Scotty glanced down at the tea stain on her yellow skirt just as Winters entered the study.
“Another little tantrum today, Miss Scotty?” Winters crossed to the desk and removed the empty cup and saucer that Scotty had picked up from the floor.
“Aye,” she answered, truly frustrated. “The lassie pushes my patience up higher than a mule’s eyebrows.”
Winters showed the merest hint of a grin as he went to the door. “I’ve had a few of those days myself.”
Giving him a wan smile, Scotty watched him leave. She’d often wondered how the man could talk with his jaw clenched so tightly. He barely moved his mouth. She’d tried it once or twice, just for the devil of it, but she didn’t have what it took to be a stuffy English servant.
She glanced down at her dress again, grimacing at the unsightly stain. It was bad enough that she was sick and tired of having only one change of clothes. Now, the dress she preferred, because it wasn’t quite as threadbare, had a large brown spot on it.
She was sure Alex was sick of her clothes, too, for every time they met each other on the stairs, or at mealtime, she noticed that he could barely stand to look at her. He hadn’t actually mentioned buying new clothes, and she’d been a little disappointed. Even she was getting sick of what she had and was willing to spend a bit of her money on another dress or two.
And the work wasn’t getting any easier. She’d labored diligently during these first few weeks as Katya’s tutor. It was the hardest work she’d done in her life. The girl went through her studies grudgingly, at best, and not once did she bestow her beatific smile on Scotty.
Now, as she trudged to her room after Katya’s lessons, she felt the familiar queasiness in her stomach. It had begun just about the time she started tutoring, so she knew it was tension. In the meantime, she thought, wincing at the discomfort, she’d just have to learn to live with it.
As she stepped into her room, she found Mrs. Popov standing over a large trunk, talking with another woman. She turned, relief etching her ruddy face when she saw Scotty.
“Well, there you are, girl. We’ve been waiting.”
Scotty moved into the room slowly, noting the boxes that were stacked on the floor, and the open trunks, filled with gowns. “What is this?”
“Your clothes, of course.” The woman whipped off a cover and pulled out some underthings.
Feeling a sense of panic, Scotty sputtered, “But … but I didn’t order any clothes. They can’t be mine.” Her heart climbed up her throat as she gazed at the boxes and trunks.
Unconcerned, the housekeeper stepped to her and held out a linen hand loomed camisole with hand crocheted borders and sleeves, pressing it against Scotty’s torso.
“No? Well,” Mrs. Popov answered, “surely they aren’t mine, dear one. Let’s find out how they fit, shall we?” She folded the camisole over her arm and helped Scotty out of her yellow calico. When she saw the state of Scotty’s underthings, she shook her head, mumbling something rapidly in Russian.
“Get out of rags, dear. Here,” she said, grabbing the camisole and a long white petticoat with tucks and a lace insert, and shoving them at Scotty. “Put on.”
Scotty was numb as she changed into the pretty things. How had all of this happened? She continued to gaze at the numerous boxes and trunks and felt her stomach pitch and toss. How was she expected to pay for such things? A nibble of anger forced its way through her panic. She hadn’t asked for all of this. “I only needed a few things, Mrs. Popov.”
She stared at the dresses the woman was hanging in the wardrobe. There were numerous serviceable woolens and flannels, but Scotty got a glimpse of others, far less serviceable and far more flamboyant in color and style. She was stunned. “What am I supposed to do with them? How will I pay for them?”
Mrs. Popov looked up from the hem she was examining on the petticoat. “Pay for them? Nyet. You don’t pay. Sasha pays.”
A strange feeling penetrated her panic and anger. She’d thought it was hope, or excitement, but realized it would be foolish to dwell on either. “But … but why?”
“I can’t tell you that, girl.”
The woman who had brought the clothes stepped to the door. “I’ll be leaving now if you don’t need me anymore, Mrs. Popov.”
The housekeeper stood and smoothed her skirt. “Da. I’ll walk you out. You, meelenkee,” she said, turning to Scotty, “try on one of those dresses. I have no doubt that they fit. Start wearing them.” She glanced at Scotty’s pitiful yellow calico. “That isn’t even suited for rag bag.”
