“A thong?” he asked, picturing her in a thong, her arms crossed modestly across her breasts. It was a most arousing image and not the sort that often popped into his head. He was usually a man of stern self-control.
“Leather,” she corrected. “A strip of leather for the bird.”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Leather. The very thing. Thank you.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
“I’d better be going,” he said. “Um. See you later.”
“Yes. Perhaps.” She gave him an unreadable smile.
He made his way out the door and into the Jeep. He got onto the road again and felt the blood roaring in his ears.
What the hell had gone wrong with him back there? When he’d seen her earlier this morning, he’d thought she was singularly pretty, but this time—she’d affected him as few women ever had. Why?
Because you got a closer look at her, he told himself. You looked into those green, green eyes for the first time. And she had such a unique air about her. You touched her. You were alone with her.
He’d slipped the charm into the front pocket of his jeans, and it seemed to spread the heat of desire through his groin. He smacked himself in the forehead with the heel of his palm. Why did she make him react this way?
But he knew why, and had known, perhaps unconsciously, from the moment he’d seen her again.
She somehow reminded him of Kellie Maguire, whom he’d loved all those years ago. The girl who’d been so strong of purpose, but turned out to be so vulnerable.
Marie was small, like Kellie, and beautiful, but in a completely different way. He remembered her at the Scepter, speaking foreign languages fluently, working so gracefully and with such sparkle—and defending herself like a champion. And yet there was vulnerability there, he could feel it, and it brought out an almost fiercely protective urge in him.
Again he seemed to hear Kellie’s voice. “I don’t know how you did it, Preston. It’s broad daylight. But maybe you just found the door into the moon. Glimpse of the future, Mr. Serioso?”
Chapter Five
That afternoon, the Fairchild household bustled, readying itself for Louisa’s return. Helena, the kitchen assistant, made sure all spices and condiments and baking goods were in perfect alphabetical order; Bindy and Marie polished the counters and appliances to an even higher sheen.
“How long has Miss Fairchild been gone?” Marie asked, puzzled by cleaning things that already seemed spotless.
“Only since last night,” Bindy said. “But she gets irked if there’s any sign of people slacking off when she’s not here. And nobody wants her irked.”
Marie wondered if the very ground would shake when Louisa Fairchild drew near and if small animals would run for cover. “Is she as fearsome as everybody seems to think?”
Bindy rolled her pale blue eyes. “That girl who was here before you? Annabel? Fired for kissing one of the Lochlain stable boys. He was always hangin’ about. Miss came and found them snogging and groping outside, while inside eight apple pies was burning. She made Annabel weep like a waterfall and told her to get off the property by sunset. She watches her single girls, Miss does. She’s strict.”
“But what if you want to go out?” Marie asked.
“We go on our time off and we have to be back here by midnight—alone. The guard lets us in.”
“Do you go out?” Marie asked curiously. Bindy wasn’t traditionally pretty, but she had a lot of bubble and bounce to her.
“Me? Oh, yes. I mean, there’s nothing to do around here at night except watch detective shows on the telly. I’ve got a boyfriend, but I’m careful. Still, lately I’ve found my eye roving. That Andrew Preston’s major sexy.”
Marie hoped her cheeks didn’t flush. “Is he?” she asked with false innocence.
“Can’t you see?” Bindy demanded. “My word! Every woman here’s noticed, even the laundress, Mrs. Fife, and she’s at least a hundred and fifty!”
“He’s too tall,” Marie said, improvising. “Looking at him’s like staring up at a giraffe.”
Bindy laughed, then suddenly looked alarmed. She went pale. “Oh, dear! I see Miss Fairchild’s car! She’s home early. I need to change my apron. And hide my book. She hates it if she catches me sitting about reading.”
She snatched her mystery novel off the counter and rushed to the restroom off the kitchen, just as Mrs. Lipton ran in from the dining room. “She’s here, she’s here. I must make coffee,” she cried. “She’s at least an hour early.”
“She’s driven all this way alone?” Marie asked.
“No, no. The deputy housekeeper drives, Agnes. Have you started those desserts yet? Oh, my God, she’ll be expecting her coffee and a lovely snack.”
“I’ve done a banana meringue with raspberry-brandy sauce,” Marie said. “I can have it ready in a few moments.”
“Bless you, my girl,” Mrs. Lipton panted, flying about the kitchen. “Oh, Lord, I hear them at the front door. Can you do the espresso? I must go greet her.”
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