Shattered Dreams Page 3

  “Send her in,” Harry muttered, and sat back to wait.

  He had no meetings arranged with anyone as far as he knew. He was also sure that he had never met Miss Madeline Fenton in his entire life.

  While he waited, he frowned and tried to remember his last conquest. He was fairly certain she had been called Margot, or Marguerite, so there could be no repercussions there; besides, he had taken precautions to ensure that there were no mistakes left behind.

  Whoever Miss Madeline Fensham was, if she had no connection to the Star Elite, he had little choice but to hear what she had to say and then send her away.

  “The master wants to see you,” the butler growled at Tilly.

  Tilly’s stomach dropped to her toes as she stared after him and then looked down at her dress in dismay. She opened her mouth to ask for a moment to get changed into something that didn’t smell, but then closed it again with a snap. The unfriendliness of both of the butler, and the woman at the table, assured her that she would get little sympathy from either of them.

  She sighed and clutched her bag a little tighter as she hurried after the butler, who didn’t bother to wait around to see if she was behind him as he stomped through the house.

  “Hurry up, he doesn’t have all day,” he growled impatiently when she eventually caught up with him in the hallway.

  Tilly merely threw him a dark look and walked a little slower. Unfortunately, the butler didn’t seem inclined to wait any longer than he absolutely had to because she hadn’t even reached him before he threw the door open.

  “Miss Fenning - thing,” he mumbled, but didn’t bother to look at the man inside. He couldn’t, because his eyes were too busy studying Tilly’s ample bosoms as she passed.

  Tilly walked into the room and felt her stomach drop to her knees. The world around her faded into insignificance as her eyes met his.

  She wondered faintly if there had been some sort of mistake, because this veritable God before her could hardly be classed as a middle-aged businessman like she had been led to believe he was.

  He was tall, lithe, and wonderfully, disturbingly handsome. His chiselled jaw was strong, the sharpness of which only emphasised the steely glint to the brilliant green eyes, and high cheekbones. His dark blonde hair was slightly longer than was fashionable, but that too only highlighted his rugged appeal.

  Something warm and wonderful began to unfurl deep within her. It was a struggle to keep her eyes off him. Sheer determination drove her to keep her face as impassive as possible, but she was helpless to do anything about the faint blush that stole over her cheeks, or the betraying hand that reached up to self-consciously poke a stray lock of hair back into place.

  She almost groaned aloud at the faint odour of manure that followed her when she walked hesitantly across the room. She tried not to move her skirts too much, but was aware that she fooled neither of them as she watched his nose twitch.

  Thankfully, he was far too much of a gentleman to mention it, and merely studied her with a rather disconcerted frown on his handsome face.

  In that moment, she felt wild, unkempt and bedraggled, and thoroughly embarrassed to be seen in such a state by someone like him.

  “Come forward.”

  The husky timbre of his voice slid down her spine like warm honey, and Tilly dutifully shuffled toward his desk before she had even realised that she had moved.

  A part of her wanted to turn around and leave, while another part of her wanted to take a seat and stare at him forever.

  “Please, take a seat,” he suggested, and waved an elegant hand toward one of the two chairs closest to her.

  While she tried to get her mind to focus on anything other than him, she slid over to the chair and perched tentatively on the edge of the plush cushion. Her fingers tightened around her bag as she placed it on her lap. She daren’t put it down because then she would have nothing to do with her hands except fidget, and she didn’t want him to know how nervously aware of him she was.

  She could feel his eyes studying her closely, and struggled to find something suitable to say beneath that heated stare.

  Harry studied her and fought a bitter curse at the timing of Fate. He had never believed in the folly of serious romantic entanglements, relationships, or even marriage before now. He was a man who lived in a man’s world, and was someone who travelled the length and breadth of the country for his work, and was happy to do so. He didn’t need roots. He didn’t need commitment. The last thing he had ever felt that he wanted, or needed in life was a wife, or any kind of baggage that would slow him down.

  However, he had never set eyes on any woman like this Miss Magdaline Thingy before. He felt as though someone had just slapped him around the face. He understood now why Dandridge had eyed her up like a starving man salivating over a juicy beef joint because he too was struggling to take his eyes off her.

  She was utterly stunning; from the soft curls that cascaded in a riotous jumble from the knot on the top of her head, to the tips of her dainty, mud-encrusted boots, she was by far the most delightfully intriguing female he had ever come across.

  He tried to focus on the matter at hand, like why she was in his study, he really did. However, the lure of her lush feminine curves, emphasised by the confines of the corset she wore, were downright captivating. He tried not to blatantly stare at her, but he found that his gaze was drawn back to her again and again.

  She wasn’t slender or skinny. She was curvy; sensual; and utterly wonderful.

  “You wanted me?” he croaked, and fervently hoped that she did.

  Get your mind on the job, he warned himself silently. He gave himself a stern, mental shake in a desperate attempt to get his mind off what it would be like to kiss those generously curved lips, and stroke that softly rounded pink-tinged cheek.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he whispered before he could stop himself.

  “Pardon?” Tilly asked with a frown.

  “Miss -,” Harry frowned, and tried to remember the name Dandridge had muttered at him.

