Page 2 of The Housekeeper's One-Night Baby
‘No. Not yet.’ Her people-pleasing tendency asserted itself and she shot him a sympathetic look. ‘He should have been.’
‘Yes, he should,’ he agreed coldly.
‘Maybe he’s been delayed.’
‘Maybe,’ he conceded, the careless flick of his hand indicating that already he was bored with discussions about the agent, before he frowned again. ‘But youarestill selling your house?’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, of course,’ she replied hastily and was about to enlighten him that it wasn’t actuallyherhouse and she was just the housekeeper, when something stopped her. He had obviously made the incorrect assumption about her status because she was dressed in this glorious emerald concoction, made by one of the world’s leading designers. He certainly wouldn’t have asked the same question if she’d been clad in the unflattering grey uniform Sylvie had always insisted she wear—‘I think it’s better when the staff dress like staff, Lizzie. Everyone likes to know where they stand’—or the sturdy black brogues her boss favoured.
‘I’m not actually the owner,’ she said reluctantly.
‘Oh?’
She met the ebony gleam of his eyes and didn’t know what made her say it. Was it because she was enjoying being looked at like a woman for once, rather than some drudge of a servant? Being treated as a human being with thoughts and feelings of her own—rather than as a piece of old furniture you could put your feet on.
‘I’m...erm...house-sitting,’ she blurted out. Which to some extent was true. She certainly wasn’t beingpaidto be here, was she? She was poor and would soon be homeless, but right now she wasn’t coming across that way, not judging by the way this man was still regarding her—with unmistakable admiration glittering from his beautiful ebony eyes. And suddenly Lizzie found herself wanting to play the game a little longer. To be a woman in an expensive dress without any scary fears about the future. Why shouldn’t she act as if she were this man’s equal, even if she knew very well she wasn’t? ‘But I know the property extremely well. I could show you round, if you wanted.’ She hesitated. ‘Or you go along to the drawing room and wait for the agent in there.’
‘I could. But I haven’t much time, I need to be back in London this evening.’ His voice became matter-of-fact again and Lizzie wondered if she had imagined the ruthless expression which briefly hardened his strong features.
‘Right,’ she said uncertainly.
‘And so I’m happy for you to show me around instead,’ he continued, before fixing her with a quizzical smile. ‘Unless you have something else you’d rather be doing?’
The impact of that smile was devastating and Lizzie’s heart performed a rapid somersault. But that couldn’t have been a serious question. Surely he must be aware that most women would have moved heaven and earth to spend time with him. She certainly would. Hell, yes. It wasn’t every day that a man like this tumbled into your orbit.
And even though a small voice was warning against being dazzled by all his charisma, she shut her mind to it. She was perfectly qualified to give him a guided tour and hadn’t lied about knowing the historic house. Sometimes she thought she knew the place better than Sylvie and, in truth, was miserable at the thought of having to leave. Over the years, Lizzie had made a point of learning about every precious room and artefact as she carefully polished and preserved them, and wasn’t this an opportunity to put her knowledge to some good use? To step out of her self-made shadow and shine for once, before she stepped away from the historic splendour for ever?
‘No, I haven’t got anything else I’d rather be doing,’ she said candidly. ‘In fact, I happen to have the whole day to myself.’
‘Lucky me,’ he said softly.
‘Erm.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Please. Come in.’
‘Grazie.’
She watched as he inclined his jet-dark head and entered the property and as he passed she could detect the warm scent of bergamot and spice and something else. Something which seemed at odds with his sophisticated appearance. Was she detecting pheromones and a raw and fundamental sex appeal? Suddenly Lizzie wondered if she had bitten off more than she could chew and just as suddenly realised that shedidn’t care.
‘L-let’s start here, shall we?’ she said, hastily beginning to recount the facts about the house which she’d learnt so assiduously. But that wasn’t really surprising since she had grown to love Ermecott Manor, almost as if it were her own. ‘This is the Great Hall, which was built in the mid-seventeenth century, although the stained-glass windows didn’t appear until nearly seventy years later.’ She gestured upwards towards the windows—some of which were unfortunately cracked. But the sudden movement caused her unfettered breasts to wobble beneath the delicate silk, reminding her that she wasstill wearing Sylvie’s dressand she must look like a complete idiot. Was that why Niccolò Macario gave a short intake of breath, as if someone had suddenly robbed the room of oxygen?
‘I’d better go and change into something more suitable,’ she said quickly.
Dark eyes met hers. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘It’s an evening dress.’
‘It is also a very beautiful dress, which makes you blend into these ancient surroundings perfectly,’ he commented sagely. ‘Certainly better than a pair of jeans, which I’m guessing would be your chosen alternative.’
To her horror, Lizzie started blushing at whatsoundedlike a compliment, though she didn’t exactly have a lot of experience of those either. She hadn’t been out with anyone since Dan, who used to delight in putting her down, for reasons best known to himself. Why she had tolerated it for so long was another matter and more to do with her own lack of self-esteem than any magnificent trait possessed by her ex-boyfriend.
Resisting the desire to fan her face and draw attention to her hot cheeks, Lizzie glanced down at the emerald silk which was pooling luxuriously by her feet. No point in enlightening him that she hardly ever wore jeans because she considered her bottom too big, but neither did she want to go upstairs and risk breaking the spell he seemed to have cast over her. She wanted to hang onto this delicious feeling and revel in every second of it, like someone getting into a deep bubble bath at the end of a long day. Lifting her head, she met his ebony gaze and prayed the estate agent wouldn’t suddenly ring on the front door.
‘You really think it’s okay?’ she questioned naively.
‘I really do,’ he replied gravely.
Their gazes met and she couldn’t seem to look away and neither, it seemed, could he. She’d never stared at anyone like that before—nor had the feeling that to do so was perfectly okay. It was as if he were exerting some silent and unknown power over her—making her long for things which had always eluded her before.
Her frigidity had been one of Dan’s main complaints.‘You’re like a block of ice, Lizzie.’Well, she certainly wasn’t feeling like a block of ice now. Her blood was burning through her veins and she could feel her breasts swelling to what felt like twice their normal size, their tips becoming painful little bullets which were pushing against the slippery silk of her gown. Did he notice that? Was that why his body had grown unmistakably tense?
