Her Beguiling Butler Page 4

  A silence stretched out between them.

  Finnley recalled her brother Jerome. In appearance, he’d been the masculine version of Alicia. Tall, comely, with a profusion of bright blond hair and a ready grin, Jerome Wells was an excellent cavalryman. Good with a sword, expert with a horse, Jerome rode like a heathen from the depths of hell. When he fell from cannon shot, he did so next to Finnley. He himself lay on the ground, grazed in the shoulder a second previously by a French cuirassier with a bad aim of his pistol.

  She shifted in the bed. “I loved my father, but he gave me away to a man he did not know. A man who did not please me. Not in any way.”

  “Did Ranford hurt you?” The words tumbled from Finnley’s lips before he knew what he was about.

  “Did he lay hands on me?” She rolled a shoulder, not taking any offense at his intrusion to her privacy. “Not in any way that was unusual, no. But not in any way that was, shall we say, affectionate?”

  The cur. How could he not see the glory of this woman? How she deserved delicate and careful loving. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not. Wasn’t ever. You see Ranford had other women. Other pleasures. Some of them dark, I suspect. He married me for the dowry. Handsome as it was. He was in debt, you see.”

  “It seems so many men are,” he said, sympathizing with her. My father was one. His greed killed my mother, ruined our estate.

  “And they seek a woman’s dowry to come to their rescue.” She sighed. “Ranford was no different. He coveted money. For his trollops. For his tailors. I’m shocked that my jointure is intact. It’s five thousand pounds, not a small sum, and it remains, thank god, undiminished by his mishandling. In fact, my solicitor told me the other day that I may have other income coming to me. A barony of writ with a title long in abeyance. No one has traced the ancestry until now and I may prove to be the only heir. By writ, you see, the title can pass to a female and if so, I may earn an income from the lands.”

  A sizable sum from what I understand.

  “Of course, I expect nothing. The estate lawyers have taken their cases to Chancery, but I will wait quietly here for news. I am quite done with fighting. My days with Ranford exhausted me and now I am ready to enjoy life.”

  “You deserve that.”

  She gave him a benevolent smile. “Odd, isn’t it? That I hear of some grand inheritance which may come to me now, after all those years with Ranford, all the painful months with my father after Jerome died.”

  Finnley agreed. Her father was inconsolable at his son’s loss.

  “Ironic, almost,” she said with winsomeness. “My father for all intents and purposes sold me to the highest bidder. Yet Ranford played a nasty trick on my father. On me, too. Did you know, Finnley, that Ranford laid a bet at White’s with two other men that he would win my hand by tricking my father into it?”

  “Yes.” Finnley steeled himself not to shout his outrage. The fact that Ranford had bet on her good name roiled him to this day. For that reason, he had hurried to London to sue for her hand himself. But to no avail. Even telling her father that Jerome wished it did not sway the man. “It was the talk of the town. Often I wished it had not been not true.”

  “It was.” She picked up her cup and drank again. Blinking, she looked at him. “You knew? You were in London after Waterloo?”

  “I was.”

  “How so?”

  I came home to England with one goal in mind. “I returned to town to fulfill a promise to a comrade who had fallen by my side.”

  “Good of you, Finnley. If I may be so bold as to ask. What was your promise?”

  “To convey to his father a message of his son’s final words.”

  “Loving sentiments, were they?”

  “Some.”

  “Ah. Recriminations then?”

  “A few.”

  “I apologize. I probe too much.” She laid down her cup and fiddled with centering it on her saucer. “Forgive me.”

  “No, you are kind to ask.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “Surely not kind.”

  “Few wish to discuss the battle or its aftermath. Not even parents of the fallen.” Not your parent, either. “The stories are too grim.”

  “What did you do at Waterloo?”

  “I was cavalry. Officially. But I was not very good at wielding a saber. I was better with a pistol. When I was not fighting, I tracked spies.”

  She sucked in air. “Really? How terrifying.”

  Most women burst into raptures after hearing he’d chased foreign agents. Alicia, however, was wiser. He applauded her for it.

  He nodded. “It was. Not always the safest job.”

  “Were you hurt?”

  Her concern gratified him “I was shot a few times. But in battles.”

  “Where?”

  “At Waterloo, a graze only. My shoulder. But in Spain, too, three years before at Badajoz. The other shoulder.”

  “Your shoulders are quite strong, however.” Her eloquent eyes spoke endearing words he savored in the silence. “When you lifted me, I noticed.”

  He could live forever in the purple passion in her gaze. Forcing himself to speak, he found himself uttering things he had not rehearsed. “I would do it again.”

  “I hope you will.”

  “I must not.”

  “But I need you,” she whispered, leaning toward him, her hand outstretched upon the coverlet.

  And he covered her hand with his own. “I wish to aid you in all matters.”

  “Oh, I wish you would.”

  “Do you?”

  “I need a good man in the house.”

  A good man? For her, he was that, yes. “You have him.”

  She tugged at his hand.

  He followed her lead, though his better angel screamed at him to go.

  Yet, he could not go. She was hot temptation. Her lips so close to his. Her perfume suffusing his brain, drawing him in to her spell.

