Forbidden in February (2 page)

Taking a deep breath, he took out the key that he hadn’t used since he’d stopped living there and let himself into the house.

Silence reigned in the gloomy interior, almost oppressive in its intensity. He tried to shake off the unease that hadn’t left him since learning of his mother’s death and that now threatened to suffocate him. No one was expecting him, so Walters was probably off doing something else.

He made his way down the long hallway toward the back of the house and down the stairs, hoping to come across one of the staff. His mother didn’t employ many—a butler and a cook who’d been with them since he was a child, a maid, and her lady’s maid—but surely someone would be here.

He frowned when he found no one in the kitchen. With no one to cook for aside from the rest of the staff, he hadn’t really expected to find Mrs. Harris there, but surely there should be some sign of her. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that perhaps the staff had already moved on to other positions if arrangements hadn’t been made to continue their salary. The short letter he’d received from his mother’s solicitor informing him of her death and requesting his presence in London hadn’t gone into any details about the current state of the household.

Cursing softly, he changed direction and headed for the second-floor library that also served as a study. Even if the staff were still employed and off doing heaven only knew what, they’d no doubt appreciate knowing what would happen to them. Anxious to learn what had transpired during his mother’s final months, he realized that he’d need to search through her papers. He didn’t intend to keep the house, but he hoped to find some instructions there. He wasn’t sure he could wait until his meeting with her solicitor.

As he made his way upstairs, his disquiet grew. The stillness of the house left him with the uneasy sensation that the house had died along with his mother. He couldn’t remember a time when it had ever been this quiet.

When he reached the library and crossed the threshold, two things struck him at once. The first was that the curtains were open and the room free of dust, indicating that it had been cleaned recently. The second was that a young woman was curled on the settee, asleep, an open book lying on the small table beside the settee. He froze as he tried to make out her features, but her light brown hair—hair that he couldn’t help noticing was much lighter on the ends—was unbound and covered part of her face. He was almost certain he’d never met her though since she appeared to be quite a bit younger than the other servants. But the fact that he didn’t recognize her didn’t really mean anything. His mother could have hired a new maid, and she certainly wouldn’t have felt the need to run that decision by him.

Just a few months before, when the duke had still been alive, Robert wouldn’t have hesitated to wake her and demand that she return to her duties. It said a lot about the current state of upheaval in his life that he wasn’t even tempted to do so now. Heaven knew he’d had his share of interminable days that dragged on with nothing to occupy himself since his duties as a valet had ceased to become necessary. Although he’d never taken a nap during the day, he couldn’t deny that there had been times when he’d been tempted to do so to make the day pass more quickly.

He hesitated for a moment, then decided that he wouldn’t allow the sleeping woman to keep him from his current task. But first he needed to set a fire. It was so cold in the room he could almost see his breath. He moved to the small fireplace opposite the settee and crouched, going about the task with quick, efficient movements before standing again and turning toward his mother’s desk.

He couldn’t keep his eyes from straying back to the young woman and moving in appreciation over the curves of her slim figure beneath the light blanket she’d draped over herself to guard against the chill of the room. He was only human, after all, and he’d always appreciated a pretty woman. Not that he could really tell if she was pretty. Maybe if he moved the loose strands of hair away from her face…

He clenched his hand at his side and forced himself to move toward the desk, which was across the room. The back of the settee would be between him and the young woman and would obscure her from view as he worked. Whoever she was, the very last thing she needed was to awaken with a strange man hovering over her, his hand in her hair. He could just imagine the scream he’d be subjected to, and there would be no way to excuse his actions.

It took an almost-inhuman amount of effort to force his thoughts away from the young woman and back to the task at hand as he lowered himself into the chair behind the desk. Its deep mahogany surface was smooth and free of clutter, just as his mother preferred. He opened a drawer and let out a heavy breath. A quick glance through all the other draws told him that while his mother preferred to maintain an appearance of serenity and control, she was still as disorganized as ever below the surface. He went back to the first drawer and removed all the papers stuffed haphazardly within it onto the desk’s surface. It was going to take him a while to go through all the papers she’d crammed into the drawers.

Isabel came awake slowly. She rolled onto her back and stretched out on the settee, easing her cramped legs, and sighed. The nap had been blissful, but it hadn’t solved any of her problems. She’d always been prone to putting aside troubling thoughts, preferring to find solace in keeping busy. When that wasn’t possible, she usually sought the oblivion of a book. And yes, when she was younger she’d also been known to escape, however temporarily, by taking a nap. She thought she’d shaken that habit since coming to work for Mrs. Milton one year ago, but apparently that wasn’t the case.

When she remembered that she’d been reading, she panicked for a moment, afraid she’d slept with the book on her and crumpled some of the pages. She looked down at herself, then at the floor next to her. Finally, when she spotted the book on the side table, she released the breath she’d been holding. No one would know if she’d bent the pages of the ornate volume of poetry, but she would know and would feel guilty.

The sun streaming through the windows told her that it was sometime around midafternoon. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different, and it took her a few moments to realize that a fire had been lit. She frowned, wondering who could have lit it. She was warm under her blanket and it hadn’t been necessary. She’d told everyone they had to watch their expenses carefully. They couldn’t afford to have fires burning in rooms where they weren’t needed.

She dragged herself into a sitting position, trying to shake off the lethargy that usually plagued her when she slept during the day.

“Don’t be frightened.”

She gasped at the sound of the unfamiliar male voice and spun around on the settee, hoping to find that Mr. Walters had returned from the errand on which she’d sent him. When she saw, instead, a stranger rising from behind Mrs. Milton’s desk—a desk that looked as though he’d dumped volumes of paperwork over its surface—she stood in alarm, very aware that she was, in all likelihood, alone in the house with a stranger.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” She took a step backward, her gaze darting to the door as she considered whether she could outrun him. She didn’t think it likely, but she was willing to try.

