Chapter Five

Setting himself down at his desk with a heavy sigh, Liam cradled his head in his hands for a moment. The dilemma he currently faced should not, in actual fact, be one at all. He should not be devoting so much time or energy to this, having so many other more pressing and important matters to attend to. Yet he could not prevent his thoughts from returning ceaselessly to his maddening housekeeper.

Two choices now lay before him. Keep her on or dismiss her.

And yet so much more was factoring into this deceptively simple predicament. Not only did the papers Leonards had forwarded demonstrate that the woman was hiding something, but she had disobeyed his orders, behaved in a most unbecoming and unforgivable manner, and, well...

Been right to do so.

She had won over his entire staff. Brought light back into the house.

And last night...

He was grateful for what she had done, but he also feared the temptation. Of the comfort and closeness she offered. He feared the instinctual response he’d had to her from the first. It would be so much easier just to be rid of her, before anything irreversible could happen. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have just cause. Perhaps the papers were a godsend after all. There was so much more left for him to do, to finish, so he could be free. The very last thing he needed was to be distracted. Worried about whatever it was his housekeeper seemed to be running from. About her, full stop.

For there was no doubt she was running. The proof was here, lying before him on the desk.

Distractedly, he shuffled through the packet of papers Leonards had sent. No wonder she had taken the position here. She was desperate. Perhaps she had known Leonards was, too. Enough to look no further into all this. And with no master present at Thornhallow there would be fewer questions.

Yes...that must be it. Mustn’t it?

Then why couldn’t he resolve himself to send her away? He had to decide, and quickly. She’d be here at any moment. He’d asked Thomas to send her along when he’d met him in the library a short while ago.

That was another thing. He had gone there expecting to find the room destroyed, expecting to have to put it to rights himself. Instead he’d found Thomas, Sam and Gregory installing new chairs—the only trace of the carnage he’d wrought. No one would have been able to surmise what had passed there only hours before.

‘Mrs Hardwicke said you wished for a change, my lord,’ Gregory had said, slightly confused.

Which meant the enterprising Mrs Hardwicke had seen to it that the room was cleared and tidy before allowing anyone in. Then she had invented some paltry, trivial excuse to justify the need for a change of furniture, and request for help. Liam had had no doubt, looking at Thomas, that he knew nothing of the previous night’s events. Something which he appreciated. He wouldn’t have been able to deal with the old butler’s pity and concern; he’d suffered enough of that already.

Perhaps she was merely protecting herself...

By assisting him, she had put herself in a rather compromising position, should anyone chance to discover the details. Yet even as he thought it, he knew it was not even remotely true. How he knew, that was what troubled him. He had a feeling about her. Many, in fact. None of which were remotely acceptable for a man in his position.

So be rid of her...

Easy though that may be, it was not in Liam’s nature to be so callous. He owed her the benefit of the doubt, at least.

Yes. Ask her the meaning of all this. Then make a decision. A fair, objective, considered decision, based on facts, not emotion.

A compromise Liam was quite sure was the best solution, even if he half suspected his emotions would always get in the way when it concerned a certain housekeeper.

Not that he would ever admit it.

‘Come in,’ Liam said some time later, as the knock he’d been expecting finally sounded.

He straightened and adopted a most convincing, imperious and commanding manner. Gathering the papers concerning her, he set his gaze on them, unable quite yet, it seemed, to look her in the eye.

‘Mrs Hardwicke.’

‘My lord,’ Rebecca said, striding over to stand before the desk. ‘You asked to see me.’

‘Yes, I did,’ he drawled, his eyes affixed to the papers before him. ‘If you would...’ Liam waved his hand to beckon her, only to start slightly when he looked up and found her already before him. ‘Oh.’

‘Mrs Murray asked me to bring you the week’s menus.’

Gingerly, Rebecca offered over the stack of papers, and his eyes flitted to her neck. He winced inwardly when he noticed the scarf she wore today.

