Secrets of a Gentleman Escort. Bronwyn Scott

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      Chapter Five

      There was a man in her house! It was the first thought that came to Annorah upon waking and it stayed lodged in her brain while she dressed. How could it not? Apparently everyone was fixed on the idea of a male presence at Hartshaven. It was the first piece of news her maid imparted. Her guest had been up at first light, exploring the stables, looking for something and ordering the gig for a tour of the estate later.

      Her maid, Lily, slid her a sly glance as she laid out one of Annorah’s pretty new morning dresses. ‘It seems odd a librarian would want to see the outside of an estate.’

      ‘It will help him understand the place,’ Annorah offered vaguely, suddenly thoroughly engrossed in the contents of her jewellery box. She didn’t need the staff questioning his presence too much.

      ‘Well...’ her maid went back to laying out the clothes ‘...he’s certainly a handsome one. We were all commenting on it last night. Don’t see too many handsome librarians.’

      Annorah looked up from the box and gave her maid a polite but freezing smile, meant to halt the conversation. ‘There’s a first time for everything. I trust we won’t embarrass our guest with too much probing while he’s here.’

      Now, if only she could live by those rules. There was a man in her house and she wanted to know everything about him. He was handsome and charming and when he looked at her, when he flirted with her, when he’d kissed her, it had become difficult to remember he didn’t really mean it, that he was just doing his job. Her inability to accept that had created a dilemma for her last night she’d been unable to resolve.

      Part of her had clearly been ready to melt for him and engage the fantasy in full; those looks, those lines were for her alone, that he didn’t run all over London saying the same things to a different woman every night. You’re an enjoyable woman to be with... I think this is one of the most enjoyable evenings I’ve had in years. She had been willing to believe his words, every last one of them. That scared her. Her feelings had been thoroughly engaged once before to disastrous results. She had to be careful. She didn’t want to walk down that road again—it was one of the reasons she’d hired Nicholas in the first place: physical pleasure without mental attachment. Now, that was being called into question. She could lose herself in him, the way she’d lost herself more than once before, only to be fooled by false affections in the end.

      And yet that was the other side of the dilemma. If she kept her distance and reminded herself he was just doing a job, she didn’t know if she could go through with it. She was not a person who believed intimacy could be a job. Intimacy had to be more than a daily chore. It had never been work for her parents, who had lived and died together. She’d promised herself years ago it would never be work for her either.

      Somewhere, there was a middle ground and she needed to find it. Perhaps seeing him in the morning light without the added benefit of moonlight and champagne would bring the balanced perspective she needed to let herself move forwards.

      * * *

      It only took a moment to realise the morning would bring no such thing. When she arrived downstairs, Nicholas D’Arcy sat at the head of the breakfast table, turned out in summer driving gear, carefully pressed trousers and polished boots, his linen pristine, looking as elegant as he had last night. He looked up from the two-day-old newspaper and smiled. ‘Good morning.’ It might possibly be the nicest good morning she’d ever heard. The only one better would be to hear those tones on the pillow beside her.

      ‘You’re an early riser.’ She caught herself too late. His sense of naughty innuendo was wearing off on her.

      ‘I can be.’ He gave her a wicked smile, not letting her ignore the implication. ‘I had a few things I wanted to take care of.’ He set aside the newspaper and gesture to the chair next to him, motioning for her to sit.

      ‘Missing town already?’ Annorah nodded towards the discarded newspaper. She seldom read the papers. It didn’t matter to her how out of date they were. It would matter to a man like him, though, yet another reminder of how different they were. She was a country mouse to his citified bronze. How was she ever to feel at ease with such a sophisticated man?

      ‘Just keeping up on the news.’ He rose and went to the sideboard. ‘Would you like eggs?’

      She nodded, a bit amazed he was fixing her plate. ‘Sausage?’ he asked, keeping up a steady stream of conversation while he assembled her breakfast. ‘I explained to Cook we’d be touring the grounds and that we’d need a lunch. I made arrangements for the gig to be ready at ten. We’ll want to set out before it gets too hot.’

      He presented her with breakfast and a sudden, unexpected rush of tears stung her eyes. It was perfect. She would have eaten whatever he served, even if it had been a plate full of eels, so touched was she by the simple gesture. Maybe there was no middle ground. Maybe she should just give over to the fantasy.

      ‘I could have done that,’ she managed to choke out. The plate, the picnic, the gig. She could have done all of it. She’d been making her own arrangements and decisions for years.

      ‘Of course you could have.’ He sat down again. ‘That’s not the point.’

      ‘You’re not here to wait on me,’ she protested between bites of shirred eggs. But it was a half-hearted protest at best. Had breakfast ever tasted this good? Her usual breakfast was more of a pro forma ritual, something she had to do. This morning, however, she was aware the eggs were hot, the sausage was spicy, the toast was warm and the butter was melted.

      ‘Let me worry about what I’m here to do and not do.’ Nicholas took his seat again.

      ‘I’ll change after breakfast so I don’t keep you waiting.’

      He knit his dark brows together in exaggerated consternation. ‘Why change? You look lovely in what you’re wearing.’

      ‘It’s not a driving dress,’ she argued, but again with little heat. A carriage dress would be much warmer wear and less comfortable than her morning dress in cool white muslin sprigged with tiny pink flowers and who was there to see her?

      He leaned forwards, resting his chin on his hand. ‘No СКАЧАТЬ