Curious. Obviously the servants dressed a lot better in the South than they did up here.
She was not complaining however, not when the clothes gave her a wonderful few of his broad torso, tapering down to a slim waist and legs that looked mouth-wateringly muscular in his tight black breeches.
She was a veritable hussy! Never had she so scandalously studied a man's form.
The heat of embarrassment and — admittedly — excitement rose to stain her cheeks.
He was closer now and stopped still, staring up at her. And now that she could see his face, the air left her body in one, giant whoosh.
Good God. The man was utterly gorgeous.
Mariah's breath hitched as she returned the man's curious gaze with a, frankly, lascivious one of her own.
His hair, which was currently being ruffled by the cold winter wind, a wind that she was now extremely envious of, was dark, almost black, but with touches of chestnut. And his eyes. His eyes were the exact colour of hot, dark chocolate. They made her think of indulgence and luxury and sin so bad that she'd likely give old Mr. Yates an apoplectic fit were she to confess it to him.
This would not do! This was a distraction she did not need.
She was here to do a job and it was a mammoth task by any standards. She did not need to be distracted by grooms and thoughts of rolling about in the stables.
She needed to maintain her distance from the servants so that she could go about her business and get out of here before the master of the house arrived.
So, shaking her head a little to clear her less than pure thoughts, Mariah summoned her most haughty smile. Being the daughter of a snobbish Bolton did have its uses after all.
"Ah, good morning," she said, keeping her tone brisk and trying to ignore her insane desire to lick his strong neck. Never before had she wanted to lick another human being. It was most disconcerting. "I am come to work on the library. You may take the horse and gig round to the stables. I shall find my way there when I am finished for the day."
She stepped down from the gig, grabbing her reticule on the way. Turning, she made sure not to stand close enough to smell him because if he smelled good well, her horse would witness something that no innocent horse should ever see.
"Here you go," she said jovially, though still a little coolly, there was no need to be rude after all. She thrust the reigns into his hands, making sure not to make contact with his skin.
Glancing down she saw that his hands were as large and strong as the rest of him. They did not even look work-worn.
Hands, she decided, were underrated. More people should take about their beauty.
He still hadn't spoken, and Mariah wondered, with his devilishly dark looks, if he could understand her.
If he hailed from some hot, exotic country she'd probably faint on the spot.
"Run along then," she encouraged and made a walking motion with her gloved hand.
He frowned at her hands, then at the reigns.
Hmm. Perhaps he was a little slow on the uptake. Bless him.
Mariah smiled encouragingly and then, because he seemed so confused, she reached out and patted him on the head. She reached up, rather. His head was quite high up.
"I'm sure you'll do a wonderful job," she said kindly then turned and marched up the front steps of the house.
He was terribly handsome, but the poor man obviously struggled with basic understanding. Well, she could never take advantage of such a vulnerable person.
As she strode to the imposing oak door, she tried not to think of what a pity that was.
Mariah knocked and tapped her foot impatiently waiting for someone to answer the door.
A quick glance around showed that the groom had jumped up on the gig and driven it around the back of the house.
So he had understood her instructions, thank goodness. She didn't fancy having to search out the horse when she was ready to leave.
The door opened and a ramrod straight man with snow white hair stood in the opening, along with the footman who had opened it.
A full staff then. Unusual, since the family weren't here but again, Mariah didn't know how they did things in London.
"Good morning," she said a little nervously. The white-haired man was very imposing. "I am Mariah Bolton. Mrs. Yates sent me about the library?" she phrased it like a question, suddenly feeling as though she were standing in front of a stern tutor and she'd gotten her sums wrong.
"But you're a woman."
The answer wasn't what Mariah had been expecting and she felt a ridiculous urge to apologise for the fact.
"Er—"she replied because really, what was one to say to that?
"You were not supposed to be a woman," the man stated, his voice incredulous.
Mariah frowned.
"Well, I'm terribly sorry," she said mischievously, "But I've been a woman for years now. I don't think there's much I can do to change the fact."
Her response seemed to snap the butler out of his probably uncharacteristic confusion and he immediately bowed and stepped back.
"I apologise, madam. Please do come in."