The Hired Husband. Judith Stacy
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Claudia murmured.
“Go home,” Rachel told her, taking her elbow and urging her toward the foyer. “You’ve got the perfect man coming to ask for your hand.”
“You’d better prepare yourself for what will happen when word of Mr. Kincade gets out. Every young woman in the city will try and steal that man right out of your own house.” Claudia said, with a crooked grin. Then she gave Rachel a quick hug. “I’ll give you the details tomorrow.”
“You’d better,” Rachel called as her friend hurried out the front door.
In the silence, Rachel’s smile faded. Claudia’s life was set, it seemed. Tonight she’d become engaged to Graham Bixby, a truly perfect man, presenting Claudia with a truly perfect future to look forward to. While Rachel’s life…
She fought off the sadness that crept into her thoughts and drew in a breath. She’d make it perfect again, just as it used to be. And the place to start was with Mitch Kincade.
Another troubling thought from earlier landed squarely in Rachel’s mind once more. What if he left? Before he finished his work here?
That brought on another recollection of Benjamin Blair. Determinedly, Rachel shoved it into the deepest recesses of her mind and focused once more on her family.
If Mitch threatened to leave, she’d forbid it, Rachel decided. Though he hardly seemed like a man who did anything that didn’t suit him, she would force him to stay. Somehow.
In the meantime, she had to get on with things. Mitch had insisted he be left alone to work, but that was impossible. He was a guest, after all. To ignore him simply wasn’t done.
When Rachel entered the study she found Mitch seated at the desk but his gaze was trained on the doorway, as if he’d expected her to walk in. He got to his feet immediately and Rachel thought once more how out of place he looked here among the ledgers and account books stacked up around him.
Surely the man was better suited for outdoor work, something physical, something in the sunshine, something that required no shirt.
Rachel winced and tried to force the heat from her cheeks. Good gracious, what was wrong with her?
Mitch seemed to be lost in his own thoughts and didn’t appear to notice her momentary distress. Rachel pushed on.
“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