"Miss Bolton," he finally said wearily, "I had hoped that the house would be filled with silent servants and an unobtrusive, bookish young man. I have neither the time nor the inclination to host anybody else under my roof. You are neither male nor unobtrusive."
"No, I am not. Though I feel it is only right to point out that you sought me out to speak today, sir. Not the other way around. Furthermore, I was led to believe that you and your wife would not arrive until Christmas or thereabouts and that my job was to be finished before then, if at all possible. Tis hardly my fault if you changed your plans and arrived early."
Well, that had probably done it. No doubt he would now inform her that her services were no longer required but really, that may not be a bad thing.
The truth of it was, if she wasn't angry and or insulted by him, she was panting like a dog at his sheer, overwhelming attractiveness. Neither state was a good one, especially in light of the fact that he had a family.
"My wife?" he asked in confusion.
"Well, yes. I mean, I assumed when Mrs. Yates mentioned your family that—"
"I am not married, Miss Bolton. If I were, your presence would not be a problem."
Mariah started at his words. What did he mean by that?
"I don't know—"she began before he held up a hand stopping her.
"My life is — complicated at the moment, Miss Bolton. Further complications therefore, are unwelcome. I have no doubt that you have the skills required to take on this task, but you are very much a complication."
"But how?" she demanded, jumping from her seat, incensed. "And why? What have I done except mistake you for a groom and, well, yes I did almost kill your butler but he frightened me first."
"You misunderstand," he said softly. "Although you are one of the strangest females I've ever met, unusually outspoken and, well, loud," he said with a wince, which earned him a scowl, "it wouldn't matter if you were quiet as a church mouse. You are a complication."
"Why?" she asked again, sending him an exasperated glare.
Mr. Haverton placed his empty glass on the table, with more force than was necessary in her opinion, and then turned toward her.
He stared at her and she stared right back. She would not back down on this. She would not return home and tell her mama that she'd failed and had displeased the new man in town. She would likely never hear the end of it.
Finally he sighed and ran a hand once more through his hair. Mariah's hands fairly itched to follow suit but she balled them ruthlessly into fists. She would not, could not let herself feel relief at the fact that he wasn't married as she'd assumed.
"Because," he said after an age, stalking toward her.
Mariah's heart began to gallop.
"You are the most distractingly beautiful woman I've ever seen, and I cannot concentrate on what I need to do when my efforts are being spent on not ravishing you on the spot."
CHAPTER FOUR
Mariah had never in her life been accused of being speechless, but she could not think of a single word to say to that.
Her breathing became laborious and a sharp jolt of desire pierced her with such force that she almost staggered.
Her mother's words of virtue and propriety screamed in her head, warning her of rakish, untrustworthy men and the importance of living a pure, blemish-free existence.
Yet at that moment, she had an almost physical desire to throw herself into his arms and be entirely improper.
Not that she knew what that entailed but she rather guessed that she would enjoy finding out.
But of course, she couldn't do such a thing. Much as she'd like to.
"Do not look at me like that."
Mr. Haverton's strained voice cut through her haze of longing.
"Like what?" she whispered, still breathless, still very much wanting to be the opposite of good.
"Like the idea of being ravished doesn't horrify you," he said bluntly.
Mariah, a voice still annoyingly like her mother's scolded her, do not open your mouth in that brutal forthright manner of yours. Do not say what you are thinking.
"It doesn't," she blurted out.
Her conscience, Mariah thought, did a horrible job of actually stopping her from doing stupid things.
She watched his eyes widen at her words, watched their chocolate-brown depths grow darker until they seemed black as sin.
"You shouldn't say such things," he muttered hoarsely.
"I know," she whispered.
"You do not even know me," he went on.
"I know," she repeated. Evidently she had lost the ability to sound like an intelligent human being.
"You would be well served to stay away from me, Miss Bolton," he said though in opposition to his words, he stepped closer still.
Never had Mariah appreciated what a difficult task inhaling and then exhaling was.
"No doubt," she answered now, sounding more confident than she felt.
She was terrified. Not of him but of the feelings raging through her as they spoke.
"Yet, here you stand," he finished.
Mariah swallowed, feeling that she was on the precipice of something much larger than she could really handle.