All About Seduction(94)
“Very good, ma’am.”
Where in heaven’s name had Jack gone today? And why? After last night, she would have thought he would stay put. Her stomach turned.
When the housekeeper didn’t leave, Caroline turned to face her. “Is there something you wish to say, Mrs. Burns?”
Caroline dreaded dealing with an objection. The woman had been here almost as long as she had, and they had a good understanding. But housing a millworker on the same floor as people of quality had to seem odd, even if he was tucked in the remotest corner.
“I need to tell you, ma’am, that one of the empty guest rooms was disturbed last night. It looks as though there may have been a bit of havey-cavey business going on.”
Caroline drew in a sharp breath as her muscles tensed. For once she wished her housekeeper were less efficient. She’d left the ashes in the grate and the bed disturbed, but hadn’t expected anyone to have any reason to go into the room, at least not for a few days. Fearing she was on the verge of being discovered, her hands shook. “I’m certain things will settle down when the guests leave.”
“If I determine which of the servants might have been in there, I will dismiss them.”
“I would hope that if one of the gentlemen persuaded one of the maids to misbehave, he at least compensated her well.” The last thing she wanted was the servants speculating about who had been in the room.
“I can’t think it was one of the gentlemen, ma’am. If it were, why wouldn’t it be in his own room?”
Her deception coiled tighter around Caroline and wouldn’t let her breathe. “I’m certain I don’t wish to know the machinations of the guests.” And the last thing she wanted was the housekeeper investigating. “Let it go for now, Mrs. Burns. With all the needs of the guests, you don’t have time to waste. If it becomes an ongoing problem, we’ll deal with it.”
The sour expression on Mrs. Burns face showed she didn’t agree, but she didn’t argue as she left the sitting room to prepare for Jack’s arrival.
Caroline took one last look out the window. Jack had only progressed a few yards. He leaned against his crutches, not moving at all. He was returning, wasn’t he? Winged creatures in her stomach took flight.
As if aware of her gaze on him, he raised his face toward the house. Perhaps he needed help. She hurried downstairs to the entry hall.
Caution slowed her headlong progress. She should send a footman out to help him.
The hall was empty and no amount of pacing around it made it less so. The footmen were engaged in serving dinner, and the wait wound her tighter than a coiled spring. She finally opened the front door and looked out. Jack remained slumped over his crutches.
Slowly, he raised his face and started toward her. In the dusky evening, she couldn’t make out his expression, but she could no longer bear to remain standing, waiting. Without thinking, she was down the stairs and striding toward him, the train of her evening gown dragging in the pressed gravel.
“Where have you been?” she spit in an undertone as she neared him. The words were like a fishwife’s or a jilted lover. She was neither, and she wished she could call the words back.
Jack stopped and looked wearily at her. His chest heaved and, in spite of the chilly air, beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. “I went to my father’s house.”
She couldn’t seem to stop herself as a wave of anger rose in her. Her nails bit into her palms and her stomach burned. “What were you thinking? I have been worried sick. I thought we had a bargain.”
His eyes tightened and his mouth flattened. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
A flatness in his tone told her that he wasn’t happy about being here. It stung and drained the anger from her, leaving her raw and exposed. Why not? She was sore on the inside, might as well be aching all over. She turned her head toward the horizon, fighting the burn in her eyes and the dryness at the back of her throat.
She couldn’t fall apart now. And Jack shouldn’t have the power to hurt her. He was just . . . just a man she was using to get pregnant. Certainly no lady ever raised her voice at a . . . laborer or a friend—whatever he was.
It didn’t matter what he was, beyond that he was the man she needed to father her child. More than that, he was the man she wanted to father her child.
God, last night had changed everything. She couldn’t think of him as simply a friend. They’d been intimate—in a manner of speaking—and as much as she’d tried to keep it on a practical level, her feelings were in a knot. Suddenly she was very aware of the chaffing in her female core. She’d almost convinced herself a night’s reprieve was what she needed, but it wasn’t what she wanted. She’d wanted to see Jack, to share the quiet hours of the night alone with him.