“What?” She halted and stared at him.
He halted, too, and narrowed his eyes on her face. “Yes, I went in there, and whoever’s been using that desk—”
“You didn’t move anything, did you?”
He frowned. “No, I didn’t, but whoever’s papers those are—given the subject matter, I assume they’re the steward’s—he’ll need to move them. I’m sure there’s an estate office somewhere. Now I’m here, he’ll need to work from there.”
She continued staring at him, but her gaze had grown distant, then she curtly nodded and resumed her upward climb. “I’ll take care of it.”
Something in her response didn’t fit. She glanced back, caught him eyeing her assessingly, and belatedly added, “Sir.”
Then she redoubled her pace.
Frowning more definitely—irritated and not quite understanding why—he let her escape and forge ahead, as she patently wished to do.
On reaching the head of the stairs, she rushed off to the left, along the gallery. Cromwell had told Gregory that he’d been given one of the prized turret bedchambers, which lay in the opposite direction.
He stepped into the gallery and turned toward his room and heard a door along the opposite wing close…
He halted.
Thatwas what was puzzling him—the part that didn’t fit.
Miss Caitlin Fergusson had just gone into one of the bedchambers in what had long been considered the family wing. She was very definitely not the average housekeeper.
“She does call herself a chatelaine.” Generally, that meant a glorified housekeeper.
Yet even for a chatelaine, to have a room in that wing seemed strange. Then again, Timms’s room had been along there. “Perhaps she and Timms were close.”
He considered that as he resumed his trek to his room.
Regardless of all else, one point seemed clear. If he was to make a life for himself at Bellamy Hall, he would need to come to terms with Miss Fergusson.
One way or another.
He reached the turret room, went inside, and after closing the door, looked around. It was one of the larger suites in the house, on the first floor looking out over the side lawn toward a stand of old oaks. The furniture was masculine, of heavy dark wood, elegantly carved. The curtains and bedspread were luxurious velvet and satin respectively, in a forest green that complemented the wood of the furniture and the full-height paneling that circled the room.
The window glass was old-fashioned, multipaned diamonds, sparkling clean and entirely in keeping with the rest of the room. A cheery fire burned in the grate of the large fireplace with its carved stone overmantel. Two deeply cushioned armchairs were angled before the hearth, while two tallboys and a heavy armoire stood against the walls.
He halted in the center of the room and glanced around again. All in all, it seemed a fitting haven for the new owner of Bellamy Hall.
“He’s terribly handsome, isn’t he?”
Mary Burton, Caitlin’s maid, stood behind Caitlin, who was standing before her open wardrobe, trying to decide which of her favorite gowns to wear.
Brushing out Caitlin’s black tresses, Mary continued, “So tall and with such broad shoulders! And his voice!” Despite her forty-plus years of Scottish staidness, Mary shivered deliciously. “Quite goes through one, it does.”
Caitlin couldn’t disagree; hypocrisy would stretch only so far. Her heart was still beating too fast, and she could all too clearly remember the sensations of that long, lean body hard against hers. Nevertheless… “When it comes to handsome men, I always remember what my grandmother used to say. Handsome is as handsome does, and we’ve yet to learn what Mr. Cynster intends to do. The blue or the violet?”
Jerked from contemplation of the new owner, Mary looked over Caitlin’s shoulder. “The violet tonight. You don’t want to dazzle him—not if you’re wanting him to concentrate on the businesses, like you said.”
Chin firming, Caitlin lifted out the violet-silk gown. “And my amethysts, I think.”
Mary ceased plying the brush, took the gown from her hands, and bustled to the bed.
Between them, they got Caitlin gowned, with her hair up in a style more flattering for the evening and the amethysts winking purple about her throat and dangling from her earlobes.
Mary stepped back, surveyed her from head to toe, and sighed. “There, now. You’re as prepared as you can be.” She grinned. “And you have to admit, having him here is terribly exciting.”
