Chapter Eight

L ord Tobias Moran

Seated at my desk, I stared down at the page I’d read multiple times without absorbing a single word. Mrs. Worth had been flittering in and out in her quest to organize my office. For the most part, she had been silent, her footsteps muffled by the rug that covered most of the floor.

The shuffle of paper drew my attention against my will and I glanced up to see her bending over, her back to me. Mrs. Worth truly possessed a very tempting bottom, and I scowled at my lack of control. I had promised her a professional environment. Glancing at the clock, I growled in frustration. Barely eight hours into the day, and I was having difficulty keeping my promise to her. Maybe it was a mistake to hire her. I should offer her a nice bonus, give her a glowing recommendation, and send her on her way. The voice inside my head screamed no at the prospect.

“Am I disturbing you?” she asked.

She had no idea how much.

Mrs. Worth straightened, holding the last three bundled manuscripts in her arms. She’d slowly cleared out the bulk of clutter in my office, and the strands of hair that had escaped their moorings, and her flushed cheeks testified to her efforts.

“You have made great strides today.” Each time she entered, I’d been pulled from my work, and when she left, I found myself waiting for her to return. It was silly, if not a bit obsessive, on my part. “I daresay I must obtain more manuscripts to fill the space. The room looks rather bare.”

Mrs. Worth snapped her head up, her lips parting before she shook her head at my teasing. She gripped her load tighter, drawing it under her chest. “I have no doubt you will try.”

I lifted my brow at her witty comeback. Books were my passion; if I had the time and finances, I would publish several books a month. “You know me well already.”

She adjusted her stance and angled her head. The weak sunlight highlighted her hair with a gold halo around her face. “I am curious. Do you edit all of these, or do you hire other editors to assist you?”

“I acquire and edit them all.” Not a complete truth. Ash did edit some when I was in a crunch, but I couldn’t tell her that. His involvement with the inner workings of the publishing house needed to be kept secret until the situation with Brown was resolved. “Each work is handpicked by me. When I sign an author to my publishing house, I pledge my personal attention.”

“I see.” Her smile waned, and she licked her plump bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. “I had best leave you to it. These are a bit heavy.”

“Let me help you.” Common sense said to let the matter drop and get back to the work at hand. Except I wanted to know the meaning behind those two words. “While you explain what you meant by ‘I see.’”

“I simply made an observation that the manuscripts are heavy.” Mrs. Worth deliberately avoided my question and stared up at me, her eyes the color of newly furled leaves. Indecision marked her brow before she made up her mind. “And that I should stop disturbing you.”

Too late, she already had.

“I am more disturbed by your refusal to explain your cryptic comment.” I took the bundles from her hands, our fingers brushing. Her skin was soft under my fingertips, and I resisted the urge to linger. “What do you see ?”

“Is that truly a question you wished answered?” She turned to lead the way back to the reception area, her parting salvo resting between us.

“I don’t usually ask questions that I don’t expect to be answered.” I kept my eyes locked on the back of her head and never allowed them to drift to the pale skin of her neck.

Where before the reception area had been rather utilitarian, Mrs. Worth had already put her personal stamp on the space. A vivid red poinsettia plant with deep green leaves sat on the desk. “You brought a plant?”

“No, that was a gift from Mrs. Paul. Apparently, she considers herself a botanist and grows the plants in celebration of Christmas. Isn’t it lovely?” Mrs. Worth fingered one of the leaves before pointing to an empty place on a long table. “Please set those over there.”

The long wooden writing table was scarred and bore several deep gouges. The piece had belonged to my father. He had left the ducal estates with the clothes on his back after his brother bilked him out of the stipend my grandfather left in his will for Father. This was the first piece he’d purchased, and although it had seen better days, I kept it in his memory. After putting down the manuscripts, I settled my hands on my hips. Mrs. Worth moved behind the pedestal desk, another relic from my father. A napkin was laid out behind the plant with an apple and a round of cheese. My stomach growled at the sight of food. Once again, I had forgotten to eat.

“You must be famished.” She lifted the apple and handed it to me. “You haven’t eaten a thing today.”

“I can’t take your apple.”

“You will and you shall.” With a mischievous grin, she tossed it in my direction. I caught it mid-air, shaking my head at her antics. The apple peel possessed a deep red hue. “If you insist.”

She took the seat behind her desk, every inch the proper lady. “I do. It is my job, after all, to see to your needs.”

Do not look at her mouth . I was positive she missed the double entendre in her statement, which made me even more of a letch for thinking illicit thoughts about her lips. Her very kissable lips. “Thank you for the apple.”

“You are welcome. I figured you needed sustenance before commencing with your interrogation.” Mrs. Worth’s expression remained serene, the teasing light more pronounced.

Was she even aware she was flirting with me? Perhaps I was reading too much into it. I had a horrible track record with relationships, and she was my secretary. Apparently, I needed a frequent reminder of her status and mine. The practical side of me said to let the matter drop, yet I had never been good at denying my curiosity.

“I have no intentions of interrogating you.” I bit into the apple, the juice ambrosia on my tongue. “You made a very cryptic comment, and I wish to know the meaning behind it.”

