Chapter Two

L ord Tobias Moran

Mrs. Worth had very plump lips, pink and bowed. I didn’t wish to notice. Before her arrival, I had been reading a rather steamy passage from Mr. Lillian, one of my best-selling authors in the Ambrosia line, which I sold to select clientele of a certain persuasion. The story of the Dark Knight, Lord Golden, and Lady X was a very racy adventure tale that pushed the boundaries of unconventional passions and had sparked my blood. “As my secretary, you will be required to sort my correspondence, keep my accounting books, and keep me on schedule,” I said.

“I have a sense that will be the most challenging part of the job,” Mrs. Worth said with wry amusement. She tilted her head to study me with knowing green eyes. A stray strand of light brown hair had escaped from under her practical woven hat and caught on the collar of her navy coat. Her no-nonsense air was refreshing after the ingratiating men that I had interviewed that week. Thus far, she exceeded my expectations.

“Your instincts are spot on.” I tapped my finger on the arm of my chair, debating my next decision. Given my past record with assistants, I had to choose wisely. Time was not on my side on this. Lifting the top sheet from a pile closest to me on the desk, I skimmed the contents to confirm it was a page from one of my mainstream books, a gothic mystery from a very talented female writer, and handed it to her.

She stared down at it with curiosity, her fingers on the paper slender and long, her nails trimmed in a practical manner.

“Can you please type this? The typewriter is over there.” I pointed to the new Remington I purchased after wearing out the mechanisms in the last one. The last person I hired from an agency couldn’t type, which did me no good. While business was robust, I lagged behind. Thus, I needed to hire someone and quick.

Chin lifted, she nodded, and rose from her seat. Curvaceous with a nice bosom, she had a nipped-in waist and rounded hips under a navy walking skirt. I mentally chastised myself for looking. She was a prospective employee, not a potential paramour.

Mrs. Worth settled into the chair in front of the typewriter, stretched her fingers, and typed with quick, efficient strokes.

If her typing skills were accurate, I would offer her the position. No matter how pretty she proved to be, there would be no blurring the lines between us. Finding a competent secretary was a challenging endeavor, especially with an impatient person like me.

She pulled the paper out of the roller and returned to my desk. A touch of color emphasized the apples of her cheeks and her dewy skin. With a triumphant smile, she handed the paper to me. “I think you’ll find no errors.”

I scanned the page, impressed by her skills until I read the second to the last paragraph. “You have an error here.”

“Do I indeed?” Horror crossed her features. She browsed the original page before looking at what she’d typed. Her expression softened once more, and a bright smile curved her full and rather tempting mouth. “Then it is a happy coincidence. The typed copy is now grammatically correct.”

I moved in my seat. The springs rocked, the faulty mechanism nearly unseating me. I cursed as I righted myself, “Bloody hell. Mrs. Worth, you are never to change the text that I give you.”

“Beg pardon.” A flame of rebellion lit her eyes. With an upward tilt to her chin, she stared down her nose at me. “You have set your rules. I will give you mine. Do not swear at me. It is inappropriate and unacceptable.”

“My apologies,” I said, cursing my own stupidity. She thought I swore at her. The confidence she’d carried with her never slipped, adding to my admiration and my resolve to employ her. If she went out that door, she might never come back. “I was swearing at the chair, and I promise to try not to curse at you. Although, I can’t guarantee success.”

Light laughter escaped before she covered her mouth. “Never fear, I will be quick to remind you.”

“Then we are on the same page. I don’t expect perfection, Mrs. Worth. However, understand that authors sometimes take liberty with words, especially in dialogue.” I stood and adjusted the arm of the chair. It was a new acquisition and I already missed my old chair, which had seen better days. “Next time, type what is given to you, and if you have questions, ask.”

“I will,” Mrs. Worth said, hopefulness lighting her narrow face. She’d lost some of her stiffened demeanor, and the smile playing around her mouth was becoming.

“I like you. I think you’ll work out well here. When can you start?” I asked. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told her I liked her. Liking her wasn’t part of the job, and I could be a curmudgeon by my own admission. I didn’t wish to give her the impression I wanted a friendship with her, nor did I wish to be rude. There was vulnerability under the facade of strength she projected.

“When would you like me to start?” she asked.

“Tomorrow morning at seven sharp.” A soft knock at the office door sounded, and I could see the shadow of a man through the etched glass window. “Beg pardon. My guess is that is my four o’clock interview. I will be right back to finish our discussion.” I strode to the door and opened it. A grin split my lips at the man standing on the other side of the door in a Met uniform, the navy color enhancing his blond beard. I glanced behind me at Mrs. Worth before placing a finger to my mouth to silence whatever Ash intended to say. “I am interviewing a secretary, Inspector. Can’t this wait?”