  “Matilda Fenton, sir, but everyone calls me Tilly.”

  “Tilly.”

  Their eyes met and held. Tilly felt her cheeks blush even more at the sound of her name spoken in his rich, cultured tones.

  Is it me, or is it hot in here? She wondered, and stole a quick look at the fire.

  Although it was cold outside, the contrast in temperatures wasn’t so much that it should bring her out in a sweat. However, she felt flushed, and fidgety, and struggled not to squirm on the seat with discomfort. Rather than remove her cloak though, she remained perfectly still; trapped beneath the intensity of his gaze.

  “Miss Fenton.” Harry coughed uncomfortably. “Tilly.”

  He wondered if he should offer her a drink, or something. However, he daren’t get up and let her see the evidence of just how delightful he thought she was. His body ached for her with a fierceness he had never felt toward anyone before. He sighed deeply in an attempt to control the lustful thoughts that whirled around in his head, and tried to focus on why she was here.

  Why had she appeared in his life now, of all times? Where had she been all of his life?

  “How can I help you?”

  “I am here to take up my duties, sir,” Tilly replied quietly.

  She watched the man frown at her skirts for a moment. His gaze lingered on the muddied spots on the lower half of her dress a little too long for comfort, and she shifted awkwardly.

  “Please forgive the state of me,” she sighed. “There was an accident at the coaching inn yard, you see, and I got splashed.”

  “You weren’t injured, I take it?” He growled. The thought of anyone hurting her annoyed the hell out of him.

  She shook her head, and leaned back in her seat warily at the ferocity that suddenly appeared on his face.

  Good Lord, he is like some warrior God, she mused on a sigh.

  He fought desperately to keep his mind off the kind of ‘duties’ she could fulfil, and tried to
remember what she had just said.

  He couldn’t help it; he just had to ask. “What kind of duties are those?”

  Please, Lord, help me, he prayed. He felt like a total letch when he read the innocence on her face. She had absolutely no idea of the mental and physical turmoil she had just thrown him into. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

  “The housekeeping duties, sir. I received your letter and took the first available post chaise here as instructed.”

  “The housekeeper duties,” he repeated dully.

  Surely to God, Mrs Dandridge hadn’t employed someone to do her job for her, had she?

  A wild laugh began to bubble, but he ruthlessly quashed it. For one split second, he wondered if that was why the Dandridges’ didn’t have any money; they had spent all of their wages paying someone to do their work for them. However, sanity was soon restored and he quickly ignored the notion as utterly ridiculous.

  While he studied her, his mind raced frantically to find a way to get rid of Mrs Dandridge. The only thing that stopped him from dismissing the awful woman, and her deplorable cooking habits, was the knowledge that he didn’t want someone as stunningly beautiful as Tilly to work for him.

  Sleep with him – yes.

  Work for him as his employee – definitely not.

  Aware that Tilly was still waiting for him to answer her, Harry slowly shook his head.

  “I am afraid that I already have a housekeeper,” he informed her cautiously.

  “Yes, I know. Me,” Tilly replied somewhat hesitantly.

  She tried desperately to ignore the faint tremor in her hands, but couldn’t keep the deep seated worry from beginning to blossom. From the cautious look on his face, she had the distinct impression that he had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Can I see the letter you received?” He wondered if she had the wrong address.

  Tilly dug around in her bag, and handed him the letter with a hand that shook uncontrollably with a mixture of fear and nerves.

  He smiled at her in an attempt to ease the worry in her eyes. However, to his consternation, she almost fell back into the chair opposite as she resumed her seat and slowly, but surely, grew pale and watchful as the minutes ticked by.

  Tension hovered in the air between them while he carefully opened the single sheet of parchment and read what was written there.

  His temper began to build. It wasn’t enough that the neatly penned letter had been written by a hand that wasn’t his. To his disgust, someone had forged his signature, poorly, but effectively, on the bottom of the parchment, and sealed the letter with the Rectory seal.

  “You received this, when?” He peered at her over the top of the parchment.

  Was she linked to the Dandridges’? Did they want her in the house as an extra pair of eyes and ears? Was she a sexual diversion; a way to getting to know his secrets so they could get their hands on the money in the safe?

  He scowled at that thought, and felt his annoyance, and disappointment, grow.

  Miss Matilda Fenton was downright gorgeous, but even he wasn’t about to be lured into sharing any woman’s bed; even this woman’s bed; while the Dandridges’ lived under his roof.

  He studied the parchment in his hand again, and tried to remember if he had ever seen either of the Dandridges’ write. To his consternation, he couldn’t.

  He leaned back in his chair, and glanced across the desk at Tilly.

  “Would you do something for me?” he asked, and took a new sheet of parchment out of the drawer. When she nodded, he dipped his quill into the pot next to his elbow.

  “Write your name and address on this.” He slid the parchment and quill across the desk and settled back in his chair.

  A low groan nearly escaped him when she bent over the desk, and the lush swell of her breasts pushed tantalisingly against the tight bodice she wore. By the time she had finished writing, he had to wipe a thin film of sweat off his brow. When she eventually resumed her seat, he was silently praying that he wouldn’t embarrass himself.

