Chapter Six

T he Right Honorable Miss Bernice Namath

I finished putting my belongings into the utilitarian desk drawer, my cheeks still burning at the sight of Mr. Moran shirtless in his office. Oh dear. I shook my head, stifling a hysterical laugh. Leave it to me to make a bad impression on my first day. It never occurred to me that he might be undressed or even be in the office, as he had given me a specific arrival time.

In my eagerness, I left home early, which proved to be a big mistake. I bit my lip and stared at the etched glass window in the door to his office, panicky that he might end my employment because he was upset with me.

Although he hadn’t seemed upset, rather amused instead. Amused or not, I could not give him the impression that it was acceptable for him to be half-clothed when I was in the office. Granted, I was forty-six minutes early. However, he needed to be mindful that I was a lady, and even though I was supposedly a widow, which shamefully I was not, I had to stand up for myself and set boundaries where I could.

Except the image of his broad chest covered with dark hair was burned into my mind’s eye. From the brief view I had, I was able to discern a line of muscle running along his belly that made my fingers wish to explore his lean torso. The blush returned in full force and I put cold hands to my warm face. My former landlord had been fond of walking around the building during the warm months without his shirt on. He hadn’t looked a thing like Moran but sported a paunch. That hadn’t stopped the man from leering at me and making lewd suggestions. I stifled a shiver at the memory.

Expelling a deep breath, I looked around the office, trying to get my bearings once more by taking in the décor. The space was clean, with whitewashed walls and wide plank wooden floors. The desktop was bare, but the chair was much more comfortable than the one I had used in his office the day before.

My younger sisters were thrilled to find out I had accepted a position, and the entire family planned to celebrate by baking snaps.

The younger girls had been deprived of the childhood Eloise and I had had. I wanted their childhood to at least have fond memories. One day, when my agency was a success, I hoped they would reap the benefits. They were the daughters of a baron therefore they would be able to blend in with society. My reputation was ruined simply by the fact that I worked for a living, but that didn’t mean my sisters couldn’t rise above the scandal.

Coming to work and making an earnest living was what I needed to focus on, not how very appealing Mr. Moran’s chest was. There was a good chance he would ask me to leave, although I would refuse if I could. I could either ignore the encounter or address it head-on. I placed my hands on the wooden desktop, noticing how long my nails had become. Since I typed a lot, I had to keep them trimmed short. During my come-out season, my stepmother had been adamant about having beautiful hands so that when I took my gloves off, gentlemen would be impressed that I was a true lady and didn’t work with my hands.

Eloise didn’t have that luxury, nor did I. While I once lived a very privileged life, that ship sailed after my father’s death. Truth be told, it sailed long before his death as well. I loved my father, but he was a dreamer and very impractical. When he passed away, and I discovered that he had an heir, I fumed for days. At no point had he ever mentioned the earl until I saw the man’s name in his will—a will I had hidden lest anyone learn that my father was, indeed, dead.

The door to Mr. Moran’s office opened, and my heart leaped into my throat. I removed my hands from the top of the desk and flattened them on my skirt, the wetness in my palms adding to my distress. I didn’t want to be nervous, nor truth be told, did I want to be excited to see him again. Mr. Moran looked into the room, his auburn hair slicked back. It appeared as if he had washed up after I had seen him, and he was fully dressed as a proper gentleman should be in a brown tweed suit.

“Yes, Mr. Moran.” I was eager to begin my day. Well, I prayed I would begin my day and not be sent on my way. I tried to gauge his expression, but it was impenetrable thus my anxiety increased twofold. He turned around and went back inside the office, leaving the door open. I gathered up my pad and the papers he had asked me to review and bring back. After Eloise and I had spoken about the job, I signed the papers with a touch of trepidation.

His office was the same as I remembered it thirty minutes ago, sans the half-naked man in the corner. Shoulders back, I entered and sat in the chair he indicated. Once again, my hips tilted to the side on the lopsided seat. When I gained more confidence in my position, I would recommend that he provide me with a different chair if our one-on-ones were to be a regular occurrence. I assumed they would, since we would be working closely together.

“I would like to address what happened earlier.” He balanced a pen between his thumb and finger, moving it back and forth in an agitated manner. The veins beneath the skin of his hands were visible. Rather like his arms, which were well-defined with muscles. I shifted in my seat, willing the unexpected tingling sensation in my unmentionables to stop. Could my cheeks get any warmer? “I am very sorry, Mr. Moran, I didn’t realize you were in the office, nor in hindsight, did I knock, which was very rude of me. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

He stared past my shoulder, a slight tick in his jaw. “I want to give you the same assurances as well. I don’t make it a habit of walking half-clothed around my employees. I know as a woman, you must be very used to employers taking advantage of you simply because of your gender. I assure you I am not that type of employer.” The pen in his hand moved faster, his lips downturned.