Standing in her new camisole and petticoat, Scotty watched her go, then turned back to examine the clothes. She went through two of the boxes, both filled with more nightgowns and petticoats than she thought any woman should have to worry about. She opened a third box, pulling out a pair of white cotton drawers with eyelet-lace trim.
She stood, holding them in front of her, trying to imagine how they’d look, when she noticed something odd at the crotch. Tugging on it, she deduced that it wasn’t stitched properly. She brought the garment closer, peering at the spot. Why, there was a hole in it.
On further examination, she realized that it appeared to have been made that way. Shaking her head, she muttered, “Beelzebub’s ghost …”
“Something puzzling you, Scotty?”
She whirled and faced the door, the drawers clutched in her hands. Although Alex’s stance was casual as he leaned against the frame, his face was cold. Remote. Carefully masked. Her heart fluttered, aching at the beautiful sight of him.
She forced down her feelings. “Oh, Alex,” she said, showing him the drawers. “I think you should take these back. They seem to be flawed.”
If possible, his face became more serious. “Flawed? What do you mean?”
“Well, just look,” she said, concentrating on the defect. “There’s a hole in them. Right here,” she added, showing him the split in the crotch.
Alex appeared to study it from the doorway, then turned his gaze on her. He gave her a look that quickened her pulse. “I think they’re supposed to be that way.”
She frowned and inspected the garment further. “But why?”
He slowly moved toward her. “Come now, Scotty. You’re not that addled, are you?”
“Oh,” she said with a slow nod of understanding. “For nature’s calling, is it?”
He took the bloomers from her and ran his long, strong fingers over the delicately stitched sides of the opening. One finger, then two, slipped through the slit, still fondling the sides of the fabric. It was oddly provocative and suggestive, and it sent steamy heat pounding through Scotty’s pelvis.
“And, for other things.”
His voice was low and husky … meant to tease? She wasn’t sure. Suddenly, as though she wore the very drawers he was fondling, her nether parts swelled in anticipation of his touch. Shuddering, she turned away from him and crossed to the farthest corner of the room, where she felt safe.
She looked about nervously, her gaze resting briefly at the tall mirror atop her dressing table, where she saw herself. Her blush deepened, for a full half of her bosom was exposed above the top of the camisole.
Bringing her arms up to cover her chest, she murmured, “You’d better leave, Alex.”
His gaze appeared to devour her. “I’ve seen you in less, you know.”
Her insides quaked as she recalled the morning she’d stood in front of him, bare to the waist, before the fire. “But no one here knows that,” she hissed, angry at how much she ached for him to love her again.
The briefest of smiles, a secret one she couldn’t read, drew up one side of his mouth. Before he left, he went to the wardrobe and inspected the new gowns. “Here,” he said, pulling out a black cotton dress with white floral sprigs and small leg-of-mutton sleeves. “Black suits you. Wear this to dinner tonight.” He tossed the dress on the bed next to the bloomers and crossed to the door. “And don’t forget your new drawers.”
She continued to blush, and would have preferred not to bring his attention back to her at all, but she needed to ask. “Alex.” She called him softly, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear. When he turned, she cleared her throat and tried to look away. It wasn’t possible; she loved the sight of him too much. “I … I’m curious to know how you knew what size to buy. I wasn’t measured, you know.”
His gaze moved over her again. She should have been accustomed to it, but she didn’t think she ever would be.
“Does something not fit?”
She shrugged, her glance going to the floor. “I don’t know. The … the underwear fits fine….” The words trailed away as she looked down at her swelling bosom.
“I can see that it does.”
She heard the smile in his voice and looked up, wanting to delight in his presence, to feel his arms about her. But she needed something from him that he was unwilling to give. “Why did you buy me so many things?”
He turned to leave. “I won’t have my daughter’s companion looking like a country bumpkin.”
That she was, in her own clothes. She’d wanted to ask why he’d bought her the beautiful gray silk and the magenta taffeta that she saw peeping out of the wardrobe, but she could already hear his footsteps on the stairs.