‘Thank you,’ he said gruffly, tossing the menus to one side. ‘About last night...’

‘Did something happen, my lord?’

Rebecca stood there innocently, a polite smile on her face.

Liam frowned. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘Nothing of consequence, it seems.’

‘If that is all my lord, I have—’

‘Actually, Mrs Hardwicke,’ he said, recovering his businesslike tone, and stopping her as she made to leave. ‘I have here a list of your previous posts, and I find myself wondering, Mrs Hardwicke, why you seem to change households every two or so years. Rather odd, is it not? Almost a pattern, one might say.’ Liam paused for effect, joining his hands before him, surveying her with idle condescension. ‘Mrs Hardwicke?’

‘Yes, my lord?’

‘Nothing to say?’

‘I did not realise there was a question, my lord.’

‘Why is it, Mrs Hardwicke, that you seem to find no stability in your positions when it is rather the fashion, as far as I’m aware, for housekeepers to serve for, well, life? You, on the other hand, seem almost to be running from something. Why, in the past five years alone, you have served three different houses.’

Now he’s asking about my suitability?

The fact that his last remark had hit rather too close to home for comfort didn’t help ease Rebecca’s rising anxiety.

‘I have seized opportunities for advancement when they have presented themselves, my lord. With the exception of my last household, in which case I did serve until death, that of my mistress. I think you will find, however, my references irreproachable.’

‘With one exception here,’ he countered, perusing the papers to bring forward a particular letter. ‘You remained in the Duchess of Stonehaven’s London household for a mere six months before a sudden departure, which you said was due to an ailing mother. Yet I have it on good authority that you have no family, and have not for some time. Mrs Hardwicke?’

‘My apologies, was there another question I failed to detect, my lord?’

‘Tell me, Mrs Hardwicke, do you make a habit of lying to your employers? Or is it Thomas to whom you lied when you told him of your family, or rather, lack thereof?’

‘My lord?’

‘You are hiding something, Mrs Hardwicke, and I do not suffer lies nor secrets under my roof.’

The irony of that statement was lost on neither of them, but Liam forged on.

‘Now, I ask again. Why so many households in so little time?’

‘It is as I said, my lord. If you wish to dismiss me,’ Rebecca barrelled on, her apprehension rising with every passing moment, ‘you need not make a pretence of finding fault with me, for, as far as I am aware, I have given cause for none. Though I am sure many a master has been discovered in many a more compromising situation than you. You need find no excuses.’

‘This is not about the events of last evening, Mrs Hardwicke,’ he countered harshly. ‘Enquiries were made before then, and I assure you, whatever you may think of me, I am not one to dismiss servants out of pride. What are you running from?’

‘Nothing,’ Rebecca said, a second too late.

Something of her fear must have shown, for she saw in his eyes a flash of triumph.

‘Mrs Hardwicke, you find yourself faced with a choice. The truth, or your dismissal.’

‘My secrets are my own, my lord,’ Rebecca said flatly, numb and hurt beyond what she thought possible.

She did not want to leave Thornhallow—not for the world—but neither could she tell him the truth he demanded. Even if, for the first time in her life, she was sorely tempted to. Something about this man made her want to give up her secrets, to entrust them, and herself, to his strength and protection.

Dullard.

‘I will not be bullied, threatened or blackmailed into relinquishing any part of myself I do not wish to give freely.’

Liam’s jaw clenched, as though he was biting back some choice words, but Rebecca left him no chance to find better ones.

‘I shall write an advertisement for the post immediately and find my replacement, should you wish. I would appreciate being allowed to remain until I have elsewhere to go. However, if you would prefer I quit the house immediately, I will make do.’

They stood there, eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, until finally Rebecca took his silence, indeed his entire behaviour, for what it was, and nodded sadly.

‘I shall collect my things and be gone within the hour. Mr Brown will, as before, ensure things run smoothly until a replacement can be found. Good day, my lord.’

