Undoubtedly, Mercy would see that face and body of his for years to come; long after he was gone from here, the far too handsome man would haunt her fantasies.
“Ah, Masters. This is my other sister, Grace.” Bede waved to her on the stairs, finally making the introduction.
Grace fixed a starstruck smile to her face and managed to descend the rest of the steps without tripping over her feet.
Masters stepped forward, claimed her hand and executed a very smart and gentlemanly bow over it.
Mercy gawked. He had not displayed such fine manners to her. No, they had skipped all such niceties. The sight of him doing something so ordinary to her sister, even though Mercy and Masters had done the extraordinary, rankled. He might have touched Mercy where no other man had, but he had not bowed over her hand.
She felt a stab of envy that she quickly shoved aside. She had no reason to feel so very proprietary toward him. And she certainly should not feel jealous of her sister. That was not right. Not right in any fashion. She had changed the girl’s nappies.
At any rate, he was not hers. She ought not to feel anything for him.
He was an arrogant and pushy man, barging into her life without invitation and tossing his weight around and declaring that he would set her up in a house in London—of all things! As though such a fate would please her. As though she would be pleased to be a kept woman.
It’s not you he wants. It’s his child—if there happens to be one.
She could not wait until she had the proof that she was not expecting and he took his leave. As long as he remained, she hovered on the brink of ruin.
Clearly. She winced. She had not even been alone with him for very long in the orangery and she had succumbed to the same heat that flared between them in London. They had been seconds away from rutting like a pair of wild animals.
Her face went scalding hot at her behavior. She’d gone at him like a woman starved and he was the last piece of bread on earth. What would have happened if her brother had not come upon them when he did? A minute later and they likely would have been well engaged and unable to dress quickly back into their clothes before being discovered.
She gave her head a small, miserable shake and pressed the backs of her fingers to an overheated cheek. This entire situation was untenable.
How could they be here, together, under the same roof, and not behave as though they were past intimates? As long as he remained, she toed a dangerous line. How long before her sister or brother or one of the staff looked at them together and knew?
Except . . . who would expect her to be so bold as to have—or had—a lover?
Her mind tracked over her brother, her sister, Gladys, Elsie . . . contemplating whether they would ever think such a thing of her?
No. None of them would suspect it of her. She supposed that was the only thing redeeming about being considered tediously predictable and dull.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Masters,” Grace said in a breathy little voice, her eyes dewy and wide, like some kind of caricature and not a flesh and blood person.
“Likewise. Bede never mentioned he had such lovely sisters.”
Grace’s cheeks pinkened and she giggled, one of her hands flying to her chest in what seemed the move of a very practiced flirt. Only how could that be? Her sister hardly ever went anyplace where she might practice her wiles. How was it she had any wiles at all?
Mercy resisted rolling her eyes. She needed to keep up the appearance of a cordial hostess at the very least and not reveal her distaste for this entire scenario.
“How long will you be staying with us, Masters?” Bede asked, and beneath that question Mercy thought she detected a lingering thread of bewilderment.
Understandably, he still did not comprehend what the man was doing here if it was not to collect his pound of flesh. Bede more than likely struggled with the notion that this hardened and experienced man felt charitable toward them. Bede certainly did not possess such an altruistic streak. He would be hard-pressed to imagine a powerful man like Silas Masters being anything other than selfish and greedy and callous.
“I am not certain. Although I promise not to overstay my welcome.” His gaze found hers as he uttered this, and she managed not to release a snort of derision. He was already here for too long as far as she was concerned, and well he knew it.
“Oh, that is not possible,” Grace gushed.
Heaven help me.
“Indeed.” Bede clapped him on the shoulder as though they were longtime friends. “That would not be possible. You may stay as long as you wish, Masters.”
Mr. Masters suddenly glanced back toward the door. “Oh, I left my bags with my mount in the barn—”
Elsie hopped to action, moving toward the door. “I will be happy to fetch them for you, sir.”
He called his thanks after her as she hastened from the house, and then turned back to face the rest of them.
“Shall I show you up to your room, Mr. Masters?” Gladys offered.
“I can do that,” Grace quickly volunteered, her hand shooting up like she was volunteering for a game of croquet.
The girl was going to need a leash whilst Masters was here.
“We won’t keep you from the rest of your evening, Gladys. I will show Mr. Masters to his room,” Mercy smoothly inserted.
Grace dropped her hand, her features pulling into a clear pout.
Mercy was the mistress of the house, after all. Besides, she would not be thrusting Grace into his company. She would no sooner leave her little sister with a pack of ravenous wolves. She knew firsthand just how dangerous the man was to a woman’s senses. Her sister was far too young and impressionable, her head easily turned by a handsome man.
And there was the indisputable truth: Silas Masters was not just handsome. He was sin incarnate.
“Are you hungry, sir? I can have a tray brought up to your room,” Gladys offered.
“Thank you for the kind offer, but I’ve eaten.”
“Very well. Good evening then.” With a dip of her head, Gladys returned to the kitchen.
Mr. Masters faced Mercy again. He motioned to the stairs. “Shall I follow you up?”
She nodded. “Of course. I am sure you would like to settle in after your long journey.”
He nodded with a vague smile and she turned, acutely conscious of him at her back as she ascended the stairs, shooing on the still gawking Grace ahead of her.
Her sister walked up the stairs ahead of her, moving, but frequently looking over her shoulder, as though verifying they were still coming behind her. To clarify, as though to verify that Silas Masters was still behind her and in fact real and not something imagined from fantasy. She could not care less if Mercy followed her.
Grace continued to lead the way even when they reached the second floor, forcing Mercy to take hold of her arm and stop her.
With a stern look, Mercy said, “Grace, go back to your room and ready yourself for bed, please.”
Grace’s presence was not needed to tuck Masters in for the night. That would establish a precedent of involvement Mercy did not want between her sister and Mr. Masters.
Grace crossed her arms over her chest in defiance.
“Grace,” she said tightly.
Spinning around, Grace stalked off to her bedchamber.
Turning around, she led Masters the rest of the way.
The guest chamber was the last room at the end of the corridor, overlooking the back of the house, which boasted a profusion of flowers and a seating area for when they sometimes dined outside in temperate weather.