command, she left the room.
∫
Head bent over her needlepoint, Julia stiffened as the sound of voices in the foyer drifted up the stairs and into the salon. It was easy to distinguish Morgan’s voice from that of her butler, Calvert. A tremor shot through her as she heard heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. What to do? Greet him as though he were expected? No, far better to make it appear that his visit was of little consequence.
Once more, she returned her attention to the complex bird of paradise pattern in her hands. She punched the needle through the material just as he entered the parlor. Slowly, she turned her attention toward him in an attempt to illustrate her indifference. There was a smile of amusement on his face, almost as if he could read her mind.
“Good afternoon, Mr. St. Claire. I trust you’re feeling better?”
“Exceedingly so.”
Glancing back down at her work, she tied off her thread, surprised by the small silence filling the room. She darted a look in his direction to find him studying her with narrowed eyes. He looked every inch the gentleman in his dark blue suit coat with gray vest and trousers. Still, even dressed in the height of fashion, there was a dangerous edge about him. Determined not to lose her composure, she arched an eyebrow as she met his gaze.
“Would you care for a cup of tea? My cook was preparing some scones earlier, I’m certain they’re done by now.”
“I think a cup of tea would suit me well.”
Setting her work on the half-oval shaped table next to her wing-backed chair, she rose to her feet. Unnerved by his presence more than she cared to admit, she pressed one hand against the jade silk of her afternoon gown as she moved to ring for tea. The white lace on the sleeve tickled her wrist, reminding her of how he’d stroked her skin the other day. Disturbed by the memory, she tugged on the bell cord a trifle harder than she should have.
A sudden movement flashed just on the edge of her vision, and she jumped slightly before turning to face him. He’d moved to stand in front of the brass fire screen, his gaze focused on the small fire burning in the grate. There was tension in his jaw line and she tipped her head to one side.
“Is something wrong?”
Immediately his expression changed as he turned to look at her, his smile filled with breathtaking charm. “Not at all, being in your company is exceptionally pleasant.”
“Please save your flattery for someone more susceptible to your charms, St. Claire.”
“You seem to enjoy challenging me. The question is what will you do when I accept?” There was a hint of seduction in his voice that sent a shiver down her back.
“It was not my intent to challenge.” She moved toward the center of the room and drew in a sigh of relief at the sight of Calvert entering with a tray of tea and scones. The butler set his burden on the low table in front of the burgundy velvet couch.
“When you rang, Cook thought you would want tea brought up to the salon, madame.”
“That was most thoughtful of her. Please thank her for me, Calvert.”
The short, stocky servant smiled, then bowed and left the room. To her dismay, he closed the door behind him. Why on earth hadn’t she thought to tell him to leave it open. It was bad enough St. Claire was here at all, let alone taking tea with her in such intimate conditions. It might make the servants think the man was courting her. After all, Oscar had been dead for sometime and it wasn’t unheard of for widows to marry again.
Marriage. No. Almost ten years of torment was more than enough for a lifetime. She could still see Oscar sitting in the chair at the fireplace, berating her for speaking to the wrong person at a social gathering. The first time she’d protested, he’d slapped her. The sting of his abuse tingled its way over her skin once more, and she automatically lifted a hand to her cheek. It infuriated him when she would try to explain. She’d learned to
∫
Head bent over her needlepoint, Julia stiffened as the sound of voices in the foyer drifted up the stairs and into the salon. It was easy to distinguish Morgan’s voice from that of her butler, Calvert. A tremor shot through her as she heard heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. What to do? Greet him as though he were expected? No, far better to make it appear that his visit was of little consequence.
Once more, she returned her attention to the complex bird of paradise pattern in her hands. She punched the needle through the material just as he entered the parlor. Slowly, she turned her attention toward him in an attempt to illustrate her indifference. There was a smile of amusement on his face, almost as if he could read her mind.
“Good afternoon, Mr. St. Claire. I trust you’re feeling better?”
“Exceedingly so.”
Glancing back down at her work, she tied off her thread, surprised by the small silence filling the room. She darted a look in his direction to find him studying her with narrowed eyes. He looked every inch the gentleman in his dark blue suit coat with gray vest and trousers. Still, even dressed in the height of fashion, there was a dangerous edge about him. Determined not to lose her composure, she arched an eyebrow as she met his gaze.
“Would you care for a cup of tea? My cook was preparing some scones earlier, I’m certain they’re done by now.”
“I think a cup of tea would suit me well.”
Setting her work on the half-oval shaped table next to her wing-backed chair, she rose to her feet. Unnerved by his presence more than she cared to admit, she pressed one hand against the jade silk of her afternoon gown as she moved to ring for tea. The white lace on the sleeve tickled her wrist, reminding her of how he’d stroked her skin the other day. Disturbed by the memory, she tugged on the bell cord a trifle harder than she should have.
A sudden movement flashed just on the edge of her vision, and she jumped slightly before turning to face him. He’d moved to stand in front of the brass fire screen, his gaze focused on the small fire burning in the grate. There was tension in his jaw line and she tipped her head to one side.
“Is something wrong?”
Immediately his expression changed as he turned to look at her, his smile filled with breathtaking charm. “Not at all, being in your company is exceptionally pleasant.”
“Please save your flattery for someone more susceptible to your charms, St. Claire.”
“You seem to enjoy challenging me. The question is what will you do when I accept?” There was a hint of seduction in his voice that sent a shiver down her back.
“It was not my intent to challenge.” She moved toward the center of the room and drew in a sigh of relief at the sight of Calvert entering with a tray of tea and scones. The butler set his burden on the low table in front of the burgundy velvet couch.
“When you rang, Cook thought you would want tea brought up to the salon, madame.”
“That was most thoughtful of her. Please thank her for me, Calvert.”
The short, stocky servant smiled, then bowed and left the room. To her dismay, he closed the door behind him. Why on earth hadn’t she thought to tell him to leave it open. It was bad enough St. Claire was here at all, let alone taking tea with her in such intimate conditions. It might make the servants think the man was courting her. After all, Oscar had been dead for sometime and it wasn’t unheard of for widows to marry again.
Marriage. No. Almost ten years of torment was more than enough for a lifetime. She could still see Oscar sitting in the chair at the fireplace, berating her for speaking to the wrong person at a social gathering. The first time she’d protested, he’d slapped her. The sting of his abuse tingled its way over her skin once more, and she automatically lifted a hand to her cheek. It infuriated him when she would try to explain. She’d learned to
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