Page 60 of The Housekeeper's Secret

Unlocked. Undone.

His fingers slid upwards, expert and gentle. His movements were delicate and unhurried, in sharp contrast to the savage waves of sensation that were building inside her, and the swiftness with which they overwhelmed her. He knew just when to gather her against him with his free hand and hold her as the storm gathered and broke, so she could gasp her shivering ecstasy into his chest.

For several long moments he cradled her against him, rocking her as her breathing steadied. When she could form words, she raised her head to look at him.

‘My God, Jem—’ It was a croak. ‘How do you—where did you learn—?’

‘Shh…’

He kissed her into silence again. They were both laughing softly, incredulous at their own audacity. They had been bold before, in snatching moments and taking risks, but not like this. She felt shaken, exhilarated, disorientated. Frightened by the speed with which she had abandoned herself and the ease with which he could unravel her. Already he was getting up, straightening his clothing, preparing to return to respectability.

‘You’re going?’

‘I have to.’ He was whispering, but still she caught the rueful note. ‘You know that.’

Of course she did. Briefly she had slipped outside of reality, but it was still there waiting for her. The knowledge that every second was stolen, and every passing minute increased the danger of discovery. Time was a luxury reserved for those who inhabited the upstairs rooms, not those who crept into them illicitly.

‘It’s not for long.’ His hair was ruffled from her fingers. He smoothed it down, swooping to press a kiss on her forehead, hovering his mouth next to her ear as he said, ‘We can do it again later. And I’ll undress you slowly, bit by beautiful bit, with all the care you deserve.’

With one last lingering kiss he was gone, closing the door softly behind him, leaving her washed up on the retreating tide of sensation, broken open and hollowed out.

It took great effort to get up. Her legs felt too weak to carry her along the empty corridor and down the stairs. Before she left, she twitched aside a dust sheet to check her reflection in the looking glass, leaning in to scrutinise her face through the last of the light, reassuring herself that she might still pass as Coldwell’s capable housekeeper.

Jem would have gone down the back stairs, so she took the main staircase. Halfway down her heart gave a stutter of dismay as Frederick Henderson appeared from the library corridor. As he crossed the hallway he looked up, and his eyes moved down her body, coming to a halt at her waist. His brows rose a fraction.

‘Everything all right, Mrs Furniss?’

With a jolt of horror, she remembered her chatelaine, lying where Jem had left it in the shuttered bedroom.

To admit error or show any sign of weakness would be a mistake. She would have to return for it later. She forced herself to keep going, down the stairs towards him.

‘Perfectly, thank you, Mr Henderson. I hope you enjoy the evening.’

She was satisfied with how assured she sounded, though without her chatelaine she felt oddly undressed. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at her that made her feel that way. Exposed.

‘Oh, I intend to, Mrs Furniss.’ His eyes followed her as she passed and turned towards the baize door to the basement. ‘I intend to enjoy it very much indeed.’

Chapter 20

The sky had darkened into bruised twilight, but strings of lights, powered by a throbbing generator, had been hung between the tents and around the wooden platform that had been set up for dancing. They shone on the faces of the couples circling the rough boards—flushed with drink, smiling, or glassy-eyed—and those clustered at its edges, tapping their feet and swaying as they watched.

Jem stood outside the ale tent with a half-empty pewter mug, and impatiently searched the crowd of drinkers and dancers. The two beers he’d drunk already had done nothing to calm the restless pulse inside him or slow the whirr of his thoughts, which circled between Mullins and Kate. His senses were on high alert, ears straining to hear the stable yard clock above the music.

‘What time is it, do you think?’

‘About ten minutes later than last time you asked.’ Thomas drained his tankard of ale. ‘And time for another of these. Drink up, I’ll get more, before they run out.’

‘It’s all right, I’ll go.’

He didn’t want more beer, and Thomas certainly didn’t need it, but it was an excuse to have another scout round for Mullins. He’d looked earlier, but hadn’t been able to find him in any of the tents where beef stew was being dished out from great vats by the staff of the Bull’s Head, nor amongst the crowd around the wooden dance floor. It was past eight o’clock. Time was running out.

There was no sign of Kate either. He was torn between willing the time to fly by so he could be with her, and wanting to stop the clock and search for Mullins. Frustration sluiced through him as he ducked beneath a flap of canvas to join the crush around the beer table. He considered asking the man in the grimy neckerchief who served him if he knew of Mullins or his whereabouts, but the tent was noisy and if he shouted to be heard he risked drawing unwelcome attention. He carried the brimming tankards back to where Thomas stood, swaying out of time to the music.

‘Did the lasses find you?’ The three pints had gone to Thomas’s head and his words were beginning to run into each other. ‘They were here a minute ago—Eliza’s looking for you. Said you promised her a dance.’ He nudged Jem’s arm, splashing ale onto his sleeve. ‘She likes you, you know.’

Jem didn’t answer. Through the slow-circling carousel of dancers he’d caught a glimpse of Kate. Mullins dissolved from his thoughts.

‘Look—there she is,’ Thomas grunted, then turned to Jem, blinking stupidly. ‘Ha—you like her too! You do, I can tell!’

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