“I don’t know,” he answered. “I didn’t eat.”
“Then you’ve broken one of your own cardinal rules.”
She moved with such grace. James couldn’t stop looking at her, watching her. He couldn’t help but feast on the way her satin dressing gown molded itself to her breasts and hips and thighs, the way the flicker of light from the stove seemed to reflect on the satin covering the slightly convex mound below her waist. “Which are?” He sounded as if he’d never heard of them.
“They’re your rules,” she replied. “You should know what they are.”
“Refresh my memory,” James answered in his deep, husky voice.
Elizabeth frowned at him.
“Humor me.”
“All right,” she recited. “Rule number one: Never leave the Treasures alone. Rule number two: Never leave the balcony door open. And rule number three: Never, ever, miss breakfast, lunch, or dinner.”
James closed his eyes. Those were rules he insisted his staff abide by. He supposed they could be called cardinal rules. And if breaking them meant punishment, he was already destined for purgatory. Because he hadn’t just broken one cardinal rule. Tonight, he’d broken all three. And he was in serious danger of breaking cardinal rule number four: never seduce your daughters’ governess—or allow your daughters’ governess to seduce you. James’s breath caught in his throat as Elizabeth moved closer, then glanced around the room, searching for some place to sit. He lifted his feet from the seat of the chair he was using as a footstool and pushed it toward her. Elizabeth lowered herself onto the tiny chair as James reached out with his foot, hooked another one by its bottom rung and pulled it to him.
“You’re quite adept at that,” Elizabeth commented.
“I’ve usually got my hands full,” he told her. “I’ve been forced to learn to make good use of my other body parts.”
“I’ll bet,” Elizabeth blurted out, staring not at James’s stockinged feet, but at the ripple of his muscles below the thick wedge of hair on his chest. She didn’t realize she’d spoken the comment aloud until she heard the deep rumble of his laughter.
Elizabeth blushed red from her neck to the roots of her hair.
“Making comments like that can get you into trouble,” he warned.
She lifted her chin a notch higher and defiantly flipped a section of her long hair back over her shoulder. Elizabeth felt as if she were walking on the edge of a precipice. One wrong move and she could go tumbling over the rim, and yet, she couldn’t back off the path. She was compelled to disregard the danger, to dance along the rim of the precipice, and to continue the thrilling journey into uncharted territory. “Can it?”
“Aye.” All traces of the crisp, proper British businessman vanished. James’s one-word answer was pure Scots seduction.
Elizabeth wet her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue.
Her unconscious signal made James tense even more. And he was already wound as tightly as a clock. His body ached, practically screaming with the need for physical relief despite the fact that he’d been running all day long on less than four hours of sleep and was currently sitting in a rocking chair burping his three-day-old daughter after her early-morning bottle. “Doing that can get you into even bigger trouble.”
Elizabeth looked up at him from her seat on the chair beside his feet. “I think it’s too late for the warning. I think I’m in big trouble already,” she whispered softly, fervently. “What should I do?”
James stared down into her extraordinary blue-green eyes and read the hot desire and the confusion mirrored in them. “Run,” he whispered. “Save yourself while you can.”
Elizabeth pushed herself to her feet. “Is that what you want?”
James’s jaw tightened and he looked at her, willing her to understand. No, it wasn’t what he wanted. Or what he needed. But it was the best thing for her. Elizabeth needed to understand that, needed to understand the noble sacrifice he was trying to make on her behalf. He patted Diamond one last time and listened as she let out a satisfied burp, then James lifted the baby from her place on his lap and held her out to Elizabeth. “What I want,” he said bluntly, “is for you to do what you’re paid to do. Take Diamond and put her to bed and—”
Elizabeth had the baby in her arms before he finished speaking.
James breathed a sigh of relief as she disappeared into the Treasures’ bedroom. He stood quietly for a few moments, contemplating his next move. They were safe. At least for the moment. It was time for him to disappear. He turned and started toward the door, then came up short when Elizabeth blocked his path.
