Secrets of Sloane House(65)

At least once each day—sometimes more—he sought her out and spoke to her kindly. To her shame, she found herself looking forward to these visits, sometimes even enjoying his company. She tried to tell herself she shouldn’t say a word to him. That he likely had something to do with Nanci’s disappearance and perhaps even her sister’s disappearance. But even though there were countless reasons to avoid him, she still found herself talking to him when he spoke to her, a smile on his handsome face.

“Rosalind, you are the proverbial busy bee these days. Are they even letting you sleep?” he’d asked just a few hours earlier. She’d been walking back to the kitchens after delivering a coffee service and tray of pastries to Mrs. Sloane’s study. “Every time I turn around, I see you walking to and fro with a purpose.”

“It’s because I have been walking purposefully, sir,” she quipped. “Your household is a busy place.”

He leaned against the wall of the narrow hallway. With his body positioned like that, and his direct gaze seeming to prevent her from looking anywhere else, Rosalind at last felt like she counted, like someone was paying attention to her and she was worth something.

“Are they working you too hard, dear?”

The endearment caught her off guard. “No, sir.”

“Sir? It’s Douglass, remember.” His voice softened. “Is there anything I may do for you? I would be happy to ask Mrs. Abrams to go a little lighter on you.”

“Please don’t.” She knew—even if he didn’t—that her days at Sloane House were almost at an end. As soon as Mrs. Sloane could replace her, she would.

Before she knew what he was about, he reached for her hand and held it between his own hands. Neither was wearing gloves, of course. And her rough skin with the chewed cuticles and short nails looked even more frightful than they usually did. “Your hands . . .” His voice drifted off as he inspected them.

Standing across from him, so close, she felt the first flicker of unease, and the realization that once again, she’d been such a fool. Of course she’d been happy for his attentions because she’d been so lonely.

But that didn’t change the fact that there was something dark and almost sinister about him. Something that made a lump in her throat ache and all her senses wake up and take notice. He was a dangerous man.

A dangerous man wrapped up in a beautiful, desirable package. But still, she was afraid of him.

He didn’t let go of her hand. Still staring at it, he ran one finger along her knuckles. “Have you figured out yet what happened to Nanci?” he asked.

His voice was deceptively casual. Unnervingly direct. Though he still hadn’t met her gaze, she felt his regard as intently as if he was staring straight at her. When she said nothing, his grip tightened. It didn’t hurt, but she would have a difficult time freeing her hand without pulling hard to get it free.

“Are you going to answer?” he murmured in that easy, silky way he spoke. “Or attempt to ignore me?”

Apprehension hit her hard. His question felt like a test of sorts. It was obvious that he was waiting for the right reply. Waiting for her to tell him what he wanted to know.

If only she knew what that was.

“I don’t know anything,” she answered at last.

He raised his chin. Stared at her. His eyes were dark and cold.

Sharp, like a reptile’s.

“I do.”

“Sir—”

He ran his hand up her arm, finally digging his fingers into the soft skin right above her elbow. “It’s Douglass, remember? Now, why don’t you tell me what’s been going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“Sir, the truth is that we . . . Nanci and I had a falling out. She wouldn’t speak to me about you,” Rosalind said in a rush. “I asked her about what happened between the two of you at the fair, but she wouldn’t tell me.”

“So you were curious? What, exactly, did you want to know?”

She felt her body tremble. With her arm in his tight grip, she knew he felt her tremors too.

A new light entered his eyes. It looked a bit like amusement, a bit like pleasure.

She had no choice but to answer. “Only if she was okay. And if she was in love with you,” she improvised quickly.

He dropped her arm. “She was not in love. Not with me, anyway. But surely you had to have known that.”

“I knew nothing. She refused to say a word.”

“Were you jealous of her happiness?”

Happiness? She shook her head. “No, sir. I—I just was worried about her. That’s all.”

“So many women leaving our house. First Miranda, then Tilly. Now Nanci. I wonder who will be next?”