He also took a step back and raised his arms, palms outward. Clearly he wanted her to think he was harmless. Her muscles tensed as she prepared to make good her attempt at escape.

“I apologize for startling you. I am Robert Milton. My mother owned this house. If you could locate one of the other servants, one who’s been here for a few years, they will confirm my identity.”

Tension eased from her body at his explanation, and she realized that the man before her did indeed resemble the one in the miniature his mother had kept by her bedside. Of course. Mr. Greaves had said that he’d be notifying Robert of his mother’s passing. It only made sense that he’d come here and that he’d have a key to the house.

She heard his footsteps as he approached, her heart rate continuing to slow when she realized he was moving slowly so as not to alarm her. If he were a burglar or someone intent on harming her, he wouldn’t be trying to put her at ease now.

“I didn’t wish to disturb you when I came in. I was hoping to familiarize myself with the state of my mother’s affairs since I last saw her.” He stopped in front of her, careful to stay far enough away so she wouldn’t be alarmed, and waved a hand in the direction of the desk. “As you see, the task will take more time than I anticipated.”

Suddenly conscious of how disheveled she must appear to the immaculately dressed man before her, she swept a hand down the front of her dress in a vain effort to smooth out the creases. As she hadn’t bothered to bring any pins with her, she could do nothing about her unbound hair.

She raised her eyes to meet his, about to tell him that she would have appreciated some advance notice about his visit, but was struck momentarily speechless. Robert Milton had his mother’s coloring—black hair and blue eyes that seemed almost startling in their intensity. But while Mrs. Milton had remained a beautiful woman right up to the end, one would never characterize her son as being effeminate. She’d expected as much given the fact that he was working as a valet. Her own cousin’s valet had been slim and scarcely taller than her own five-foot frame, but the man standing before her now didn’t seem to have come from the same universe as that other man.

He was so much taller than her that she was grateful he stood far enough away so she wouldn’t have to crane her neck to look at him. And while he was slim, something about the way he carried himself told her that he wouldn’t be weak. A ridiculous urge to reach out and touch him, to see whether he sported muscles under his shirtsleeves, had her looking away as she tried to gather the wits that seemed to have fled at his appearance.

“Do you speak?”

The amusement in his voice had her straightening her spine and meeting his gaze again. She didn’t miss the way his eyes swept over her, but she refused to allow this man to cause her further discomfort.

“Of course I do,” she snapped before she could restrain herself. When his eyebrows rose at her rudeness, she took a steadying breath and continued. “I apologize. You caught me by surprise. If I’d known to expect you, I would have received you properly.”

His brows drew together at her words. “I’m sorry, but you have me at a disadvantage. My mother didn’t tell me she had hired a new maid—”

“Oh no, I’m not a maid. I’m Miss Isabel Durham, your mother’s companion.”

His confusion changed at her introduction. She wasn’t sure what to make of this stranger in front of her, but the last thing she expected him to do was to fold his arms across his chest and scowl at her.

“I see. Well, it turns out that my mother did mention you.”

His anger baffled her. “I don’t understand. I’ve already apologized for my rudeness. You surprised me and I didn’t know who you were.”

“Is there a reason why you’re still living here? Wait, let me guess. You’ve decided to move into my mother’s chamber and continue where she left off.”

“Excuse me? I have no idea what you’re accusing me of. I would never move into your mother’s bedroom, nor do I understand what you mean by ‘continuing where she left off.’ I’m only here because I’ve been waiting for your arrival.”

“Why?” he asked, taking a step closer.

He glared down at her for several seconds, and within that time she saw his anger change into something else. Something dangerous that would have had her taking a step backward if the settee weren’t directly behind her.

“You’re not going to pretend to be shy, are you?” He took another step closer, and her heart gave a funny little leap at the intensity of his gaze. “I assure you, I can handle plainness. You don’t need to be coy with me.”

At his next step, she raised her hand to prevent him from coming any closer.

“I think you have me confused with someone else. I said I was your mother’s companion.”

She gasped in shock when he took hold of her hand and pressed it against his chest. His hand was warm over hers, and she had the irrelevant thought that he was indeed quite muscular.

“Companion, protégé… I care not what you call it. But what once seemed distasteful to me when my mother first proposed it now sounds attractive beyond measure. Of course, I won’t promise to be your protector—I’ve seen enough growing up in this household to know how such an arrangement can lead to misery all around—but I wouldn’t be averse to a discreet affair.”

“What?” The word escaped on a shaky breath. Her legs threatened to give out, and she dropped to the settee. To her dismay, instead of releasing her hand, Robert followed her down, sitting entirely too close for her peace of mind.

“Come now, you don’t have to pretend with me. My mother told me she’d chosen you for me. And you did say that you were awaiting my arrival.”

She tugged her hand from his grasp, relieved when he released it, and rose quickly, moving around to the back of the settee so that the solid piece of furniture stood between them. Her pulse beat frantically as she tried to make sense of his words.

He stood, and when he moved to follow her, she made a small sound of alarm that had him furling his brow again. Fortunately, it also seemed to stop him from drawing nearer.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was Mrs. Milton’s companion—only her companion. I certainly am not what… what…” She waved her hand between them. “Whatever it is you are thinking, you can stop right now. When your mother became ill last year, she hired me to keep her company and to help her when she became overtired. Something that happened more frequently as the months passed and her illness progressed. You’d know that if you’d bothered to stay in touch with her at all.”

He opened his mouth to interject, but she continued before he could say a word. “I don’t know why you’d presume to know anything about me, but I can assure you that I most definitely will not be engaging in an
affair
with you, nor do I desire your
protection
.”