  She lifted her other hand to trail along his nape and splayed her fingers into the hair at his crown. She inched nearer. “Finnley,” she said his name as if it were a prayer. “I want to kiss you.”

  His mind crumbled into tiny pieces. But his body rang with chimes of need. He was hard. He was ready. And she was here and his and declaring what she wanted.

  “Will you allow me?” she asked on a thread of sound.

  She was bolder than he had anticipated. He cheered that aspect of her, too. Though he shouldn’t. “There is no harm in once.”

  Her plush lips spread into a smile. “Once.”

  Helpless, he put his mouth to hers. She flowed against him as if she fit him like a puzzle. Curve to plane, length to length, sigh to sigh, need for need, he kissed her. And he could not have enough.

  He groaned and broke away.

  She dragged him back, her lips a feast of sensual joys. She kissed him with soft lips and mad insistence. He could not help but kiss her back. And when he realized what he’d done, once had led to twice.

  He pushed her back to her pillows. “We must stop.”

  “And if I object?”

  “You can. But I must not sully your reputation. We have spent too much time here together. Others in the house will talk.”

  “Dismiss them.”

  He snorted. “My dear Lady Ranford, if I terminate any employee in this household today, they will feed the gossip mill by the morning.”

  She put a forefinger across his lips. Her own upturned in a licentious grin. “We talked.”

  “We did.”

  “And became friends.”

  With regret, he moved away and steadied himself on his feet. “We will not speak of this again.”

  “I will.”

  “If you do, Madam, I will leave.”

  Pain creased her brow. “Would you leave me, Finnley?”

  Christ. No. I can’t. The danger would be great if you had no one to protect you. “N
o, my lady. No.”

  She picked at her bed sheets. “Very well. Thank you for that.”

  “Would you like more tea?” he asked, sorry he had to go.

  “No. I’ll float away and I’m certain you wouldn’t like carrying me to my chamber pot.”

  She was angry with him. He understood. After all, he was angry with himself. Somehow he had to make her understand that she and he could not become…close.

  “Alicia—“

  At her name on his lips, fire blazed in her striking eyes.

  He shut his own. It did not do well to forget himself or his manners. He was her butler, for god’s sakes and he should act like it!

  “My lady, I leave you to your rest.” He marched to the door.

  With his hand upon the knob, he stopped when he heard her call his name.

  “Wallace! We are friends. I need one. A true one. And I sense that you are that for me. I will not let you go, Wallace. Pretend what you will, but that is the way of it between us.”

  He swung round.

  But she had a palm up in the air to warn him off. “Deliver my meals to me. My tea, too. Come at least twice more a day to visit for fifteen minutes. Fifteen, no more, no less. Time it by your rare and interesting gold pocket watch that chimes with tiny bells. I like the sound of them. Rather much I’d say. Like I like you.”

  Speechless, he stood and rejoiced in her demands.

  She fussed with her sheets and covers. “Now go away. And when you return at suppertime, bring stories of your life. I have exhausted my own meager supply. And if you find a lack, bring a book. A novel. Your choice. You will read to me until I fall asleep. Good afternoon, Finnley. You may leave me now.”

  Chapter Five

  “Our time is done. Sadly,” Alicia told him three mornings later.

  His watch rang in its melodic ting-a-lings and her heart sank.

  “Send in Preston.” It was time he left her. They had conversed and laughed while she ate her breakfast and now she must send him off to his duties. Curse propriety. “This morning I will receive my aunt, Finnley.”

  He gave her a warning look.

  “Now, now. Don’t give me your cow eyes, dear Finnley.” She was toying with him a little. He was so attentive, so devoted. She’d never had a man hang on her every word. “I promise not to touch my knees, but leave my stockings rolled quite far down.”

  She lifted the hem of her emerald brocade robe to show him her ankles. Quite scandalous an act it was, but then he’d been her constant companion so often these past few days that showing him a bit of skin on her feet seemed, in contrast, innocent.

  “The ice has reduced your swelling,” he said. “I’m pleased.”

  “So am I. Thank you.”

  “No standing as Lady Wells visits. The bruising is quite extensive.”

  Despite the long line of purple and yellow along her shins and on her palms, Alicia remained cheerful. She arched playful brows at him. “I will be careful.”

  He nodded, his servant’s mien already transforming his handsome features to more rigid lines.

  She shivered, physically affected by both his personas of ardent friend and commanding butler. His eyes flared wide, attuned to her interest.

  And he exited her suite with rapidity.

  She stared at the closed door. Quite mad about him, she frowned. How many times a day had she asked herself how long her interest in him could last? Why it shouldn’t? He was well-spoken, articulate even. He was immaculate in person, dress and—until the other day when she fell—he’d been the epitome of decorum. As her butler.

  As a man, he was so much more. He exhibited care for her person beyond that of her servant. Solicitous, he also showed her a tenderness she’d not known from any man, parent, suitor or acquaintance included. While he attempted to remain aloof or at least removed by proper inches from her all too responsible self, he would, over the minutes they spent together, come closer in tone and temperament. By the time he left her after meals or tea or bedtime, he was a man who gazed at her with more than fond regard. He had become a friend, a confidant, a gentleman.

