Not even the identification jolted Beau out of his enthralment. She was stepping towards him, no longer on the staircase, and he realised she was almost as tall as he was. If he reached out and pulled her against him their bodies would be right for each other, fitting together without any manoeuvring. The thought sent another shot of excitement down to the area Beau was struggling to control.
“Please accept my deepest sympathy, Mr. Prescott.”
Her soft, sexy voice caressed his spine into a sensual shiver.
“Your grandfather’s death was a grievous shock to all of us. I’m sure it was very much so to you.”
He belatedly noticed her hand extended to him. He grasped it, seeing its slim whiteness disappear, enfolded by his own darkly tanned hand, her fingers fluttering slightly against the strength of his. He wrenched his gaze up to hers again, fighting the fascination of the seemingly fragile extension of her femininity within his grip.
He had to think, had to speak. This woman, unbelievably, was Nanny Stowe. Sedgewick had said so. Therefore she had to be, however incredible it was.
“Wallace told me how well you arranged the funeral,” Beau heard himself say in a reasonably normal voice. “I could not have done better for my grandfather. Thank you.”
She nodded towards Sedgewick and Mrs. Featherfield. “Everyone helped.”
“Yes.” Beau forced himself to acknowledge them. “It was a grand effort and I appreciate it. Very much.”
They nodded, gratified.
Nanny Stowe spoke on, her sympathy subtly shifting to eloquent appeal. “I hope you don’t think it...well, unseemly...but I felt you might like to share the paying of last respects to your grandfather, so I arranged for the funeral service to be videotaped. The cassette is in the library, should you want to play it through sometime.”
“It was a kind thought. Thank you again.”
Beau was happily drowning in the glorious blue of her eyes, sucked right in by their seductive softness and going down for the third time. He was barely conscious of the replies he made, words dribbling out of his mouth when called for. When she fell silent he didn’t really notice. Her eyes were locked on to his and he could have stood there, getting in deeper and deeper but for Sedgewick interrupting.
“We have refreshments waiting for you in the informal dining room, sir.”
Her hand twitched in his, making Beau realise he was still hanging on to it. Reluctantly he let it go. Her skin was like warm silk as it slid away from his. “Yes. I could do with some coffee, Sedgewick,” he answered, obviously needing something to snap him out of this entrancement. Perhaps jet lag had caught up with him. Even moving from where he was didn’t occur to him.
Sedgewick orchestrated action. “Nanny Stowe, if you’d like to lead the way...”
She took a deep breath as though she, too, was feeling a lack of oxygen. “Perhaps you’d like to freshen up first, Mr. Prescott.”
Did he look as though he’d been run over by a truck? He smiled to dispel any questions about his mental and physical state, preferring to be the only one knowing how shaken he was. “No, I’m fine. Please lead on.”
He was happy to stay behind her, watching her walk. Her fabulous hair reached almost to her waist, its gleaming ripples shifting with each step she took. It was so alive, Beau fancied there was an electric current running through it, throwing off showers of sparks that were infiltrating him. Something had to account for the weird pins and needles attacking every part of his body.
Though the jaunty roll of her very cute bottom below her impossibly tiny waist might be causing the itchy feeling in his hands. He kept them rigidly at his sides to stop them from reaching out. This woman would have to be the most stunningly gorgeous, sexiest creature he’d ever seen in his life.
And she was Nanny Stowe?
A sharply unsettling question darted through the fog in Beau’s brain.
What had his grandfather been doing with her?
Two years she’d been under this roof and his grandfather, according to Wallace, had definitely not fallen into his second childhood. The more Beau thought about the situation, and all he’d heard and seen so far, it became disturbingly clear that Wallace, Sedgewick and Mrs. Featherfield viewed Nanny Stowe as mistress of the house.
And she was playing hostess to him right now!
The bottom suddenly fell out of the excitement she’d stirred in him. Beau went cold all over. It made horribly perfect sense. His grandfather had always enjoyed having a pretty woman on his arm. On both arms. But having found this one, why bother with any other? She had star quality on a megascale and his grandfather would have adored parading her everywhere. And probably adored her, as well! He’d loved owning beautiful things.
Beau’s stomach started contracting, working up a nauseous feeling. Refreshments were certainly in order. He obviously needed food as well as coffee.
When they reached the informal dining room, his suspicion was further confirmed by the way she moved automatically to the foot of the table and Sedgewick held her chair for her. Clearly it was her place and taken for granted, even though his grandfather was no longer here.
Then Mr. Polly arrived on the scene, carrying a basket of freshly cut, dark red roses. His weather-beaten face was cracked into a benevolent smile. “I’m so sorry I missed you at the front doors, sir. Good to have you home.”
Beau shook the offered hand. “Thank you, Mr. Polly. The gardens look as superb as ever.”
“I keep at it, sir. I brought this basket up. Thought Nanny Stowe might like to put these roses in your room, sir.” He turned to her. “They’re the best of the Mr. Lincolns, Nanny Stowe. Lovely fragrance.”
She blushed.
Beau was once again distracted by the fascinating flow of colour lighting up her pale skin.
Mrs. Featherfield swooped. “I’ll take the basket, Mr. Polly. Let’s go out to the kitchen and put the roses in water. Nanny Stowe will see to them later. She’s having coffee with Master Beau right now.”
Yes...they all considered Nanny Stowe a cut above themselves, Beau thought, watching Mr. Polly being swept away. Arranging roses in a vase for a guest’s room was the kind of genteel occupation suited to the mistress of the house. Except he wasn’t a guest. Which probably accounted for her embarrassment. She knew, even if the others didn’t yet appreciate it, his arrival changed the status quo.
Sedgewick proceeded to serve them with coffee and a selection of freshly baked croissants. “If you’d like something more substantial, sir, Jeffrey, the cook, is standing by.”
“No, I did have breakfast on the plane, Sedgewick. This is more than enough, thank you.”
Sedgewick stationed himself by the sideboard, ready to be attentive to every need. Nanny Stowe composed herself again, adopting a waiting attitude. Beau ate a crisp croissant and drank some coffee to wash down the flaky crumbs. It didn’t really help his churning stomach but it gave him time to think.
“Did
