Читать книгу The Hired Husband - Judith Stacy - Страница 11

“W ait! Mr. Kincade! Please, wait!”

Mitch didn’t acknowledge the plea he heard behind him as he headed toward the foyer. He was getting out of this place—now.

“Please?”

The desperation in Rachel’s voice touched his conscience. Mitch stopped and turned. Rachel, dress hiked up to ankles, rushed toward him. He fidgeted. He had to get out of here. Leave, and not look back.

But something about Rachel held him in place. A tug he couldn’t fight, at the moment.

“It’s the tea service, isn’t it,” she said, squeezing the words out as if they pained her.

He frowned down at her. “The tea—”

“I knew it,” she declared. She pressed her lips together and, for an instant, Mitch thought she might cry, though he didn’t have the slightest idea why.

“This is my fault. All my fault,” Rachel insisted. “I should have made sure the tea service was—”

“What are you talking about?” Mitch asked, walking closer.

“It’s a winter service. Completely inappropriate for spring. I saw you eyeing it when I walked into the room,” Rachel said.

Mitch just looked at her. She thought he knew the tea set—of all things—was wrong? That he was gentleman enough to realize the error?

For an instant Mitch didn’t know what was worse: to tell her that he didn’t know one tea service from another, or to reveal the real reason he wouldn’t accept the job.

He decided to take the easy way out.

“Stuart Parker mentioned that things have been difficult for you and your family,” Mitch said.

Rachel gazed up at him, her eyes wide with hope. “You’re not leaving because the tea service is all wrong?”

A proper tea service. Why the hell would a person give a damn one way or the other about a tea service? But reputations were made—or destroyed—because of just such details. Mitch had forgotten that.

Rachel leaned a little closer and rose on her toes. The fragrance of her hair wafted up to him. A most delightful scent. She touched his arm.

“Please, Mr. Kincade, if you would just hear me out?”

She whispered the words. Her sweet breath brushed Mitch’s ear warming him, yet somehow sending a chill down his spine.

“Won’t you please come back?” she breathed into his ear. “Let me explain things. I don’t want Chelsey or Noah—or the servants—to overhear us.”

Indecision seesawed through Mitch, a condition that he almost never experienced. A head full of old memories warred with the vision of this woman standing before him. He knew what he should do. Knew what was best for him. No question about it.

But the warmth of her body so close to his called to him. Made him want to ease forward just a bit. Brush against her soft—

“Please?” she whispered.

Mitch drew back, drawing on a familiar store of willpower. All right, he decided. He would listen. Just listen to what she said, then leave.

He gave her a brisk nod then was annoyed with himself because the little smile she gave him pleased him so. He followed her swaying bustle down the hallway and into the sitting room once more.

“We’ll have some tea,” she told him, as if that would make things better.

Wrong service or not, Rachel Branford looked perfect with the delicate cup and saucer in her hand. Easy, practiced motions. Flawless movements. Grace and charm. She’d done this all her life, obviously.

Mitch accepted the tea, though he didn’t really want it. He preferred a steaming mug of coffee with cream and lots of sugar.

“Would you care for a cake?” Rachel asked, gesturing to the tray on the table.

The little cakes on the platter held no appeal for Mitch. He was hungry, but he craved beef with potatoes smothered with gravy. He doubted such a meal had ever been served in this house.

“Thank you for staying, Mr. Kincade, for hearing me out.” Rachel sank onto the settee and sipped her tea.

Mitch’s cup rattled in the saucer as he sat down and placed it on the table beside him.

“I suppose Uncle Stuart told you that our family situation is…well, desperate,” Rachel said.

Had Parker told him that? Mitch didn’t remember, nor did he care. Every family, every company he worked for had a sob story of some sort. An illness, a death, a disgruntled ex-employee, a crooked partner. Mitch never listened to the details. All he cared about was doing his job and collecting his fee.

“It began last year,” Rachel said, “when Father turned the business over to my brother Georgie. A few months later my mother…well, she—”

“Died?” Mitch asked.

Rachel glanced away for a moment, then looked at Mitch again. “The train derailed. She and Father were taking Noah to look at colleges.”

“That’s how your brother lost his arm?” Mitch asked.

“Yes, and I think that was the start of Father’s health problems, too. Seeing them there in the wreckage…” Rachel shook her head as if shaking away the vision, and set her teacup aside. “Father’s been in decline since. A minor stroke, the doctors said. But it’s more than that. They can’t seem to pinpoint exactly what’s wrong.”

Mitch just waited.

“With Father ill, Georgie took complete control of the business several months ago.” She shook her head. “If only Georgie were here I’m sure he could handle everything.”

Mitch frowned. “He’s away now?”

“He didn’t even tell us he was leaving. We don’t know where he is or when he’ll come back.”

Mitch paused. “Your brother, who ran the business, disappeared suddenly, then shortly thereafter the family money vanished also?”

“Yes, isn’t it terrible? At times, I fear something dreadful has happened to him.”