She’d also wanted to discuss Katya today, but the thought had gone clear out of her head. Truth to tell, the moment she saw Alex lounging in her doorway, all other thoughts vanished. She’d seen so little of him over the past weeks. She was beginning to think he was avoiding her; for what reason, she couldn’t imagine. And because she saw so little of him, she reveled in the few times he came around to see her. How much better things had been when they were snowed in together in her cabin. She’d only wished it had been longer, for then perhaps she could have made him care even a tiny bit for her.
With a sigh of resignation, she crossed to the bed and stared down at the drawers. Her face flared hot again when she thought about the other use for the slit—the one he’d so cleverly intimated.
Shaking her head, she returned to the boxes and plowed through them, hunting for a pair that had a respectable crotch. Plopping herself firmly on the floor, she gazed at the mess of underwear around her. Not one pair was decent; they all were split where they should have been stitched.
A slow burn began deep inside her. What a cruel thing to do to a girl who had been touched so intimately in just those places! How was she to wear such underthings and not find herself constantly thinking indiscreet thoughts? Mrs. Popov had taken her own underwear and probably burned it by now. And she could no longer go without any at all as she had during the hot, dry days of August in the valley.
Scotty stood and pulled the bedeviled drawers on under her new petticoat. They were soft and caressed her skin. The split in the crotch felt strange against her, down there where she felt all itchy anyway. She squeezed her thighs together in an attempt to rid herself of the feeling.
Oh, damn the man! If she ever discovered he’d done this to her on purpose, there’d be hell to pay.
Shoving the thoughts aside, she went about preparing herself for dinner. But as she dressed, her stomach continued its rebellion. Swallowing hard, she hoped and prayed she could get through the meal without throwing it all up.
Alex leaned back in the chair behind his desk and looked outside. Three weeks. It had been three weeks since he’d brought Scotty home with him, and they’d been three of the most miserable weeks he’d ever spent in his life. He’d drowned himself in his work, leaving the house early and arriving home late, just so he wouldn’t have to spend much time with her.
He’d known the minute he stood in her doorway, watching her examine those ridiculous bloomers, that he was in trouble. Ah hell, he’d known it long before that. But the way she’d fussed with those drawers, pulling them this way and that, obviously confused and perplexed …
She was a dangerous mixture of child and woman. But no matter how endearing the child in her was, he responded to the woman like he’d responded to no woman before her. Her milky white shoulders and sweetly rounded arms had drawn his gaze immediately. Dammit all, there had to be a way to stop thinking about her, he just didn’t know what it was.
He let the chair slam to the floor, and tried to concentrate on the papers before him. When his thoughts weren’t on Scotty, he was able to get a lot of work done. He’d found land outside the valley that was for sale, and most of the settlers he’d had to evict were in the process of buying the land for their own. All had been compensated by the government, and if they still had trouble with the purchase, Alex found a way for them to obtain a loan.
Scanning the list, he found Scotty’s name among the evictees. He’d thought that once he was back in his own surroundings, the novelty of wanting her would wear off. It hadn’t. It had only seemed to grow.
The best thing was to just stay away. Pure and simple. He didn’t want to feel anything more for her than he already did.
Glancing at the chime clock on the bookcase, he realized it was already after six. He pushed his chair back and stood, knowing he had to get home before Katya went to bed. Though he wanted to avoid Scotty, he still needed time with his daughter.
Camilla Janus’s morning room was filled with many fine, large windows, allowing a person to study the outdoors from the comfort of an easy chair. Scotty studied the rose covered trellis that was attached to the back gate, marveling that roses could bloom when there wasn’t any sun. Everything always seemed so gray outside, and any time she caught a glimpse of color, Scotty could hardly keep from staring at it.
She pulled her gaze from the pink roses and surveyed the soupy sky, wondering if the blasted sun ever came out and burned off the fog.
She enjoyed Camilla’s company, even though they were as different as night and day. It was odd, Scotty realized, for Camilla was truly one of the “arty bohemians” of San Francisco. She would have thought they had nothing in common. Mrs. Popov had told her Camilla was a fine actress, and Scotty desperately wished she could see her and Milo, her husband, perform. But it was something she couldn’t ask of Alex. After all, she was only the hired help, and she wasn’t brave enough to attend one of their plays by herself.
