Dishonourable Intent. Anne Mather
Читать онлайн книгу.
her. It was probably Mrs Harvey, to see if she had everything she needed.
‘C-come in,’ she called, annoyed to hear the tremor in her voice even so, but she forgot her irritation when Will stepped into the room.
‘I thought you might like a drink,’ he said flatly, and her eyes darted to the mug in his hand. ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you. It’s just hot milk. It might help you to sleep.’
‘Thanks.’ Francesca shuffled into a comfortable position against the pillows, making sure the sheet was securely covering her chest. She took the mug. ‘This is very kind of you. I can’t remember the last time I had hot milk.’
Will arched a speculative brow. ‘Don’t you like it?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ She took a sip of the steaming beverage and then licked a smear of whiteness from her lip. ‘I just meant it’s a long time since—since I’ve been offered any.’ She’d nearly said since anyone had looked after her. She looked up at him, somewhat awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry I’m being such a nuisance. I—didn’t know where else to go.’
‘It’s no problem,’ he assured her evenly, and started back towards the door. ‘I’ll see you in the morning. Just tell Mrs Harvey if you’d like your breakfast in bed.’
‘I shan’t—’ she began, but the door had already closed behind his lean form, and she was left to take what comfort she could from the milk. But at least it showed he had some compassion for her, she thought wryly. In his position, would she have been so understanding with her ex?
If it was Will, probably, she decided ruefully, taking another mouthful of the hot milk. In spite of everything that had happened, she still found him disturbingly attractive. Physically, at least, she amended swiftly. Which wasn’t the same as how she’d felt before.
All the same...
She sniffed and drank some more, gasping as the unwary gulp of liquid burnt the back of her throat. Dammit, she thought, her eyes watering, he was just a man, wasn’t he? And after her experiences of the past few months she ought to have more sense.
She slept at once. As soon as her head touched the pillow, she was dead to the world, and it wasn’t until she saw sunlight pushing its way between the cracks in the curtains that she pondered the possibility that Will had put something more than just hot milk in her mug the night before.
Whatever, she awakened feeling relaxed, and vastly more optimistic. She almost managed to convince herself that nothing could be quite as bad as she’d imagined, although once again, when someone tapped for admittance, her nerves tightened uncontrollably, and it was an effort to speak.
This time it was Mrs Harvey, with a tray of morning tea, and she regarded her erstwhile mistress with surprising compassion. Francesca would have expected the housekeeper to resent her being here; she had no doubt Will’s grandmother would. Lady Rosemary had never wanted Will to marry her, and finding her here now she would be bound to think the worst.
But Mrs Harvey took the sight of her employer’s ex-wife in her stride. Even though Francesca was fresh out of the shower—she had eschewed the delights of the bath in favour of a speedier alternative—with one of the fluffy white towels tucked hurriedly beneath her arms, she showed no bias. ‘His lordship asked me to enquire if you’d care to take breakfast in the morning room,’ she announced, setting the tray on one of the square bedside cabinets before straightening to face her. ‘Might I say, you look much more yourself this morning, madam. We were all quite concerned about you last night.’
Francesca wondered what Will had told them. She’d forgotten how much a part of the family the servants at the Abbey considered themselves, and although Mrs Harvey was in her late fifties she was still one of the younger members of the staff. The trouble was, most of Will’s employees had been at the Abbey since before he was born, and it was difficult maintaining any kind of detachment with people who had once dandled you on their knee.
‘Oh—I’m fine,’ she assured Mrs Harvey now. ‘And I would prefer to come down for breakfast. But just toast and coffee for me, if you don’t mind,’ she added, remembering the housekeeper’s penchant for eggs and bacon. ‘And thank you for the tea.’
‘Are you sure that’s all you want? Just toast and coffee? His lordship has fruit juice and cereal as well.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Francesca firmly. ‘Will fifteen minutes be all right?’ She touched her damp hair. ‘Oh, and do you have a drier?’
It turned out that there was a hair-drier in the dressingtable drawer, and after Mrs Harvey had left Francesca plugged it in. She was aware that the housekeeper would have liked to stay and chat, but thankfully her duties prevented her from wasting any more time.
Francesca drank a cup of tea between bouts of drying her hair. It was getting too long, she reflected wryly, aware that it was probably more trouble than it was worth. She’d always had thick curly hair, and when she was a student she used to wear it loose. But these days she almost always secured it in a knot. Her employers at Teniko did not like untidy hair.
Deciding she was not at work today, and that she could afford to be a little more adventurous, she eventually twisted it into a chunky plait. At least it made her look a little younger, she thought, though she didn’t know why that should be an advantage. It wasn’t as if she wanted to impress Will. He was far too cynical for that.
She dressed in her jeans and a bronze silk shirt that was almost exactly the same colour as her hair. Thankfully, she had stuffed a pair of Doc Martens at the bottom of the bag, so she put them on without any socks. At least they looked better than her high-heeled pumps.
She hesitated about making her bed, and then decided against it. She remembered there were definite lines of demarcation at the Abbey, and guests did not appropriate other people’s jobs. It was something she had found hard to get used to when she’d first come to live at Lingard, but by the time she left she had become as accustomed to the privilege as Will himself.
Leaving her room, she walked along the corridor to the galleried landing, and then descended the shallow carpeted staircase to the vestibule below. The row of portraits of Will’s ancestors that lined the walls seemed to regard her disapprovingly. They probably took their cue from Lady Rosemary, thought Francesca wryly. There was a definite look of disdain in their blank stares. She shivered. She was getting paranoiac. She was imagining people were watching her wherever she went.
The house felt decidedly chilly at this hour of the morning, before the warmth of the day had had time to penetrate its thick walls. She half wished she had brought a sweater, but she hadn’t considered such practicalities when she’d packed her bag. She consoled herself with the thought that the morning room faced south-east, and was probably much warmer than the hall.
Will was still seated at the square breakfast table when she entered the sunlit apartment. She had half expected him to be gone; she had taken much longer than the fifteen minutes she had promised Mrs Harvey. But, although he had apparently had his breakfast, he was presently occupied with opening the morning’s post. A copy of the morning newspaper, too, was crumpled beside his plate.
Telling herself she had no reason to be nervous of him, Francesca nevertheless hesitated in the open doorway. ‘Um—good morning,’ she ventured, instantly attracting his attention. ‘I’m sorry I’ve taken so long.’
‘No problem.’ Stuffing the invoice he had been holding back into its envelope, Will got immediately to his feet. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘Mrs Harvey’s getting you some toast. But the coffee’s still hot if you’d like some.’
‘Thanks.’ A place had been laid for her at right angles to his, and Francesca subsided awkwardly into her seat. In the light of day, her fears of the night before seemed much exaggerated, and she made a determined effort to appear composed as she picked up the coffee pot.
But, despite her best efforts, her hand trembled as she poured the liquid, and some of the coffee splashed onto the cloth. ‘Oh, damn!’ she muttered frustratedly. ‘This