But hauling water required additional strength and perseverance. He felt the strain across his shoulders and even in his thighs as he climbed with greater resistance. And he relished the feeling with a strange sort of welcoming burn in his muscles. Perhaps he should do this more often, or find an alternative means by which to challenge his strength.
Arriving on the appropriate floor, Steven made his way toward Miss Smith’s room. Upon reaching it, he set one bucket down and knocked. The door opened soon after to reveal a woman with golden curls tumbling around her shoulders. She’d tamed it during his absence and was now staring back at him with the exact same degree of surprise he was sure must be painted upon his own face.
Heaven above, she was gorgeous, and the realization – the effect of it – barreled into him without an ounce of warning. His mouth went dry and his stomach tightened. Gone was the dress she’d worn earlier, replaced by one of the creamy silk complimentary wrappers the room had to offer.
“Come in,” she muttered, stepping aside to grant him entry.
He swept past her in a daze and headed toward the washroom where a large ceramic tub stood ready. Meanwhile, his brain wondered what she wore beneath the wrapper, if anything at all.
A surge of desire heated his skin and caused him to set the pails down harder than he’d intended. Water sloshed onto the floor and he muttered a curse, then made sure the drain was tightly secured before emptying one of the pails into the tub. It was vital he keep himself busy – his mind off the lovely temptation he sensed behind him.
“I hate to trouble you with this,” she said in a rush.
“I promised you a bath, Miss Smith.” He dumped the second bucket into the tub and turned, only to be reminded of her alluring beauty. His fingers curled roughly around the bucket handles, holding onto them for dear life. Good grief. The slippery fabric she wore clung to her curves, sliding this way and that with every move she made. Hell, it even stretched tighter across her breasts as she breathed.
“I know, Mr. Donahue, and I appreciate the length to which you’re willing to go on my behalf. I just feel bad about it, that’s all.”
“Don’t,” he answered gruffly. “There’s really no need. That is to say, it’s my pleasure.”
It looked like she was about to say something else, but then Jimmy arrived with additional buckets and a tray-carrying maid on his heels, offering Steven a welcome excuse to make his escape. Lord have mercy upon him, but he needed to get away from Miss Smith before the arousal already stirring his blood got out of control.
9
The next three days were strange indeed. Not that they were unpleasant, Calista mused while sipping her afternoon tea. Quite the contrary. But she had imagined she would see more of Mr. Donahue than she had, that the two of them would discuss a concrete plan for her return to New York, and that her departure would have been scheduled by now.
Instead, a smartly dressed gentleman who introduced himself as Mr. Pontoppidan, came to call on her the day after she’d moved into her new room. He brought with him a young woman Calista had not met before.
“This is Emma,” he’d said. “She will serve as your personal lady’s maid and companion for the remainder of your stay.”
Calista had blinked several times. She’d always shared a maid with her mother and while she appreciated the consideration with which she was being treated, it was really too much since she could never hope to repay Mr. Donahue’s kindness.
It got worse though…
“This is for you,” Mr. Pontoppidan said, retrieving an envelope from his breast pocket. He set it on a narrow table immediately to the left of the door. “I should also add that Mr. Grant and Mr. Thompson no longer work here.”
Calista tore her gaze away from the curious envelope and stared at Mr. Pontoppidan in dismay. “They’ve been dismissed?”
“Along with Mr. Greene.” He raised his chin a notch. “I am to replace him, Miss Smith. Might I inquire if there is anything else you need?”
“No. I don’t believe there is.”
“In that case I hope you will excuse me. There’s much for me to attend to in light of my new position, so I’ll leave you to become acquainted with Emma.”
“Thank you,” was all Calista could think to say. When she’d opened the envelope moments later, she’d gasped before promptly dropping it back on the table. Fifty pounds. With a note demanding she spend it on a new wardrobe.
She couldn’t possibly accept such a sum, though she did briefly consider using it to purchase her return ticket to New York. An idea she forced herself to relinquish with some reluctance. Mr. Donahue had been nothing but kind, and in exchange for that kindness she’d promised him she would not travel alone – that she would allow him the necessary time to find a suitable travel companion. Hopefully, he would do so soon.
She’d already spent too long in England. Without Peter’s financial assistance she had no choice but to go home and marry the odious Mr. Thorkilson. There was no other choice if she were to stop him from following through on the threat he’d made her father. The awful man insisted he would destroy Papa’s career, take his home and possessions as recompense for the loans unless the funds were returned to him or Calista became his bride.
Four months was what Mr. Thorkilson had allowed, of which only one and a half month remained. It was essential she arrived in New York before Mr. Thorkilson found her gone. It was also vital to her that she reassure her poor parents who surely worried about what had happened to her. So she wrote a letter, informing them that things hadn’t worked out as she’d expected and that she looked forward to seeing them both again soon. Signed and sealed she handed it to Emma along with a few coins she’d earned. “Please make sure this gets sent out immediately.”
“Of course, miss. I’ll take it directly to the post office myself.”
For the next two days, Calista remained in her rooms while rain fell against her windows. Since she had decided she would not spend the money Mr. Donahue offered, she saw little reason to leave. A walk would not be much fun in this weather. So she took tea with Emma each afternoon instead, but ate her meals alone.
Much to her relief, she faced no further trouble from any of the servants on the few occasions when she called on them. Though she was starting to wonder over Mr. Donahue’s lack of presence.
Until Calista woke on the third morning of her stay. As well rested as she’d been the previous two days, she stretched her arms above her head before climbing from the bed and seeing to her toilette. She then padded across the floor and entered the small sitting room next to her bedchamber. Which was when she spotted the piece of crisp white card stock slipped under her door.
She snatched it up and read the missive scrawled in the same masculine hand that graced the previous note she’d received from Mr. Donahue.
It has come to my attention that you have not spent the funds I’ve made available to you. Please do so today as I would like you to join me for dinner this evening. Formal wear will be required.
Donahue.
Gripping the card, Calista sank into an armchair with a sigh. She did not understand this man. He’d more or less vanished from her orbit completely since helping prepare her bath three days prior. Then had come the money and the instruction to spend it, followed by nothing. Until this moment, it almost seemed as though he’d forgotten her.