Turning on her heel, standing as proudly as she could muster despite the growing ache of her heart, Rebecca made for the door, willing the tears which were stinging her eyes, threatening to fall and humiliate her even more, to return from whence they came.

What was the matter with her? She’d been here barely over a month. Why did it feel as though she was losing the closest thing to a home she’d ever had? And why did the thought of leaving that odious, presumptuous, condescending, proud brute make her feel so...so...

Another hand was on her own before she could turn the knob and open the door. Rebecca jumped back with a squeal, bumping into a large, unmoving wall of muscle. Liam was staring down at her, a dark, menacing expression in his eyes. She took another step back, much preferring to be against the wall than to spend another second with her body in contact with his.

Rebecca tried to speak, but found she could not. She was like some hypnotised animal, with his aurous eyes affixed on her own, freezing her to the spot while at the same time heating her blood. Instead of speaking, she focused on breathing. Why was she so breathless? He was close. Too close.

Why is he so close?

Slowly his hand lifted from the door, and moved towards her neck. Then, ever so gently, without ever touching her skin, without moving his eyes from her own lest she bolt, he untied her scarf and slid it from her neck. Then and only then did his eyes wander down.

Rebecca saw his eyes darken with shame as they found the bruises. She wanted to scream, wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that she did not blame him, that she could never, even if she wished to, but no words came.

And then, with the lightest, feathery touch, his fingers traced the marks they had left on her skin. It wasn’t even really a touch, and yet, Rebecca felt it searing through her to the bone, marking her more efficiently than any brand might have.

Unable to bear it any longer, she turned her head away and gazed at the floor. The movement was just enough to bring Liam back to the room. His hand fell, still clutching her scarf. Again Rebecca reminded herself to breathe, and found she was finally able to do so somewhat properly.

‘Your tale,’ he said, in a whisper that somehow filled the room. ‘Does it present a danger to this house?’

‘No,’ Rebecca breathed, meeting his gaze again, wishing that she hadn’t. Swallowing hard, she continued. ‘I would never bring danger, or dishonour, to any house I served. Should there ever be a risk I would be gone in an instant.’

‘You may stay, Mrs Hardwicke.’ He nodded, offering her the scarf. ‘And keep your secrets, if that is what you wish. Perhaps one day you might entrust me with them, or, at the very least with your true name. Tell Mrs Murray the menus are acceptable.’

How did he know?

Oh, no matter, Rebecca thought, rushing from the room as soon as Liam stepped away, caring little how much dignity she managed to maintain.

Ducking into the shadowed corner under the stairs, she leaned against the cold wood and retied the scarf.

Why was she behaving like this?

Frightened.

She had been frightened. That was it. That was why her body was flushed and her heart was beating too hard against her chest, and why she was still not wholly able to breathe.

Yes. You were terrified of losing the place.

Why shouldn’t she be? It was everything she’d ever wanted, ever dreamed of.

Peace. Independence. Freedom. And you really have nowhere else to go...

Though she should be ashamed of herself, really, she thought, charging breathless down the stairs to her office. He had changed his mind, let her stay, because of guilt. All those things she valued, she now had only because he’d hurt her and felt guilty. Had she not found him last night, he would have summarily dismissed her. He’d had the papers already—he’d said as much. And yet she could only feel...

Glad. Relieved. Yes, that is all there is to it. I was frightened and now I am relieved. This has nothing to do with the master. Nothing at all.

Because if it did, that would be unforgivable, and an insurmountable problem.

What in God’s name...?

Rebecca was momentarily distracted from the mire of her thoughts by the sight which awaited her in her office. There, neatly placed on her desk, was a large, rather ornate skeleton key.

This day just keeps getting better.

For she had a very good idea what door this key opened.

The East Tower...

She didn’t know who had put it there for her, where they had found it or why they had done this now. What she did know, however, was that it was one door she wasn’t going to open. Already she was on incredibly thin ice.