“And?” she asked softly, provocatively, deliberately moistening her lips with the tip of his tongue.
James stared blankly at her.
“You said you wanted me to put Diamond to bed and …”
James’s whole body vibrated with the effort he was making to restrain himself. Every nerve he possessed hummed with tension, and he clamped down on his natural inclination to sweep Elizabeth off her feet and carry her to his bed. He gritted his teeth. “Oh, hell.”
Elizabeth’s face fell. Tears welled up in her eyes and threatened to spill over her bottom lashes.
James stared at the glimmer of tears and the stricken expression on her face and all of his good intentions evaporated. “And,” he whispered as he reached for her and pulled her up against him. “Kiss me good night.”
Twenty-five
THE FIRST BRUSH of his lips against hers set Elizabeth’s heart racing and her nerve endings jangling. She leaned into him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and tilted her head back to better accommodate him. James cupped one of her firm plump breasts in his hand as he teased the seam of her lips with his tongue, tasting, probing until she parted her lips and allowed his tongue to slip through.
Elizabeth shivered as James used his tongue to woo her. He deepened his kiss. Elizabeth tasted him, feeling the roughness of his tongue as he raked the warm recesses of her mouth and taught her tongue how to answer his demands. She lost herself in his kiss—lost herself in the warmth of him, the scent of him, the feel of his hard body pressed to hers. If kissing was an art, James was the master of it and she, his most avid and ardent student, willingly learning everything he wanted to teach her.
Elizabeth burrowed her fingers into the thick hair at the nape of his neck and held on—wanting more of him, needing more of him.
Suddenly James broke the kiss. His breathing was heavy and irregular and his heart seemed to beat at a much faster rate than normal as he backed up a few steps to put some distance between them. James stared down at Elizabeth. Christ, but she was beautiful! Her lips were red and swollen from his kisses, the expression in her blue-green eyes slightly dazed, dreamy-eyed, and sensual. She looked as thoroughly kissed and as well loved as a new bride—even the creamy skin of her cheeks was suffused with color and slightly abraded by his unshaven jaw.
“Damn me,” he muttered as he reached out with his index finger and gently traced a line along her cheekbone. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, then closed it and quietly walked away, leaving Elizabeth alone and quivering with emotion in the playroom of the nursery, and wondering how she had managed, in the space of four days and two kisses, to fall head over heels in love with him.
SHE HAD NO idea how she was going to face him. What could she say to the man who had kissed her as if he never wanted to let her go, then had walked away and left her standing alone? Should she try to forget the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her? Or should she remind James that he seemed to have enjoyed kissing her as much as she enjoyed being kissed? And if she needed to remind him, how should she go about it? How did you show a man you had fallen in love with him if he wouldn’t let you? Especially when he wouldn’t let you? Elizabeth took a deep breath as she pushed the last hairpin into the thick chignon at the nape of her neck. She smoothed her hands over the form-fitting bodice of her dark green morning dress and brushed away invisible wrink
les, then bent to make up her bed. It was six in the morning. Time to wake the Treasures and get them downstairs for breakfast. Actually, it was a few minutes after six, past time for her to wake the girls, but Elizabeth had taken far more care with her toilette than usual. Somehow, it seemed vitally important that she look her best when James saw her this morning. More than her pride had been affected when James had left her standing alone in the playroom. He’d pricked her vanity as well, and Elizabeth wanted him to see exactly what he’d walked away from.
Elizabeth removed Portia from her resting place on the pillow beside hers, then placed the doll on the little chair in front of the vanity. Then she straightened the sheets on her bed, plumped the pillows, and pulled the quilted coverlet up over the pillows and tucked it into place.
“Who’s tat?”
Elizabeth whirled around at the sound of the voice behind her and stumbled over a pair of shoes. Big shoes. Men’s shoes. James’s shoes. Lying halfway under her bed. Elizabeth stared at the shiny leather shoes. Not only had he sat on the balcony outside her room, but he’d apparently spent enough time inside it to take off his shoes and make himself comfortable.
