“That suits you better. You look too matronly with your hair wound on top of your head.”
There were more flattering styles, but one needed a hair dresser to achieve those, and before he’d come, Julia hadn’t cared what her hair looked like as long as it was out of her way.
“I am the matron of this house, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t allow me to forget that point. And as such, you cannot interview these ladies with your hair undone. You need…something…” He tapped his finger on his lips. “Ah!”
This time, she swatted his hand away when he reached for her bosom. “What are you about, sir?”
He caught her hand and smiled at her. It was a rogue’s smile if she’d ever seen one. She knew she should not have trusted him.
“Not what you are thinking, though you seem to have found a way to make even drab gray look enticing.”
She looked down at her muted dress, a dress she had put on without much thought this morning. “What do you—”
He reached for the bodice again, but when she would have slapped him away, he murmured, “Trust me.”
Those were exactly the words that should have sounded the alarm in her head and her heart. Instead, she stood completely still while his fingers caught hold of the dark-blue ribbon adorning the dress’s bodice. The bodice did not have a particularly low neck, but it was a dress suitable for multiple occasions. As it was morning, and she was supposed to be the head of the orphanage, she had tucked a thin, gauzy fichu in the bodice to cover the modest flesh exposed by the rounded style. Wraxall’s fingers crushed the flimsy material as he pulled the ribbon from its bow and gently tugged it free from its moorings.
Julia could not have breathed if she’d wanted to. His fingers, though not straying from their task, burned her flesh wherever they touched. The feel of the ribbon being pulled free made Julia all the more aware that Wraxall might move his hand but a tiny fraction and he would be cupping her breast. She found, inexplicably, that she wanted to feel his hands on her. And the more she imagined his hands on her, the heavier her breasts felt and the more her nipples hardened until the peaks strained against the light fabric of her chemise.
She gulped in a deep breath, feeling much like a fish that’s been tossed on land. Horrified, she couldn’t help but notice that when she breathed in, the tops of her breasts rose from the dress’s bodice and encountered Wraxall’s warm fingers. A gentleman would have pulled his hand away. Wraxall didn’t move any part of himself, except for his eyes, which lifted from their focus on the ribbon to meet her gaze.
Those eyes, usually so blue and clear, were the color of a stormy sea. Heat seemed to burn off the man, radiating in waves and washing over her. He nodded slightly, and Julia felt as though some agreement had been made between the two of them, some promise that would be honored later. She did not know precisely what it might be, but her body seemed to understand it. Her body swayed closer to him even as her mind cautioned her to flee.
She might have run back up the steps too if he hadn’t put his arms around her. They didn’t go around her exactly, but he reached behind her, gathering her hair into a long tail. Her whole body came alive as little frissons of pleasure trailed from her scalp to her neck and all the way to her toes. He looped the ribbon about her hair and tied it into a bow. Then slowly—far more slowly than necessary—he stepped back and away from her.
She still could not catch her breath, and she knew her chest rose and fell as she gulped in air. His eyes assessed her, initially inspecting his handiwork but then drifting to the motion of her chest and then to the folds of her skirts where her legs formed a vee. Oh yes. She was warm there too. Moisture had gathered and with it a ripple of awareness. But he couldn’t know what she felt at the juncture of her thighs.
Could he?
“You had better go in now.”
She nodded. And stood motionless. In one smooth movement, Wraxall pushed the door to the kitchen open and extended an arm in invitation. Julia closed her eyes to clear her head, then marched through the kitchen to the vestibule, smiling broadly at the potential cooks waiting for her.
*
After Neil had moved Lady Juliana’s applicants to the entryway, he corralled the orphans upstairs. There was no point in scaring the cooks away before they’d even interviewed. He’d planned to repair the roof today, but a steady drizzle interspersed with heavier deluges thwarted his plans. Perhaps that was for the best. He was so weary he would probably fall off the roof if he attempted to repair it. One of these nights, he would have to sleep. And at some point, he hoped he would be able to go home. He’d sent for clean clothing and washed in the servants’ quarters, so at least he was clean and properly attired. He’d also managed to waylay Goring, who had returned this morning with a story of a sick relative. Neil intended to keep the manservant close and Slag uninformed.
When he had all the children gathered in the older boys’ room, Neil issued his orders. “We can’t work on the roof this morning and you still have no teacher for lessons—”
A resounding shout drowned him out. Neil ignored it. He raised one hand, and the din quieted. “So we will make use of our time by cleaning your quarters.”
“Boo!” was the response.
Neil crossed his arms over his chest. “Gentlemen, when I want your opinion, I will give it to you. In the meantime, strip the beds, push all the furniture to one corner, get the broom, find a mop and bucket, and start cleaning.” He turned to the four younger boys. “Mr. Goring will help you.”
Goring frowned. “I ain’t a maid, sir.”
“You are today, Goring. Be thankful you don’t have to do it all on your own.”
The four younger boys scampered off, full of excitement, and Neil turned back to the chaos in the older boys’ dormitory. Before he knew what had happened, the red-haired boy pushed a box into his arms. “You’d better hold on to these, Major, or they’re likely to get free.”
Neil looked down at the three rats, who blinked up at him. He took a deep breath. He’d never cared much for rats. He’d encountered them plenty of times on missions when he’d had to camp in dark cellars or fetid alleys. These rats were certainly cleaner and tamer. One of them rose up on its hind legs and sniffed at him with its little, pink nose. Neil didn’t shudder, but he wouldn’t go so far as to call the creature cute.
He resolved to build a proper cage for the little beasts, but until then, he took the box and placed it inside Lady Juliana’s room. He made a point not to look around, not to imagine her in that silk nightgown he’d seen snatches of last night.
Leaving the rats, he returned to the dormitory in time to see the tall boy who kept to himself shove something under his mattress. “You.” Neil pointed.
“That’s Billy,” Michael told him. “He’s eleven.”
Neil had already learned that Michael enjoyed numbers. He counted everything he could.
“What do you have there, Billy?” Neil made his way over.
Billy didn’t look him in the eye. “Nothing, Major.”
“What did you hide under the mattress?”
Billy’s dark eyes rose and settled on Neil’s face. Billy had a maturity beyond his years, and Neil knew that before he’d come to the orphanage, Billy had seen plenty on the streets of London.
“Let’s see,” Neil said.
Still looking at Neil, Billy lifted the mattress. Underneath, six kitchen knives gleamed. Immediately, the other boys in the chamber found themselves engrossed with other tasks.
“That’s quite a collection,” Neil remarked. “What do you need the weapons for?”
“Defense.”
Neil looked about the room. “Against these lads? You’re bigger than all of them. It seems to me if you had trouble, you could use your fists.”
“I’m not worried about these lads.”
Neil nodded. “Then who?”
Billy shrugged. “If there’s any trouble, I like to be ready.”
“I’m here,” Neil said. “If there’s any trouble, I’ll handle it.”