  She wished to keep that part of him. How, was the crucial question for which, at the moment, she had no answer.

  “My lady?”

  Alicia beckoned Preston with her fingers. “I shall wear my yellow crepe this morning.”

  “And what of stockings?” the maid asked with sharp interest in her eyes.

  The woman had not approved of Alicia’s lack of them these past few days. But then, that was the least of that which she had not approved.

  The maid’s attitude was nigh unto one resembling—dare Alicia say it?—jealousy. Too bad. She was not about to curtail Finnley’s visits nor trim the nature of them. With so little in her life that she would describe as enjoyment, her minutes with the man were diamonds in her days.

  “Today, I will wear stockings and garters. Old ones. I cannot bear any garment too fitting. Lay out my older corset. I cannot bear the constrictions of the stays. You will see to that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And my bath?”

  “It is ready now. The water temperature at the point you like it. I checked with my elbow.”

  “Thank you. I leave you to it.” She rose gingerly, testing her ability to stand with sore knees. Feeling firm of limb, she swept off into her toilette room where the walls were hung with heavy linen and the rug was thick and soft. There she could relax into her tub and dream that the ripples in the warm water were the long fingers of Wallace Finnley caressing her skin.

  “Good morning, my darling girl.” Her maternal Great Aunt Hortense invaded the drawing room as if she were one of His Majesty’s ships of the line. Taller than Alicia, her body a veritable frigate, her hair a startling white, Lady Hortense Wells was an earl’s daughter and a force in society and in her family. At seventy, an avowed and lively spinster, she was a welcome addition to any wedding breakfast, supper party or ball. She knew everyone in town and they enjoyed her so much they invited her to any gathering, large or small..

  Alicia came to embrace her aunt and sat on the settee nearest the fire.

  Finnley glanced toward Alicia. “Shall I have tea served?”

  “What do you say, Aunt? Would you care for it?”

  Hortense waved it off. “Not a bit. Thank you. I’ve two more calls to make today and I wish to save myself for the evening supper party.”

  “Very well. Thank you, Finnley. We will forego refreshment.” As he closed the doors upon them, Alicia took a seat beside her aunt and clasped her hands. “I’m delighted you’ve come to see me.”

  “Your note alarmed me. You fell? When? Where?”

  Alicia gave her the details. “It would have been worse had Finnley not been at the door, saw how I tripped and caught me. Heaven knows what injuries I might have sustained.”

  Her aunt shuddered. “Dearest Alicia, I am concerned for you.”

  She shrugged. “I recover. Most bothersome are my hands.”

  “Let me see. Oh, my! Terrible, terrible.” She let go of Alicia’s hands as if they were afire. “You must rest. And your legs?”

  “I will not show you. You would march me up to bed.”

  “I dare say I would. Show me in any case.”

  And when she revealed the long multi-colored bruises, the woman gasped.

  “How can you walk? I’m shocked you did not break any bones.”

  “I agree.”

  “How did you not?”

  “Finnley saved me from hitting my head and tumbling off the steps.”

  Hortense’s wide blue eyes went from horror to concern. “How have you gotten on?”

  Alicia felt her cheeks blaze.

  “What’s this?” Her aunt cocked a pale brow at her.

  “I—had assistance.”

  “I see. From whom?”

  “Finnley.”

  Her aunt stared. “Is that so?”

&
nbsp; Alicia nodded, fighting not to chuckle or blurt out how wonderful the man had been.

  “Dear me.” Hortense blew air from her lips. “I wonder if I should press for details.”

  “Don’t.”

  Hortense shifted her considerable girth. “Well then. And here I am warming at the very idea and I forgot my fan.”

  “I can call Finnley to get a maid to fetch mine,” Alicia offered with a giggle.

  “You are incorrigible.” Hortense snorted and then glanced away, her features contorting in her effort not to laugh. “I say, what are you about with that man?”

  “Nothing.” Everything. “He is good company.”

  “How much good company?”

  Not as much as I’d like. “More than one’s ordinary butler.”

  “Dear god.” The woman waved a hand. “I’d take that fan but then we’d have to call Finnley in here, wouldn’t we?”

  “Just so.”

  “I fear I’d examine him a bit too long. Ahem.” She cleared her throat and straightened her posture. “Well! This is not what I expected. An intriguing morning call. Shall we change the topic and you tell me about your visit with your solicitor the other day?”

  Alicia clasped her hands together in delight. “The barony of Bentham may well be mine soon, Aunt.”

  “The lands in Kent and income, too?” Her aunt looked breathless.

  “Yes. The only other claimant has a questionable tie to the original baron. Is that not outrageously wonderful? Imagine. Five thousand a year, ten tenant farmers and a house of my own, fee simple?”

  Hortense put a hand to her heart. “The Right Honorable Baroness Bentham, heiress in her own right. More than one could hope for, dear.”

  “I’ll say. I could afford to pay the last of Robert’s debts. His tailor, his bootmaker. I could leave London behind, retire to the country like a fat squire’s wife.”