A vivid image of James as he’d looked earlier in the morning in the nursery came to mind. James with his dress shirt unfastened and untucked pushing a chair toward her with his stockinged foot. Elizabeth retrieved his shoes and placed them on top of the dressing table.
“Daddy.” Garnet grinned up at her.
“Yes, Daddy’s,” Elizabeth confirmed as she bent and lifted Garnet high over her head, then lowered her and held her anchored on her hip. “What are you doing up? And what do you suppose your daddy’s shoes were doing beneath my bed?”
Garnet smiled shyly, again, then looked over Elizabeth’s shoulder and repeated her earlier question, “Who’s tat?”
Elizabeth followed Garnet’s gaze in the mirror over the dressing table. “That’s Portia,” Elizabeth told her. “My oldest and dearest friend. My father gave Portia to me to take the sting out of having a baby brother when I was a little girl not much older than you.”
Garnet opened and closed her small hand in gesture that indicated she wanted to hold the doll.
“Would you like to hold Portia while we get you dressed and ready for breakfast?” Elizabeth asked.
Garnet gave her an enthusiastic nod and Elizabeth reached for Portia and handed her to Garnet.
Garnet hugged the doll to her chest. Elizabeth couldn’t help but wince at the abuse Portia’s elaborate coiffure and velvet suit were taking. But when Garnet impulsively reached out a hand to include Elizabeth in the embrace, Elizabeth decided that it was time Portia had a little girl hug her and muss her clothes. It seemed a fitting reward for all the years she had sat untouched on the shelf of Elizabeth’s bedroom.
“All right, little gem,” Elizabeth said, her heart swelling with love every time she looked at Garnet, “let’s take you and Portia to the bathroom, then get you dressed for breakfast.”
CHANGING EMERALD’S DIAPER and Garnet’s drawers and dressing and combing their hair and fastening ribbons that matched their frocks into their baby-fine hair went faster than Elizabeth expected. And bathing and changing Diamond was easy compared to Ruby.
Ruby resisted Elizabeth at every turn. She fought when Elizabeth took off her nightgown. She squirmed and cried when Elizabeth dressed her in a red dress and white pinafore. Ruby twisted and turned and pulled away as Elizabeth combed her hair. She yanked the matching red ribbon from her hair and threw it to the floor in a fit of temper. Elizabeth discovered that dressing Ruby was as much a war of wills as bathing her had been, but for different reasons. Ruby had fought the bath because she was afraid of water. She fought Elizabeth’s attempt to dress her simply because she had decided she didn’t want Elizabeth to speak to her, much less touch her. Delia arrived to help in the nursery during the fray, but Elizabeth gave her the easier task of taking care of Diamond instead of the older girls and continued dressing Ruby herself. Elizabeth claimed a moral victory in the battle because she had managed to dress all four girls by herself. That she was ten minutes late for breakfast was of no consequence compared to her incredible accomplishment. But when all was said and done, Elizabeth wasn’t sure who had emerged the victor. Ruby was wearing the dress Elizabeth had selected for her, but she had managed to foil Elizabeth’s best attempts at putting on her stockings and shoes. Elizabeth had finally conceded the stockings and shoes after Ruby had pulled them off and thrown them at her—not once, but twice. Ruby’s victory in the stocking skirmish meant that she was on her way to breakfast barelegged, barefoot, and furious.
All because Elizabeth had allowed Garnet to carry Portia into the nursery and Ruby had decided to lay claim to her.
“Good morning.” James glanced pointedly at the clock on the wall, then rose from his place at the table where he’d passed the time waiting for Elizabeth and the girls to come down to breakfast by perusing the latest bundle of newspapers from San Francisco that Will had brought with him on the morning express mail train. “You’re ten minutes late.”
