn to the enormous windows. ‘It’s started snowing.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE wind whipped up the snow like cream in a food processor and Roxy hugged her jacket closer as she stumbled through the fierce afternoon weather towards her cottage. The change to the flat Norfolk landscape had been dramatic since the storm had begun. Big, fat flakes had been tumbling incessantly from the sky and a few hours had seen enough snow falling to turn the estate into a winter wonderland. The wide parkland was now bleached white and Valeo Hall looked indescribably beautiful, with thick blankets of snow on every roof and chimney pot.