She pointed to the letter in his hand. “Is that another notice of demand? I can add it to the pile in the study if you like.”
He held it out to her. “Actually, it’s a bank note payable to you. It covers the money you were owed for your time under the previous owner of Kington House.”
Wister took the letter and briefly read it before tucking it into her pocket. “Thank you, Rhys. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
It means you have the money to be able to leave Kington House, to leave me. Bloody hell, I am going to lose this woman if I don’t do something.
“It gives you options,” he replied.
The second she began to fiddle nervously with the green stone ring on her hand, Rhys knew he hadn’t put things as eloquently as he should have done. His mind had an unfortunate tendency to go blank in moments of social awkwardness. “I mean, you could stay here. With me, after your advisor role is complete,” he added.
Is that clear enough, or am I still making a hash of this?
“So, it would be some sort of arrangement?” she replied.
That wasn’t quite how he would have phrased it. Rhys was still searching for the right words when Deri appeared from out of the nearby wood and hailed them.
Blast. Deri, your timing couldn’t be worse. Can’t you see I am trying to woo her?
Wister raised a hand in greeting. Rhys could have sworn he caught the edge of a sigh of relief from her as she stepped past him.
“Lord Ruthin, how lovely to see you once more.”
Oh hell. I don’t think she understood what I really meant. Of course, she didn’t. You just offered Wister her old job back. What did you expect?
Rhys gritted his teeth. Yet again he had proven himself to be hopeless when it came to women. He found it difficult to ask them to dance. Found it even harder to conduct a conversation which held their interest for more than a minute. How on earth was he expected to make Wister understand that he was falling in love with her?
Chapter Sixteen
It wasn’t exactly the sort of offer Wister had been longing to receive from Rhys. At the least she was looking for a declaration involving some kind of emotional attachment. An arrangement sounded all too cold and distant.
She had been hoping to talk to him further about the kiss they had shared in the kitchen, but with Lord Ruthin now in the house and taking up most of Rhys’s attention, Wister was forced to leave the subject alone for the time being.
Rhys had told her he didn’t think it proper for a man to kiss a woman in the fashion that he had, but she was left with the uncomfortable worry that he had decided his need for her to remain as his advisor was more important that anything. That perhaps his interest had never been more than a moment of fancy, something which had now cooled.
He had paid her the wages she was owed and if that was all he wished to offer her; she should at least be grateful. Rhys was right in one thing—with money she now had options. Armed with the knowledge of what Lord Kington had done to her, she could tackle the problem of finding another position. There had to be other well-to-do houses in cities such as Manchester or even Edinburgh where a lady’s companion could find an opening.
The thought of her future being yet again in someone else’s home rather than her own brought her to tears more than once over the rest of the afternoon. George Weld had not been able to make her cry, but the prospect of only ever being Rhys’s employee did.
At supper that evening, she sat quietly at the dining room table while Deri, as she had been invited to call him, regaled the small gathering with tales of the happenings in London society. While she listened, her gaze continually drifted to Rhys—the dashing brown-haired rogue who had stolen her heart.
Even before that toe-curling kiss she had been falling for him. Her hopes that Rhys might feel something for her had soared for the briefest of moments earlier that morning when he mentioned her having options.
Because you were fool enough to let him know that you were not a virgin, it all crashed to earth. Of course, he is now looking to take you on as his mistress. You are a sexually experienced woman. That’s all he wants.
She had little money or prospects so a man such as he would be unlikely to look to offer her more. He no doubt would want a wife who brought a dowry with her marriage settlement. Nobles were always on the hunt for money. Deri’s fiancée Sophie came from a well-to-do family, so it made sense that Rhys would do the same.
If she stayed on at Kington House and took a place in Rhys’s bed, she would be giving up her own chance of marriage. At least for as long as she remained.
Staying on here might not be a bad thing. If he pays me, then at least if things do become problematic for my heart, I will be able to resign my position and start afresh somewhere new. I wonder how much it would cost for me to set up a small shop…
“Wister?”
She stirred from her thoughts as Rhys held a bottle of wine above her glass. He nodded, offering to pour some more. Wister shook her head. “No thank you. I have had enough. Making it downstairs after more than a glass or two can be difficult,” she replied.
He set the bottle down and turned back to Deri. Baron Ruthin was, from what Wister could gather, sharing with them all the juicy tidbits about an ugly encounter at a society ball. Rhys was lapping it up.
“The duchess had no sooner flicked open her extravagantly expensive fan when the countess did the very same thing, only for the two of them to realize they had the exact matching fan. You would have thought one of them had stolen the other’s first-born child from the way they carried on. I swear, at one point the duchesses’ footmen were taking bets as to who was going to throw the first punch.”
Rhys roared with laughter. Wister raised an eyebrow. She had heard enough rumors over the years not to be surprised by the outrageous behavior of the ladies of the ton. It was ironic that these were the very same women who felt superior enough to sit in judgement of her.
“Excuse me, gentlemen. I shall go and see how our pudding is fairing.” Wister rose from the table, leaving Rhys and Deri to talk. She and Polly had managed to cut the apples from the orchard up small enough to make a pie and it was baking in the oven.
The pie was the best excuse she had to get out of the room. Wister needed a few minutes alone to get her constantly swirling emotions firmly back under control. Being in the same room as Rhys when she felt this way about him was torture—the prospect of only ever being his mistress an impossibility.
As soon as Wister’s footsteps disappeared downstairs, Deri set his glass of wine down and stared at Rhys.
Rhys sighed. He didn’t need to look at his cousin to know that a good old- fashioned lecture was in the offing. “What?” he asked, eyes still cast down at his now empty supper plate.
“I am not going to say anything until you have the manners to grace me with your attention,” replied Deri.
With pained reluctance, Rhys shifted his gaze once more to the other end of the table.
“Thank you. Now, what have you done to resolve matters with Miss York? Don’t try to tell me that it has all been smoothed over, because the two of you have been assiduously avoiding one another’s gaze all night, while at the same time sneaking sly glances. Not to mention that neither of you has said more than two words. I have had to carry the whole conversation.”