Mitch shifted in the chair. “You don’t think it’s more than a coincidence?”

Rachel looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Whatever do you mean?”

Of course, there could be several reasons why George and the money’s disappearance coincided, other than the obvious. Mitch decided not to pursue it with Rachel.

“Georgie is my half brother, actually. My mother’s son from a previous marriage,” Rachel explained. “But Father never treated him any differently than the rest of us. He gave Georgie his name, educated him.”

“Turned the business over to him?”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” she said. “And I just know that as soon as Georgie returns, everything will be fine. The police are looking, and a detective agency of some sort has been engaged. We’ve learned nothing about his whereabouts, though. I just hope—”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Mitch said, wanting to relieve her distress. Making her feel better suddenly seemed important to him.

“Noah is having a particularly difficult time of it,” Rachel went on. “And Chelsey…well, Chelsey is a situation that must be handled, also. So you can see, Mr. Kincade, that our circumstances are, indeed, desperate.”

Mitch nodded. “They are.”

She leaned forward a little. “So you’ll reconsider? You’ll stay and help us?”

“No.”

A few seconds passed before his words seemed to dawn on her.

“But you just said you understood—”

“I do understand,” Mitch said. “But it doesn’t make any difference.”

“You know my father’s holdings are vast and complicated. You come highly recommended,” Rachel said. “There must be something I can say that will convince you to stay.”

“There’s not.”

She sat up straighter. “Then why come all this way? Why get my hopes up just to refuse the work?”

“I don’t have to give you a reason,” Mitch told her. “I choose my clients, not the other way around.”

“You must help us.” Rachel gave him a hopeful little smile. “After all, that’s what knights in shining armour do.”

“I’m not here to rescue you,” Mitch said, though he knew that’s what she wanted. He knew her type. He’d seen it dozens of times. Pampered and spoiled by a life of leisure. Circumspect, reserved, a slave to social status. And now she was completely out of her element after being thrust into these dire circumstances, and expected someone else to fix the problem.

“Then your reason must be…” Rachel nodded. “Oh, I understand.”

Mitch frowned. “Understand what?”

“That after arriving here, you can see that you aren’t up to the task.” Rachel smiled pleasantly. “It’s perfectly all right. I wouldn’t want you to take it on if you can’t handle it.”

Mitch uttered a laugh. “Let me assure you, Miss Branford, that I’ve untangled finances far more complicated than those of your father. I checked before I came here so I know what I’m talking about. I can have this job finished in less than two weeks.”

“Then you are the perfect man for the job,” Rachel insisted. “You are the only one who can help us.”

Mitch pushed out of the chair. “Listen, Miss Branford, I’m not your preacher, your helpful brother, or your knight in shining armor. I do this for money. That’s all.”

“Fine. If that’s what you care about, then that’s what you’ll have. I’ll double your salary.”

“No.”

“Triple it.”

Mitch shook his head. “I don’t want to work for you.”

“Quadruple it.”

He glared at her.

Rachel got to her feet and drew herself up. “We’re talking about my family, Mr. Kincade. Name your price.”

“I don’t want the job.”

She flung out her arms. “You don’t want four times your usual fee? For less than two weeks work? Really, Mr. Kincade, what sort of businessman are you?”

“Do you even know what my salary is?” he demanded. “Do you have any idea?”

“Whatever it is,” Rachel told him, “it’s nothing compared to the survival of my family.”

He’d be a fool to turn it down. The sum was impressive. In his mind, Mitch reviewed the ledger he kept that tracked his money and thus his dream, and imagined the balance shooting upward. That much closer to the things he’d worked for his entire life.

And all he had to do was stay here.

“Well?” Rachel asked.

A few moments dragged by while Mitch wrestled with his conscience, old memories and the ache in his stomach it all caused. Finally, the money won out.

“All right. I’ll do it,” he said. “For four times my usual fee.”

“Good. Then it’s settled.” Rachel drew in a breath. “I’ve already prepared a very nice room for you overlooking the rear gardens. You’ll—”

“You expect me to stay here?”

“Well, yes, of course.”

“No.” Mitch paced a few feet away.

“You must stay with us,” Rachel told him. “And you must work here, too.”

“No,” Mitch said. “That’s out of the question.”

Rachel huffed. “Fine. Then I’ll pay you five times your salary.”

He swung back to face her. “You don’t even know if you can afford that.”

“Then you’d better see to it that I can,” she told him.

A long moment dragged past with the two of them glaring at each other. Finally, Mitch broke the silence.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said. “I don’t care about you or your family. I’m here to do a job. That’s all.”

She drew herself up and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what sort of services you’ve provided for your previous employers, Mr. Kincade, but all I need you to do is the job for which you’ve been hired.”

“I expect to be left alone to do just that.”

“You can work in my father’s study. No one will disturb you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

They glared at each other for another moment, then the reality of his decision and the situation it left him in struck Mitch like a kick in the knee. He’d finish this job. Get it done and leave.

And in only a few weeks, he’d have his old life back again.