“So,” Camilla said, sitting down across from her. “How are things going with Katya?”
Scotty studied the beautiful, flamboyant, titian-haired woman with the smattering of freckles across her nose, then shook her head. “The lassie despises me.”
Camilla threw back her mane of red hair and let out an indelicate snort. “She’s a spoiled brat.”
“I know that,” Scotty answered, “but it isn’t all her fault, you know. Everyone dotes on her. What else is she to do? She’s just a wee child.”
Camilla scoffed again. “The wee child is a better actress than I am. When are you going to tell Alex how she treats you?”
Scotty felt a cold wash of fear. “Oh, never. Never. He’s not to know, do you hear? I’ll get the child to come around somehow, but I can’t let Alex know.”
“Why the devil not?” Camilla picked at a freshly baked currant scone and popped a piece into her mouth.
“Because Alex is already sorry he brought me here.” She knew that to be true. His attitude had changed markedly since her arrival. He’d purposely avoided her. He could hardly bear to look at her. She wasn’t a fool.
“Hmmm. I think someone should tell him.”
Scotty leaned across the table. “Please don’t, Camilla. I’ve even had to threaten Mrs. Popov to say nothing. She knows what’s going on, and I know she wants to tell Alex, but I just won’t have it. I’ll lose my job, then I won’t be able to go back to the valley. And … and that’s what I want most in the whole world.”
If Alex ever found out how little sympathy she had with Katya when she had one of her tantrums, he’d kick her out on her behind for sure. That Katya hadn’t already complained heartily to her father was puzzling to Scotty.
She wanted to stay, in spite of the uncomfortable situation. She’d always known that in order to get what you want, you had to work for it. She’d never been a quitter. She’d just have to learn to deal with Katya.
Camilla gave her a skeptical look. “All right. I’ll respect that for now. But there’ll come a time when he’ll have to know. She’s a deceptive little thing.”
Scotty nodded. “I know. She’s like two completely different people. When Alex is around, she is the sweetest thing. All soft and giggly, weaving her charm and her winning smile around him like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
Camilla snorted again. “Like I said, she’s a better actress than I am.”
Scotty had to agree that the girl was good, but she wouldn’t give up trying to win her affections. Patience. It took mountains of patience, and again, Scotty was truly beginning to wonder if she was up to the task.
She glanced up and caught Camilla studying her. “What is it?”
Camilla gave her a half-grin. “You look absolutely stunning in that color.”
Scotty glanced down at the conservative gray wool gown. “It’s just a plain dress.”
“Hmmm. Alex picked out all of your new clothes, didn’t he?”
Scotty frowned. “Alex? No, he paid for them, but … but I’m sure Mrs. Popov made the choices.”
Camilla laughed, a practiced tinkling sound. “Don’t be naive, dear. Everything you’ve worn has been perfectly suited to you. The grays, the blacks, the purples and deep reds. Do you honestly believe Mrs. Popov could have chosen them?”
Scotty shrugged. “I … I thought she had.”
Camilla continued to smile. “Oh, no, dear. Alex had a hand in it, make no mistake about that.”
Scotty glanced away, wondering if his buying her dresses meant anything at all. She felt a burst of pleasure, nevertheless.
Her gaze returned to Camilla and the vibrant green gown she wore. She’d noticed that Camilla always wore gowns that were cut low in the front, exposing her clear white skin and the tops of her breasts. Unlike Scotty, she seemed perfectly comfortable having every man within miles ogle her bosom. “You’re beautiful in everything.”
Camilla brushed the comment aside. “That’s because I know what colors look best on me. And,” she added with a sly smile, “Alex knows what looks best on you.” She studied Scotty slyly for a long, uncomfortable minute. “My, my, Miss MacDowell,” she said in a teasing voice, “where did he find you, anyway?”
Scotty took a nervous sip of tea, then glanced away. “You know full well where he found me.”
“Umm,” Camilla acknowledged, continuing her perusal. “But why is he going to such lengths for you? I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, dear, but Alex could have hired any one of a dozen young women to keep Katya company. What kind of spell did you weave around him to get him to hire you?”
Scotty was offended. “I wove no spell.”
Camilla waved the comment away. “What I want to know, is why he’s going through all of this for you?”