“I didn’t think you were.” Although I wasn’t really sure, I only met him yesterday.

“Good. I assure you that I have absolutely no interest in you whatsoever.”

While I appreciated the sentiment behind the words, the words themselves were rather harsh. Not that I should wish for my employer to have designs on me, but I was a woman first, and he was a very attractive man. My smile stiffened, and I looked at him. “Thank you very much.”

The corner of his mouth tilting the slightest bit, he met my gaze once more, an apology in his. “That sounded very insulting, didn’t it?”

I weighed my words with care. “If this was a social situation, then yes, it would be very insulting. As your secretary, it is a relief to know that I needn’t worry about an uncomfortable situation that would require me to leave my position.” Not that it would ever happen, but I wanted him to know up front that I would not welcome any advances on his part. Which was actually a lie, but I couldn’t tell him that. Oh my goodness, what was wrong with me?

“Since I am not courting you, and you are my secretary, I suggest we put this behind us. We have much work to do and little time in which to do it. I see you have brought the papers back.” He adjusted his jaw and settled his forearms on his desk, serious once more.

I lifted the requested document from the stack on my lap and handed it to him. “Yes, they are signed.” My hands didn’t shake over the inappropriateness of the conversation.

Or perhaps it was appropriate, and I needed to become used to the fact that I was a widow to those who didn’t know me, and I would be treated as such. While I was still a lady, there was an expectation that I would have more experience in certain venues, mostly with intimacies between a man and a woman. He took the papers from me, his fingertip brushing my hand. I tried not to notice how warm his fingers were or the small scar hidden by blue ink on his forefinger.

“Very good, Mrs. Worth. Now that we have that out of the way, let me start with instructions on what I expect from you.”

Pencil in hand, I began to write as he spoke. He had a very soothing voice, a rich baritone with a hint of a brogue. Could he be Scottish by birth? Ashton had to be of Scottish descent, or so his name would imply. Why I was thinking of the inspector and Mr. Moran in the same line was questionable. Both men made an impression on me.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Mr. Moran was leaning forward, his palms flat on the desk. The spicy scent of soap drifted between us, a mixture of wood and cinnamon, a very pleasant combination.

I had a million questions for him, but I didn’t want to ask any that would jeopardize my position. Eloise had speculated that he might be printing books that were of a political nature. I would wait to find out for sure and then decide. Until then, I would keep my own counsel. “I noticed you have many manuscripts sitting around your office in a rather, well, to put a delicately, an unorganized way.”

“They are organized to me.” By the mulish twist to his lips, he wasn’t thrilled with my observation.

“I can understand that. However you have tasked me with organizing you and putting your office in order.” I had a job to do, and I would do it well. “Also, I daresay all these stacks of paper could be a fire hazard.”

“Now you sound like Ash.” He mumbled under his breath and shifted in his seat. The chair issued a creek, and his fingers flexed to keep him upright.

At the sound of the man’s name, I stiffened my spine, the fear back. “Are you speaking about Inspector Ashton, who was here yesterday?

“Yes, he is an old friend of mine. He comes by quite often to talk, thus you’ll see him around a lot.” Mr. Moran glanced down, a lock of hair falling across his forehead. With the back of his hand, he pushed it away.

“I see. As to the filing, I would like to get started right away if I could.” Relief shot through me, and I tried to stop my leg from shaking. Ashton, or Ash as Mr. Moran referred to him, was a friend. Mr. Moran was not under investigation. However, I needed to be careful regardless. If the inspector decided to look into my past, he might see things I didn’t want exposed. I had no reason to believe he ever would, but I had to be cautious for the sake of my family.

He stared at me for a long moment, determination in his regard. “You may start with the manuscripts by the window. However, you must never touch anything on my desk unless I explicitly ask you to, do you understand?”

My earlier suspicion returned to the forefront. Was he hiding something? “I understand. I would never overstep my bounds.”

His bark of laughter sounded loud in the quiet room. “You have been in my office for less than fifteen minutes, and you have already overstepped your bounds.”

A reluctant smile tugged at my lips, and I didn’t want to notice how his eyes lit up when he was amused. “In my defense, you asked me to keep you in line. I will undoubtedly tread on your toes more often than not.”

“I suspect you will.” He relaxed back in his chair and pulled a manuscript before him. “You may go about your business. I have some work I need to do.”

“I will try to be quiet.” I stood and turned my back to him, eyeing the stacks of manuscripts, each one a story unto itself. As an avid reader, I could hardly wait to discover what was in those pages. And perhaps a bit more about the man who had helped those authors realize their dreams.

Because of Mr. Moran, I had a chance to provide for my family. He might be difficult—no, different from other gentlemen I was used to. Mrs. Paul had spoken glowingly about him. Perhaps she might be able to provide further insight.

Or maybe I should simply mind my own affair. What you don’t know can’t hurt you.