Page 59 of The Housekeeper's Secret

It was the first time Kate had seen her since her return. It had been so busy downstairs that she hadn’t thought it strange that Miss Dunn had gone straight up without so much as a greeting, but now she wondered if there was something wrong. As Miss Dunn stood back to let her in, her eyes slid away from Kate’s, and a tide of dull colour crept into her cheeks.

‘I let them go and get ready.’ Kate looked round for somewhere to set down the tray. ‘Is everything all right?’

The bathroom door was slightly ajar, and the sound of splashing water could be heard from within. Miss Dunn began moving around, collecting up sheets of tissue and discarded petticoats; anything, it seemed, to avoid meeting Kate’s eye.

‘Yes, thank you.’ Miss Dunn snatched up a pile of gloves from the table by the fireplace. As soon as Kate had set the tray down, she sprang to the door and held it open.

‘Do ring if there’s—’ Kate began, but Miss Dunn spoke at the same time.

‘I was wondering if I—’

There was a beat of awkward silence. Miss Dunn’s blush deepened, and she clamped her mouth shut.

Kate gave an apologetic laugh as she went out into the corridor. ‘Sorry. You were saying?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Miss Dunn spoke distractedly through the narrowing gap between door and frame. ‘I should—her ladyship will—’

The door shut.

As Kate went back along the corridor she was torn between amusement and annoyance. What was it about the woman that unsettled her? Or, more to the point, what was it about her that so obviously unsettled Miss Dunn? She remembered the day Miss Addison had first come to Coldwell: that unblinking stare from inside the carriage, the sense Kate had of being watched—

The thought stalled as a shadow detached itself from one of the doorways along the passage. Jem stepped forward, looking swiftly left and right, then held out his hand with a wicked smile.

Her fingers twined with his and she bit her cheeks to stifle laughter. The room he pulled her into was one of the smaller bedrooms, which hadn’t been used for years. The shutters were half-closed, the furniture draped in dust sheets, and they fell against the faded roses on the wall, their mouths coming together.

‘You got my note?’

‘Mm-hmm…’ he murmured against her lips. ‘The gamekeeper’s cottage. You’re not just a very pretty face, Mrs Furniss…’

He smelled of lime shaving soap and tasted of Sir Randolph’s brandy. ‘You remember where the key is, if you get there first?’ She flexed her neck as his mouth moved down, exposing her throat to his kisses. ‘On the ledge in the porch…’

‘I remember…’

The tip of his tongue found her earlobe. Shivers of bliss ran down her neck, echoing through her whole body as his teeth gently grazed the tender flesh. She moaned softly. ‘Nine o’clock seems a very long time away…’

‘Three hours…’ The words were a whispered exhalation, and his breath caressed her ear, quickening the shivers into something more urgent. Her back was pressed against the wall and she could feel the beat of his heart, strong and quick beneath her palm as her hands moved up the facings of his livery jacket. Her hips rose up to his. Three hours might as well have been three centuries.

‘I’m not sure I can wait…’

His mouth returned to hers. The only sound was the rasp and sigh of their breath, the rustle of her silk skirts and the silvery chime of her chatelaine. She felt his hand move down, and, without letting his lips leave hers, he unclipped the clasp so the chain slipped from her waist into his hand.

‘Are you… undressing me, Jem Arden?’

‘Well… I was making sure no one heard this… It’s quite a distinctive sound.’ He turned and put the fistful of silver carefully on top of the shrouded piece of furniture beside them. ‘But now you’ve put the idea in my head…’

His hands slipped over her hips, cupping the curve of her bottom.

‘We can’t!’ she squeaked.

‘Maybe not undress… but that won’t be necessary.’

In one swift movement he hitched her up so her legs were round his waist, pressing his mouth to hers to capture her little cry of surprise. She hooked her arms around his neck as he carried her to the bed, pushing back the dusty velvet hangings and laying her on its bare mattress. Before she could muster a token protest (she wasn’t sure she was capable) his hand had found the hem of her skirt and was moving up her leg, skimming over the thin lawn of her drawers, his fingers pausing at the top of her stockings, stroking the place where black lisle met bare flesh.

He lifted his head to look at her, his languid smile fading into something more intense. He was so beautiful. In the velvet gloom of the old bed there was just enough light for her to make out the deep shadows beneath his cheekbones, the molten darkness of his eyes. She read the unspoken question in them and knew he was giving her the chance to tell him to stop.

She opened her mouth, but his thumb was tracing circles on her thigh, dissolving all sense of duty and decency. All that came out was a ragged breath, a soft whimper.

She was weak with longing, liquid with want.

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