Read Online Head in the Clouds by Karen Witemeyer - Free Book Online Page B

but if he had said something to Mr. Westcott … No. She shouldn’t borrow trouble. She’d learned her lesson about saying too much during her interview in Fort Worth. She’d not make the same mistake here. A woman was due some privacy after all, and a true gentleman would never pry.
    “My reasons for leaving were of a personal nature. I’m sure you understand.” Adelaide smiled, hoping her words didn’t sound as prudish to him as they did to her.
    “Of course.” He splayed his hands before her, palms up, as if accepting her vague response. Then he touched her. His index finger pressed lightly on the back of her hand, and shivers danced up her arm. “But it doesn’t seem fair for me to reveal a piece of my personal story without you doing the same. I promise to hold whatever you tell me in the strictest confidence.”
    Adelaide bit her lip. He had opened up to her. She wanted to reciprocate, especially when he looked at her as he did now, as if she alone held the key to his future happiness. He wasn’t asking for much, just an answer to his question. But that answer could jeopardize her position.
    “I’m sorry, Mr. Westcott.” She glanced down, her eyes glued to where his hand touched hers. “I’d rather not go into specifics. I can assure you, however, that the situation that led me to Fort Worth will in no way affect my ability to carry out the duties you hired me to perform.”
    He sighed. “Very well.”
    Gideon withdrew his hand, and his demeanor subtly changed. He shifted away from her in his seat. His smile faded to a polite curve. No dimples. No twinkle in his eye. No flirtatious wink. He once again became lord of the manor.
    Another shiver ran through Adelaide—only this time it held foreboding instead of delight. Henry Belcher had charmed her with sweet words and false promises in order to get what he wanted—a female companion to toy with while he was away from his wife … and promotion-worthy book sales. Was Gideon Westcott cut from the same cloth?
    He didn’t strike her as the type to lure her into a tawdry affair under the same roof as his daughter, but he had certainly been working his wiles to try to get her to divulge her secret. And she had nearly done so. If she had learned nothing else from her experience with Henry, she’d learned charm could not be trusted.
    “So, Miss Proctor … about your duties.”
    Relieved that her employer had assumed a more professional mien, Adelaide sat up straight and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
    “Isabella is a very quiet child, and not just because she chooses not to speak. Ever since—”
    “Excuse me. Did you say she chooses not to speak?” Adelaide’s mind spun. If the child wasn’t truly mute, then why didn’t she speak? Was she afraid? Obstinate? Unstable?
    Gideon’s voice cut into her thoughts.
    “She used to prattle on about everything under the sun.” Regret tightened the corners of his mouth. “I think it is somehow tied to her mother’s death. She hasn’t spoken a word since.”
    Adelaide pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. It had been years since her father’s passing, but she recalled the heartrending pain of the loss. She’d never really known her mother as anything more than a pretty woman in a picture on the parlor mantel. Anna Proctor had died trying to birth a stillborn son when Adelaide was two. But she remembered everything about the day her father passed, as well as the anger and resentment that flooded through her when Aunt Louise whisked her away to Boston, forcing her to leave everything familiar behind.
    Well, except for Sheba. Adelaide had refused to leave without her filly. She’d slept in her horse’s stall every night until Aunt Louise finally agreed to bring the animal along. The sale of the ranch paid for Sheba’s boarding as well as Adelaide’s schooling, leaving her a small portion on account at the bank that could tide her over in an emergency. But even if her father had left her an