With a heavy sigh, she lowered her lashes before lifting them once more. Resignation reflected in her earnest stare. “You said you saw to every client and did the work yourself, and while I understand on a personal level how fulfilling that must be, as a business, it seems a bit inefficient.”

The apple beckoned, and I took another bite, using it as an excuse to formulate my response. Before my father died, we worked together. We had similar tastes and often collaborated. Nobody could replace him, nor had I seriously tried to find someone. I swallowed the bite and settled my weight on my left foot. “If you wish to have something done right, you do it yourself.”

“I beg to differ.” Mrs. Worth tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing frayed spots on the cuffs of her shirtwaist. Other than being highly recommended, I had no idea about her current state of affairs. Women were often left destitute after the death of their spouses. She was definitely educated, which gave her an advantage over others. “If you want something done your way, you do it yourself. There is no right or wrong way, only personal preferences.”

“Smart as well as...” I trailed off, stopping myself in the nick of time from calling her pretty.

“As well as?” she repeated, her voice a bit breathy.

“Bossy.” I changed course, trying not to allow my imagination to play tricks on my mind. Every comment from her seemed to be laced with innuendo, yet I sensed that wasn’t truly the case.

“Or I am simply looking out for your best interests.” Light laughter floated from her lips as she pushed the napkin with the cheese to the edge of the desk. She was doing it again, reading my mind.

“Or you are fond of ordering people about.” I munched on another bite of apple as I reached for a wedge of yellow cheese. Taking a bite, the savory and sweet created a perfect combination, rather like Mrs. Worth’s dry wit and luscious body.

“I believe the pot is calling the kettle black?” Lifting a fine eyebrow, she leaned back in her seat. She gave tit for tat, and I enjoyed matching wits with her.

“Touché.” I finished the apple and tossed it into the rubbish bin. “If I was an ambitious man, I would hire an entire team of editors, and my press would rival John Murray Publishers. However, that would require me to be a manager, not an editor. As you have discovered, I am not keen on people in general. I have had difficulty keeping a secretary. How would I ever retain an entire staff?”

“I—”

I put my hand up and shook my head. “No, don’t answer that. It was simply a rhetorical question that doesn’t require a response.”

“ You said you never asked questions you didn’t wish answered,” she returned with a smirk.

The outer door opened, and I snapped my head around. A thin boy entered, carrying a package. He tipped his hat. “Mr. Moran. I be bringing ya a package.”

“Mrs. Worth, allow me to introduce you to Master Timmy. You will see this lad often.” I scooped up the remaining cheese and folded it into the napkin. “Mrs. Worth is my secretary.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, young man.”

Reaching into my pocket, I extracted a coin and approached the boy. Freckles marked every inch of his face, and he blushed as he nodded to Mrs. Worth. I tucked the bundle under my arm before handing him the cheese. Like many children, he was forced to work for a living to help provide for his family. I hired him as a courier, and he was loyal to me. “For your mother.” I then handed him the coin. “And for you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moran, me mum will be happy for it. Good day to ya, Mrs. Worth.” Timmy tucked the food into his pocket before slipping the coin into the inner pocket of his coat. With a shy glance at Mrs. Worth, he turned on his heel and left, closing the door behind him.

I stepped back and shifted the bundle into my other arm. The note tucked between the strings sent my heart racing with eagerness. It was another manuscript for the Ambrosia line.

“If you would like to place it with the other manuscripts, I will catalog it with the others.” Mrs. Worth stood and reached for the package. The clock on the wall chimed the hour.

I glanced outside at the encroaching gloom. “I suggest that you find your way home before dark. The streets aren’t safe for a lady alone.”

“If you are certain.” She fixated on the manuscript in my hands, and I could practically see the cogs in her mind turning.

“I am certain.” I went into my office and put the bundle on my desk. Snatching up my key ring from the top drawer, I returned to the reception area, unhooking a brass key from the set. She’d donned her hat and coat and glanced over at me. I held out the key. “This is for you. It will fit the outer door and this one. It doesn’t fit the basement, which is too dangerous for you to visit, thus I bid you not even to try.”

My typesetting machine and small press were set up in the basement. I hired two men to typeset and print the serials and paid very well for their silence. Neither spoke English, but I didn’t need them to spell. I simply needed them to apply the correct letter in the typed manuscripts.

“I am not fond of basements and will have no issue avoiding it.” She palmed the key and nodded.

“I will not be in the office when you arrive tomorrow. I have several meetings this week with authors outside of the office. I will leave you my schedule and a list of items that need completing.” I looked forward to the one-on-ones with authors, yet I was reluctant to leave Mrs. Worth alone.

“Good night, Mrs. Worth.” I waited until she left before turning the bolted lock. The gentleman in me said to go after her and walk her home. Yet I was her employer and didn’t wish to overstep my bounds. We had settled on a set of rules and I was bound by them.

A strange heaviness settled on my shoulders as I walked back into my office. It was like all the life had left the room. I stared at my desk, dissatisfied for the first time in ages. The apple and cheese hadn’t quenched my appetite. Mrs. Ashton would be making mulligan stew tonight, and if I hurried, I would make it in time for supper. A good meal would resolve my need for food. Nothing could quench my hunger for a certain sharp-tongued widow who could see right into my mind.