“You scared the last one away?” he asked in a soft whisper, leaning against the door frame, his curious gaze moving into the room where Mrs. Worth sat. Understanding lit his eyes, and he pulled at his beard. “Mr. Moran, I need to speak with you about a disturbance.” The light of flirtation in his blue eyes belied his stern response. An inspector for the Met, he looked rather formidable. It was a facade. Not only was he a contributor to the Ambrosia line and a silent partner in my publishing house, he also acted as an editor when his schedule allowed. He tended to express himself in a somewhat dramatic fashion and was also idealistic and impulsive, two traits that didn’t apply to me. I freely admitted to being rather jaded.

“As I said, I have someone in my office.”

“This can’t wait, Moran.” The teasing light in his expression dimmed. My stomach sank. I had a feeling he brought troubling news. The scandalous nature of the Ambrosia line of books had caught the attention of The Brown Foundation for Morality, a group of closed-minded men and women constantly trying to discover who published them. I had managed to evade their questions because my list of subscribers included high-profile gentlemen who avidly read my works.

The tinkling of the bell over my outer door rang. A thin man with owlish eyes entered the reception area where we stood.

“I am sorry, the position has been filled,” I said. For now .

The candidate looked from me to Ash, blanched, and backed out of the room.

“Inspector, please come into my office, and I will answer your questions.” Turning to Ash, I stepped aside for him to enter.

With a nod, he stared down his patrician nose at me, all friendliness gone. I’d almost be intimidated if I didn’t know it was an act. He walked past me, bumping me with his elbow. I glared at him, but he merely smirked.

If I were found out, the Ambrosia line would ruin more than my business. It could ruin Ash’s life as well. The Brown Foundation for Morality was a true threat but not just to me and Ash. An entire web of people assisted with the publication. Since it was sensitive material, I needed to ensure their identities weren’t compromised.

Mrs. Worth sat where I had left her, clutching the gloves in her hand. She paled at the sight of Ash, her eyes widening. “Mr. Moran, I s—”

“I have something for you, Mrs. Worth.” I cut her off, not wishing to keep her any further. What Ash had to say was important, and I didn’t wish to involve Mrs. Worth if I could help it. I shifted through a stack of papers I’d had drawn up and handed them to Mrs. Worth. “The top form is the terms of your employment, and the second is the confidentiality agreement. Please take them home and fill them out. If you bring them back, I will assume that you have accepted the position.”

Ash stared at her, his expression unreadable. It was best that she not know of our personal association, although it was hard to imagine how that would play out since he visited me quite often. She stood and gathered her things. “Very good, Mr. Moran. I will be back tomorrow morning, first thing. Thank you for the opportunity.” She cast one last glance at Ash, terror in her eyes. “Inspector.”

“Mrs. Worth.”

“You know my name.” Her hand shot to her chest, and the papers she held almost slipped from her fingers before she clutched them to her stomach.

I would think she was hiding something if I didn't know better. Was she a doxy disguised as a respectable woman? Did it truly matter? She was a skilled typist and I wouldn’t fault anyone for trying to gain respectability. “Yes, I just said your name, hence why Inspector Ashton knew your name.”

“Yes, Mr. Moran. I will see you later. Inspector.” Her color high, she exited the room without saying another word.

The second the door closed, Ash moved to my desk and rested his hip on the shiny surface. We had been in a physical relationship for many years with the caveat that once one of us found a prospective bride, we would stop sharing intimacies with each other. After he fell in love with Suzette and I proposed to Elizabeth, he and I stopped being intimate. Now that both women were no longer in our lives, that barrier had disappeared.

“She seems rather a nervous sort.” Ash lowered his lashes, his gaze settling on my mouth briefly.

“Actually, no, but you are right, she looked a bit flummoxed.” Which seemed out of character, although I had only met her an hour before. I sat down and tried to ignore the familiar spark that ignited in the pit of my stomach at his proximity. Cutting my carnal ties with Ash had been harder than either one of us had anticipated, thus I hesitated to pick up where we left off.

“People are often intimidated by the uniform,” he said with a shrug. With his strong shoulders and angled jaw, Ash still tempted my resolve. But his friendship was more important to me than a rump-ride, thus I was determined to keep him at a distance, no matter how painful the cost.