Leslie Lafoy Read Online Free

he had to admit that she had talent. Willing to play his part, he blithely supplied, “For the housekeeper position advertised in this morning’s Times. ”
    For a second, anger flashed in her eyes like ice in the sun and then it was gone, replaced by a kind of tattered resignation that made him want to reach out for her, to take her face gently between his hands and ask her to tell him how she came to be standing on his doorstep. She’d cry and he’d kiss away her pretty tears and draw her inside, assuring her that all would be—
    “I’m not here to interview for employment,” she said, shattering his fantasy. “I have personal business to discuss with Mr. Reeves. Is he perchance at home and receiving callers this morning? It’s very important.”
    She thought he was the butler? In what corner of the British empire did butlers answer the door at noon dressed only in a silk dressing gown? Amused, he crossed his arms over his chest and inquired, “What sort of personal business?”
    “I’m sorry, sir, but ‘personal’ implies that it would be inappropriate to discuss the matter with anyone but Mr. Reeves.”
    She’d said it kindly and softly, but the notes of censure were there nonetheless. One needed a housekeeper who fully understood and was willing to hold the line of propriety. At least in public. “I’m Carden Reeves. And I’m certain that I’d recall having previously met you, madam. What personal business could there be for us to discuss?”
    She drew back—not as though repulsed by any means, but in apparent shock. He couldn’t tell whether it was because she’d suddenly realized that she was speaking not to the butler but to the master of the house, or because the masters of the houses in that far corner of the empire didn’t answer their own doors in dressing gowns. As her gaze skimmed him from hair to toes, he decided that it must be the latter; she seemed more curious than embarrassed. He liked curious women.
    “Madam?”
    “Forgive me,” she said somewhat breathlessly as she met his gaze again. “It’s just that you’re nothing at all like Arthur.”
    If her intent was to give him a turn at rocking back on his heels, she succeeded. “You know my older brother?”
    She nodded. “Your brother was a wonderful, kind, and considerate man.”
    He felt the earth shift under his feet and he straightened his stance, desperate to hold his equilibrium. “Was? Did you say was ?”
    She too shifted on the step, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin slightly. “I regret having to be the bearer of such news, but nine months ago your brother and his wife departed for a brief expedition into the interior of Belize. Since they haven’t returned or sent word, they’re presumed to be dead.”
    “Presumed?” he repeated, knowing even as he did that he was grasping at straws. “Then he might still be alive.”
    Her smile was tight, and deep in her eyes he saw the tiniest, briefest flicker of irritation. “You know nothing of the jungle, do you, Mr. Reeves?”
    “He can’t be dead. He simply can’t be.”
    “I’m afraid that is the most likely of all the possibilities.”
    Christ on a crutch, this was the very last thing in the world he wanted to hear. First Percival and now, apparently, Arthur. He was cursed. And damned. If word got out of his change in status, his every waking moment would become a living hell. He didn’t deserve this. Nothing he’d ever done in his life had been rotten enough to have brought this kind of divine vengeance down on his head.
    “Mr. Reeves?”
    He quickly scrubbed his hands over his face and then dropped them to his sides as he tried to focus his vision on the woman standing in front of him. The beautiful messenger of ugly news. Proof that God had an extremely twisted sense of irony. And a mean streak as wide as the Thames.
    “While I’m sensitive to your upset and grieving, Mr. Reeves,” he heard her say kindly but firmly, “there are,