No chasing ghosts, Rebecca. No good’ll come of it.

Thus resolved, she threw open the desk drawer, dropped in the key and slammed it closed again. Straightening, smoothing her skirts and returning to the proud, collected, unshakeable housekeeper she was, Rebecca made her way to the kitchens, to advise Mrs Murray of His Lordship’s decision regarding the menus.

Menus he didn’t even look at...

Meanwhile, Liam hadn’t moved from the spot he seemed to have rooted to, his eyes fixed on the closed door, and the damned woman’s scent still swirling in the air around him, catching in his nostrils, clouding his mind.

What on earth had he been thinking, allowing her to remain beneath his roof?

The woman was hiding something, by her own admission. Something significant enough to spend a lifetime running from. A husband? A lover? Cruel family? Perhaps she was one of those rogue gentlewomen who fled all manner of dire circumstances by posing as servants or governesses. Or a criminal.

No...

There had been fear in her eyes, a flicker—he’d seen it. Not the fear of discovery, fear of something far more dreadful. That alone should have made him send her away. And yet he hadn’t. To be fair, the woman did have impeccable references. Every letter bemoaned her departure and sang her praises. And even he, try as he might, could find no fault with her work. Her stubbornness, her insolence and her complete disregard for orders, perhaps. But not her work.

In the short time she’d been at Thornhallow she had performed miracles and endeared herself to everyone she’d met. Perhaps she was a charlatan, slithering her way into hearts and minds the better to trick them into parting with...

With what?

Truly, he was losing his mind. That was it. He was simply going mad. That was why he’d let her stay. His reason had officially abandoned him. The sleepless nights, the torture of returning here, it was stealing away his otherwise infallible mental faculties.

If only that were true...

No, this was because of his heart, not his head. Because he pitied her, felt guilty for what he’d done, ashamed of what she’d seen...

When he had seen the marks he’d made on her, he had barely been able to restrain himself. To stop himself from throwing his fist into a wall or...or what?

Kissing it all away...

Now, where had that thought come from?

From moments ago, when he’d stood so close to her and felt an irresistible pull. A need, stirring deep within. For her. A need to give her pleasure to forget the pain. To trail butterfly kisses along her neck, to quicken the already rapid pulse fluttering there, beneath the creamy skin.

Instinct.

Yes, that was what it had been. Some primal instinct to fix what he’d broken in the same animalistic manner with which he had injured her. Yes, that was all it was. Nothing more.

God, the woman will drive me mad...

Now, where had that thought come from?

Was it, in fact, the woman and not the house, not the demons and ghosts which lingered in the walls, that was driving him to lose his reason altogether?

He’d outright sprinted to the door to prevent her from leaving, after declaring that that was precisely what she should do. What he demanded. His stomach had fallen to his boots at the thought that she might no longer haunt the house, a bewitching ghost of flesh and blood. There had been a terrible feeling of loss in his heart when she had turned from him. Abandoned him.

And when he’d looked into her eyes, those unfathomable, haunting brown pools, he had not seen fear. Confusion, anxiety, yes, but no fear, no disgust. None of the emotions she should have felt looking at him, the man who had nearly taken her life. She had trusted him in that moment, still as a statue and speechless, perhaps, but he had seen her trust that he would not hurt her again. If anything, she’d seemed more upset at the prospect of leaving; he was sure he’d seen the threat of tears glistening in her eyes. But when he had cornered her, prevented her leaving...

He really should have let her go. He knew that. She was a liar. Self-confessed. Full of secrets. And temptation. Yet he had not. Against his better judgement, against all reason, he had let her stay.

Now, Liam sensed, there would only be trouble.

Sighing heavily, he returned to his desk and the mounds of work which awaited him.

There would be trouble. And he would regret this.

Not nearly as much as you would’ve letting her go...

Drat the woman.

Damn the house.

Damn it all.