  What the hell? Get your mind on the latest news, he sternly chastised himself as he tried to keep his eyes off her very feminine curves.

  “Thank you,” he croaked huskily when she had finished, and leaned back to compare her handwriting to the writing on the fake ‘offer letter’.

  Tilly had no idea what was going on, but didn’t like the way he studied the writing on both documents closely. She knew instinctively that something wasn’t right. From the look of his flushed face, and the faint tremor in his hand, he was furious about something.

  She hadn’t said more than a few words to him, so what could he be so angry about?

  She frowned as she waited for him to speak, and knew instinctively that she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. Sure enough, when he spoke, her world crumbled at her feet.

  “I am afraid, Miss Fenton -” he looked up at her frankly, “- Tilly, that you have been lured here under false pretences. I am afraid that there is no job.”

  He tried to soften his words; he really did, but could find no other way to impart the bad news.

  If at all possible, she grew even paler, and he wondered briefly if she was going to faint on him.

  Tilly stared at him in horror. It took her a moment to absorb what he had just said.

  “But it’s there, on the letter,” she stammered, and she pointed to the parchment he held. “It says that I have been given the job as a housekeeper, and should come here at my earliest convenience,” she finished weakly.

  Harry was already shaking his head. “I am sorry, but I wouldn’t engage any housekeeper I didn’t meet with first. No employer would,” he assured her gently. “Most employees have interviews first, and are then offered a job.”

  He wondered if she even had any kind of previous employment experience.

  “You seem too young to be a housekeeper,” he declared thoughtfully when it appeared that she was struggling to keep her tears at bay.

  Tilly tipped her chin up. “I have been a housekeeper to Lady Attingham, at Attingham House, in Lincolnshire, for the last three years,” she replied proudly.

  “How old are you?” Harry challenged.

  He quite liked the rather spiky side to her. It hinted that there was far more to this young woman than timidity and a life of service. She had spirit and backbone, and he liked that in her, especially right now because that brief flash of fire in her eyes had helped to eradicate the worst of the paleness in her cheeks.

  Tilly frowned at him. She wanted to tell him that it was rude for a gentleman to ask a lady her age, but reminded herself that she needed this man to employ her in some way, so couldn’t afford to offend him.

  “I am five and twenty,” she replied firmly. The ‘why’ remained unspoken, but hovered in the air between them.

  “Why are you looking for a new job?”

  Although a part of him wanted to hustle her out of the door before he did something disgraceful, he was intrigued, and just had to know more of her story.

  Who was she? Why was someone as beautiful as Tilly not married with a house-full of children?

  “My previous employer passed away suddenly. One of her friends suggested that I apply for the position of housekeeper here.”

  Harry thought about the advertisement they had put into the local broadsheet in Tooting Mallow to lure the Dandridges’ to work at the Rectory. Had the woman seen it, and recommended it to Tilly, to try to help her? Was this really an innocent misunderstanding?

  That being the case, where had Tilly’s letter gone, and why had someone replied on his behalf with a bag of lies? He quickly dismissed any idea of this being an ‘innocent’ mistake, and turned his attention back to the woman seated opposite; who looked about to shatter into a thousand pieces.

  “You said that you wrote here to enquire about the job?”

  “Yes,” Tilly sighed.

  “The woman who told you about the job; what’s her name?”

  “M
rs Bolsworthy.”

  “Is she from around here, do you know?”

  Tilly hesitated. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  Harry shook his head. “I have never heard of her.” He pierced Tilly with a hard look. “What kind of job did you do for Lady Attingham?”

  “I was her housekeeper.”

  His brows lifted in astonishment. “Really?”

  Tilly felt a little defensive. “My mother was the housekeeper. I grew up at her side, and learned the job through her. Unfortunately, she passed away a few years ago. Because I already knew what I was doing, Lady Attingham gave me the position.”

  “Then Lady Attingham died, and you needed to find something else,” Harry murmured thoughtfully.

  Tilly nodded, but couldn’t think of anything else to say to him. She felt as though the chaos she had encountered back in the coaching yard had remained with her because her thoughts had scattered in all directions, and now her mind refused to settle on anything that was of any real use to her.

  The only thing that mattered right now was one horrifying fact: there was no job in Tooting Mallow.

  Panic immediately began to set in, and she stared at the floor while she battled tears.

  What was she going to do?

  Where was she going to go?

  She looked at him and swallowed harshly. “There is no job?” She asked again, just in case she had misheard him.

  Harry slowly shook his head.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When he couldn’t stand the desolate look on her face a moment longer, Harry poured her a liberal shot of brandy. He pressed it into her reluctant fingers and then leaned his hips against the desk so that he could study her.

  “When did the letter arrive?” Harry knew that he had to gain as much information as he could from her while she was there. Once she had left, she would go – somewhere. He couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen to her now, and frowned while he waited for her to answer.

  “Last week,” she replied. “We were told that we had to close Attingham House because the new owner didn’t want to live there. It has been put up for sale, you see, so we were all out of work. The timing of this job was perfect.” She looked at him sadly. “Or so I thought.”