Elizabeth, who had Ruby by one hand and Emerald on her hip, shot him a dirty look. “So dock me.”
James raised an eyebrow at her just as Ruby pulled out of Elizabeth’s grasp and ran to him, hugging him around the knees.
“What’s wrong with Ruby?” he asked.
“She’s angry,” Elizabeth replied, thrusting Ruby’s stockings and shoes into his arms along with Emerald. “Here, you try. And take Emmy. I’ve got to go back upstairs to get Garnet and Diamond.”
Will picked up his coffee cup and took a sip of the hot liquid while he focused his attention on James and Elizabeth and the thick tension hanging all around them.
James kissed Emerald’s forehead, then shifted her into one arm, while he reached down with the other and untangled Ruby from around his legs. Ruby began to cry. “What upset her?” James asked as he placed Emerald in her high-chair before he lifted Ruby into his arms to comfort her.
“You’ll see,” Elizabeth answered as she headed back up the stairs to the nursery.
“I’ll see?” James called back to her. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Elizabeth replied cryptically, “that you should take those fancy dolls off those high nursery shelves and let your daughters play with them. They should have dolls to hold, to dress and undress, and to love. Dolls of their own.”
“What’s she talking about?” Will asked in puzzlement.
James shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve no idea. The Treasures have plenty of toys to play with.”
But when Elizabeth returned moments later, leading Garnet by the hand, her comments became clearer. Garnet had the tawny-haired doll James had seen lying on Elizabeth’s bed in a death-grip hug. She moved at a snail’s pace, apparently afraid to move too fast for fear of dropping the doll.
James had Ruby on his lap and was patiently buckling her shoes when Garnet toddled up and all hell broke loose. When Ruby saw what Garnet held in her arms, she kicked off the shoe James hadn’t yet buckled and began screaming for the doll. But Garnet gripped the doll tighter and stubbornly refused to relinquish her prize. The louder Ruby screamed and the harder Ruby cried, the more uncharacteristically stubborn Garnet became.
“That’s why we’re late,” Elizabeth announced with a smug expression on her face.
“Rwuby want baby!” Ruby shouted.
“No!” Garnet shouted back.
Ruby looked stunned by Garnet’s reaction, then furiously more determined than ever. She reached for the doll and tried to snatch her out of Garnet’s grasp. Garnet backed away, cradling Portia protectively. Ruby tried again, before James intervened.
“Enough!” he commanded in a voice only a fraction louder than usual.
But it was enough. Having never heard their father raise his voice, both girls quieted instantly. Ruby’s tears miraculously disappeared as he lifted her off his lap and set her on her chair at the table. Then James stood up
and walked over to where Garnet stood sucking her thumb and holding the doll. He squatted down beside her. “Who’s this?” he asked.
“Libeth,” she answered softly.
He glanced over at Elizabeth for an explanation.
“No, sweetie, her name is Portia. Remember?” she replied.
“Libeth,” Garnet insisted stubbornly.
“You know,” Will said thoughtfully, “I believe Garnet’s right. She looks exactly like Elizabeth—only in doll form.”
James studied the doll, then turned to Garnet. “Where did you get her?”
“She’s mine,” Elizabeth answered. “I gave her to Garnet to hold when she came into my room early this morning. And since she seemed so taken with her, I allowed Garnet to carry Portia into the nursery to keep her company while I got her dressed.” Elizabeth looked over at Ruby. “Once we reached the nursery, Garnet refused to part with her. And I never dreamed Portia’s presence would start the Craig House War of 1873,” she replied sardonically.
James couldn’t help but smile at her apt description as he tried again to reason with Garnet. “Will you let Ruby hold Portia—Libeth—for a while?”
Garnet removed her thumb from her mouth. “No.”
“Will you let Daddy hold Libeth until breakfast is over?”
“Her name is Portia,” Elizabeth interjected.
“Not to Garnet,” James said. “May Daddy have her?”
Garnet shook her head.