“All of what?” she asked, puzzled.
“This hotel thing. Milo told me Alex thought the whole thing up and presented it to the governor.” She gave Scotty another studied glance. “Why did he do it?”
This bit of news left Scotty shaken. She’d assumed it had been something in the works long before they’d even begun to evict the valley residents. She had no answer for Camilla. In truth, she had no answer for herself.
Camilla chuckled quietly. “I’d sure like to know what went on between the two of you all of those months you were together in your tiny cabin.”
Scotty felt a thrust of fear. Camilla was very observant, more so than anyone else. It wouldn’t do to have her guess what she and Alex had done that one night. Although she desperately wanted someone to trust and talk to, she wasn’t ready to open her heart to anyone.
Later that night, in the privacy of her room, Scotty stood in front of the mirror and examined herself. Was she losing weight because of her nervous stomach?
She stepped sideways, noting that her flat stomach sloped inward. Oh, but her appetite hadn’t been good at all. The whole problem with Katya was wearing on her, that was for certain. Yes, she was losing weight because of it. Her queasiness had continued for three weeks, unabated.
She pressed her stomach with her hands. Maybe it was hunger that weakened her, she thought with a humorless smile. The only meal she could abide was dinner, but tonight she hadn’t been hungry. Now she had this odd craving for one of Mrs. Popov’s sweet, rich rolls, the ones filled with raisins and almonds. Her mouth watered.
She left the mirror, slipped into her nightgown, robe and slippers, and crept to her door. She wanted a roll badly enough to brave the darkened house. She rarely thought about food, but when she did, she wanted it right then and there. It was all so strange.
Moving slowly down the stairs, she stopped briefly at the bottom and listened, but heard no sounds. When she entered the kitchen, she groped for the lamp and turned up the flame, tossing the darkened room into fitful, wavering light. She crossed to the pantry, leaving the door open while she searched for the buns. Finding them, and a plate of butter, she moved carefully to the table and sat, her taste buds screaming for the sweets. A carving knife lay near her, and she used it to slather butter onto a roll.
Anxious to eat, she clutched the knife in one hand and shoved half of the roll into her mouth with the other. Sighing blissfully, she settled back in the chair and chewed, her mouth filling with saliva as the taste of the roll hit her tongue.
“What are you doing in here?”
She yelped with surprise. Her eyes began to water and she nearly choked on the roll. Pressing her hand to her neck, she coughed, dislodging the roll from her throat. She turned and saw Alex standing behind her, his look dark and brooding.
“Hell and purgatory.” She coughed again, her eyes continuing to water as she chewed the roll. “You nearly scared me to death, sneaking around in the dark like a coyote in a barnyard.” Closing her eyes briefly, she slumped against the back of the chair and swallowed what was in her mouth.
Alex moved to the other side of the table and studied her. “What were you planning to do with that knife?”
Blinking, she looked down at the carving knife, still clutched in her fist. “Lord, scaring me like you did, I could have killed myself with it.” She glared up at him. “Or you.”
He gave her a cynical look, glanced at the plate of rolls, then at the knife, noting the butter smeared on one flat side. “Hungry, were you?”
Suddenly, she felt embarrassed. With a nervous gesture, she dropped the knife on the table and wiped her palms on her dressing gown. She really should have used a butter knife. In his home when he was around, she always felt like a crude imitation of a woman. “I … I didn’t eat much dinner,” she muttered, trying to avoid his piercing gaze.
He sat down beside her, and her eyes automatically went to the open neck of his shirt. As if to punish her, he’d unbuttoned it halfway down the front, and the black, luxurious hair that grew so thickly across his chest beckoned her as it had the first time she’d seen it. She remembered bluntly asking him why he had so much body hair, and hearing his equally blunt answer. She knew, and would never forget, that he was hairy all over … but especially across his nipples, and below his navel, where he had the thickest black bush….
Suddenly he reached over and ran his thumb across the corner of her mouth, letting it linger there for a few delicate seconds. When he pulled it away, he brought it to his mouth and sucked on it briefly.
She gave him a look of shocked surprise, but he merely said, “Butter.”
