The Hired Husband

“Would you care for anything?” she asked. She glanced at the tray she’d sent to the study during Uncle Stuart’s visit and saw that, while the coffee had been drunk, the fruit and cakes hadn’t been touched.

“No. Nothing,” Mitch said.

“If you want anything—anything at all—all you need do is ask.”

To Rachel’s horror, the words came out in a breathy little whisper. She’d spoken them countless times to other guests but now they sounded like a wistful—and illicit—invitation. Mitch drew in a quick breath and his chest expanded. His gaze dipped to her breasts, then jumped back to her face, causing her to tingle all over.

Their eyes held on each other for a long awkward moment, then Mitch plopped into his chair and scooted under the desk. He snatched up a pencil and dropped his gaze to the open ledger in front of him.

As much as she wanted to, Rachel couldn’t just run from the room. She pressed her feelings down and sent her mind in search of something intelligent to say.

Good gracious, what had happened to her hostessing skills?

“Did, uh—” Rachel cleared her throat and tried again. “Did you and Uncle Stuart get things handled?”

Mitch looked up at her, seemingly grateful that she’d asked this harmless question.

“He gave me what I need to get started,” he said, then gestured to the ledgers and account books stacked around him and the others still in crates waiting to be opened. “But there’s a lot yet to do.”

“Yes, I’m sure there is,” Rachel said. “Is Uncle Stuart coming back to help?”

“I don’t need any help,” Mitch told her. “I’ll analyze the books and make my recommendations. I have no authority in your father’s business. It’s up to Parker whether or not to implement my plan.”

“Uncle Stuart and my father, of course,” Rachel said.

Mitch hesitated a moment. “According to Parker, he and your father drew up agreements years ago placing each other in charge of their finances, in case either became incapacitated, as your father is now.”

“I didn’t know.”

Mitch shrugged as if that didn’t surprise him. “Your uncle has already agreed to my first recommendation, selling off some warehouses to generate cash.”

“Warehouses? Don’t we need those?”

His eyebrow quirked. “I don’t usually explain myself.”

“Do you usually receive five times your normal salary?”

Mitch glared at her for a quick moment, then said, “You won’t need your warehouses if the business goes under and there’s nothing to store.”

“Oh, well, of course,” Rachel said, feeling a little foolish. She offered an apologetic half smile. “I’ve never been privy to the workings of the family business.”

“No reason for you to be,” Mitch said. “I’m sure you had other…important matters to attend do.”

The upcoming luncheon causing her so much anguish flashed in Rachel’s mind. It hardly seemed important compared to “generating cash” for the family.

“I can show you to your room now,” Rachel said, in a hurry to get this portion of her hostessing duties over and done with.

Mitch dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “I’m sure I can find it on my own,” he said.

“You are our guest,” Rachel reminded him.

He turned back to his ledger. “I’m a hired worker, here to do a job.”

“We don’t allow the hired help to wander through the house, either.”

Mitch’s gaze came up quickly and pinned her with a look Rachel didn’t know how to interpret. A hint of anger, a flash of embarrassment along with something more. Something different. Something she’d never seen before, certainly not on a man’s face.

But whatever it was passed quickly and Mitch pushed himself to his feet. “In that case, Miss Branford, I’d be pleased to have you accompany me to my bedchamber.”

Chapter Five

M itch walked alongside Rachel through the hallway and up one side of the twin staircases while she talked about the history of the house, the neighborhood and other things he wasn’t really listening to.

Walking with a woman required some attention, and he had to remind himself to shorten his strides. Though he didn’t really hear Rachel’s words, the melody of her voice wound through him.

Women’s voices were pleasing. Light. Delicate. Almost like music. Music accompanied by the rustle of clothing, the brush of gentle footsteps. Rachel was no different.

Mitch glanced down at her beside him on the stairs and his heart thudded harder in his chest. Rachel’s lilting voice seemed to call to him, draw him closer, suggest things not meant to be suggested between the two of them.

And her clothing. The rustling of petticoats under her skirt. How many were they? What sort of fabric caused the sound? How long would it take to slip them off?

Mitch pressed his lips together, trying to fight off the familiar response to such a thought. It didn’t work. This unexpected desire presented itself with a special urgency. He dropped back a step, thinking the distance would help, but then his gaze homed in on her bobbing bustle and swaying hips. Mitch groaned aloud.

Rachel stepped and turned back to him. “Is something wrong?”

That innocent face, those big brown eyes turned up to him, the fragrance of her hair wafting over him. Mitch nearly groaned again.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he managed to say.

She looked at him for another few seconds then headed up the stairs. At the top she turned right down the hallway, bobbing and swaying with each step. Mitch’s condition worsened.

Halfway down the hall, Rachel opened a door and stepped inside. She stood there for a moment, as if inspecting the room, then moved in and allowed Mitch to follow.

“This room is one of my favorites,” she said. “It overlooks the rear gardens. They’re especially nice this time of year. I thought you’d enjoy the view.”

“The view is spectacular,” Mitch mumbled, his gaze still on her backside.

“Your baggage was delivered from the train station,” Rachel said, gesturing across the room to what Mitch supposed was the dressing area. “But your valet wasn’t there.”

Valet? She expected him to have a valet? Mitch’s desire cooled. He had no valet. Never had. But Rachel thought it natural that he would.

“I’m sure Joseph won’t mind attending you,” Rachel went on. “With Georgie away, Father ill and Noah…well, I’m sure he’ll have time. If that’s all right with you, of course.”

“That’s fine,” Mitch mumbled, not sure just what he was supposed to do with a valet.

Rachel waited for a moment, then finally said, “Does the room suit you?”

He obliged her with a quick look around. The furniture was massive and ornately carved. Mahogany, Mitch thought, with black marble tops on the stands and dresser. There were spiral carvings on the bedposts, oversize claw feet on all the pieces, and a lion’s head carved in relief amid a fan crest on the armoire and headboard. A large floral arrangement, that surely Rachel had selected herself from the garden, sat atop the dresser, its blues picking up the colors of the room.