Blinking nervously, she reached up and touched her mouth, feeling the slickness of the butter around her lips. She felt like a child, caught in the pantry between meals.
He reached for a bun, split it open to reveal juicy raisins and slivers of almond, and spread butter on both sides. After taking a bite, he offered her the other half. Blushing, she shook her head. Truth to tell, she wanted another bun badly. Her stomach wasn’t satisfied with just one.
“Poppy makes the best kulich in the city,” he said around a mouthful.
Oh, to hell with it! Her mouth watered for another, and she wasn’t going to be shy about it. She took the last bun and bit into it with a bit more grace than she had the first.
He settled back in his chair and looked at her. “So, tell me, Scotty. How are things going with Katya?”
Her stomach momentarily lifted upward, but fortunately settled back into place. She looked at him for suspicious signs, hoping against hope that neither Camilla nor Mrs. Popov had gone and spilled, the beans. She found nothing troubling about his features, so she relaxed a bit. They weren’t exactly friendly, but he didn’t appear watchful. Truth to tell, she’d wondered why he hadn’t asked about her and Katya weeks ago.
“She’s getting used to me. She does tire easily, though.” There. Safe enough.
Alex stood. “Then you’re not having any problems with her?”
She gave him a wary glance. “Problems?”
He motioned toward the door. “Come. I’ll walk you to your room.” He picked up the lamp and waited for her to join him.
As they moved up the stairs, he said, “Mrs. Popov tells me Katya has been giving you some trouble.”
Scotty frowned into the darkness. She should have expected the housekeeper to say something. She was more faithful to Alex than she’d ever be to her. “Oh, it’s really not so bad, Alex, she’s … she’s just … just high-strung.” He chuckled beside her—a sound she seldom heard—and she relaxed.
“I’m not an ogre, Scotty. I know Katya can be a handful, and rest assured, you won’t be tossed into the street if you must get strict with her. I expect you to. She can’t be allowed to treat people badly. She must learn to respect everyone.”
She suddenly remembered Camilla’s comment about why Scotty had been given special treatment. As they stopped in front of her bedroom door, she asked, “Alex, will you tell me something?”
“If I can,” he answered.
She took a deep breath, then forced it out through her lips. “Why did you do all this for me?”
He frowned, the lamp sending his features into angry light and shadow. “What are you talking about?”
She gave him a nervous shrug. “Camilla … Well, Camilla told me that you had them draw up plans for the hotel just for me.”
His look was wary. “Where in the hell would she get an idea like that?”
Suddenly feeling foolish, she blinked nervously and looked at the floor. “Milo said that … that you had told him …”
He swore. “Don’t be a fool, Scotty. I don’t have that much power. Plans for a hotel had been in the works long before I even had the misfortune of getting shot and landing in your eccentric madhouse.”
Embarrassed that she’d brought the subject up, she turned away and slipped quickly into her room, shutting the door soundly behind her. She pulled off her dressing gown, kicked off her slippers and crawled into bed. After turning out the lamp, she snuggled under the covers and stared at the ceiling.
She should have known that he hadn’t made such elaborate plans just for her. What in the devil was she thinking, bringing up the subject at all? She was certainly a glutton for punishment where Alex was concerned. She would just have to learn that things would never be the way she’d dreamed. If she kept that in mind, she’d survive.
She touched her stomach. She felt full and content. It was strange, but when she wasn’t sick with nerves, she rather enjoyed being here, under Alex’s roof. She still didn’t understand why he’d done anything for her at all. Despite her little battles with Katya, she was beginning to enjoy her stay.
Alex had said earlier that the hotel could be completed come fall. Her feelings were torn. She hated to think of the day she’d have to leave him. But she already missed Muggin desperately, although she knew Tupi would take care of all her pets as if they were his own. She’d miss Rosie’s freshening with Jamie’s billy goat this spring, unless … Her heart dipped with sadness. Unless with all the havoc Alex and his government men had created there wouldn’t be time.
Now she was saddled with a new worry. Would she be allowed to keep her animals once the hotel was finished?
She turned on her side and curled into a ball, hugging her extra pillow to her chest. At times like this, she cursed Alex and the government for creating such turmoil in her life.